Musing from the Mountains

What I’ve been up to and what to expect next

Hello dear reader,

I’m writing to you from the Swiss mountains, about 1,800m above sea level. The air is crisp and sharp here. Each inhalation can be felt viscerally as icy alpine air enters deep into the lungs. For the first couple of days, I found myself noticeably more present, my attention drawn to the fact that my body needed to work slightly harder to absorb the same level of oxygen it was used to.

In fact, this whole place has been a sensorial experience. On the first night, we took a walk to discover the snow shimmering under the light of the full moon, as if it were laced with millions of arctic fireflies. As we skirted past a frozen lake, a deep, eerie groaning noise emerged from within. The lake seemed to be complaining as sub-zero temperatures crystallised the water into ever more layers of ice. Even in the dead of winter, this landscape feels surprisingly alive.

I’m here with close friends, eight of us in total, starting the new year outdoors and setting intentions for the months ahead. It’s refreshing to be off the island and away from the farm for a week. New places always bring new insights, and with that, here I am writing to you.

When I launched this publication, The Seeds Will Grow, in February 2025, the intention was to share insights from the journey of growing food and building community in Ibiza. I began by laying the foundations, writing a four-part series on why I left the city in search of a deeper connection with Nature. I also shared my experience working with plant medicine in the Peruvian Amazon, a practice that has been deeply transformative for me in repairing my mental health and reconnecting with something profoundly sacred and spiritual.

Then summer arrived, and I pivoted almost all of my energy into running Juntos Farm.

As the days grew longer and hotter, more than three million tourists poured into the small island I call home. At the farm, we launched our most ambitious summer programme to date. We opened our doors five days a week, serving an epic breakfast and lunch with produce from our farm and farm partners. Our farm shop opened six days a week, setting a new record in food sales. Our events team hosted workshops, talks, farm tours, and every Saturday we held a family focussed day of activities with live acoustic music, outdoor food and drinks and even a petting zoo.

Behind the scenes, our distribution team delivered more fresh produce than ever before to local restaurants and hotels, including the new Soho Farmhouse. And of course, our farmers, the real heroes, battled the summer sun to keep our entire agricultural ecosystem thriving.

It was a hazy, chaotic, and exhilarating summer. We took Juntos Farm to new heights and put everything we’d built to the test.

But it wasn’t all sunshine and smiles.

Running a farm is hard work. Coordinating a team of more than sixty people is a skill I’m still learning. Delivering a high-quality experience, day after day, requires relentless attention to detail. That’s the thing about hospitality I’m quickly coming to understand. Every day, the challenge begins again. It doesn’t matter how well yesterday went. How good the food was, how beautiful the space looked, how perfectly the musician played.

Each day is like conducting the opening night of a live orchestra. And each day, we strive to do it better.

That pursuit taught me something important this summer. I started this journey because I wanted to reconnect to Nature. And if I boil it down, what we’re really offering at Juntos Farm is not food. It’s an experience.

We’re offering the experience of feeling more alive. Of being connected to source. Of being part of a community. I don’t mean that in a superficial way. In a world that’s becoming increasingly destructive , disconnected, and digitised, we’re offering an antidote. A physical place to find respite and recharge.

I think what people are seeking when they come to the farm is to feel a sense of harmony within a system. That harmony can be felt in food grown regeneratively. The flavours are stronger. The colours brighter. The body hums as it digests nutrients drawn from living soil. It can be felt in an environment where you can hear the birds singing and watch butterflies moving between the flowers. It can also be felt through the simple act of being present with others.

On Saturdays, when more than two hundred people fill our courtyard to eat, talk, and play, I feel less alone. I feel in the company of people resonating at a similar frequency. I feel like I’ve found my tribe.

The reason I turn up to work at Juntos Farm every day is because it makes me feel more human in a world that often does the opposite. Deep down, I crave to be in relation to the land and the people around me. I suspect we all do, whether we consciously realise it or not.

So, as the new year dawns, I have ambitious plans to continue writing here. It’s been more than 235 days since the last article. I want to write regularly, sharing what’s happening on the ground, who I’m meeting along the way, and what I’m learning about growing food, building community, and reconnecting with Nature.

Over the next twelve months, we have not one, not two, but three major projects launching beyond the farm itself. I’m slightly daunted by what it will take to bring them all to life. That said, the team at Juntos Farm has really stepped up this past year, giving me the space to dream bigger and expand beyond the boundaries of our physical site.

As any systems designer knows, resilience comes from diversity. This year is about fostering that. The farm remains the heart of what we do, but we’re now entering a second phase, building a bigger ecosystem around it to ensure we can continue to thrive long into the future.

One of the projects we’re planning to launch is a podcast called The Seeds Will Grow, an extension of this blog and newsletter that you’re already part of. I’m sharing this publicly so you can hold me to account. Saying it here makes me uncomfortable, which is exactly why I’m doing it. Now that it’s been spoken, it exists in the world.

As I write this, I’m beginning my journey home. Travelling through a snowy landscape of pine trees and high mountain ridges on one of Switzerland’s famous red trains. I’m remembering to breathe. Directing my attention to the body. To the present moment. To what actually matters.

This year feels like it is going to be a big one.

Goodbye year of the snake. Bring on the year of the sprinting horse.

I’m grateful to have you here as these seeds continue to grow.

Finn