Six nights on São Miguel, in the Azores. You'll read the soil, design a planting, and put it in the ground — on seven acres that were monoculture passionfruit last spring.
You'll leave with the manual we're writing as we go.
Most agroforestry courses are taught on a mature site where every difficult decision was made a decade ago and everything now looks inevitable.
We took this farm on in January 2026. Seven acres of passionfruit — seven tons a year, herbicide under the vine rows, prunings hauled off every season. We spent three months reading the land before we planted anything.
Then, in March, two storms arrived two weeks apart and killed almost the entire crop. A thriving operation became empty standing trellis inside a fortnight.
We had believed monoculture was fragile. Then we watched it.
What you'll walk into is an unfinished argument — the before still standing across the fence from the after, with the people who made every decision this year, and who still remember which ones they got wrong.
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Ten years into a project, you've forgotten. Not the facts — the feeling of not knowing.
Which decision you agonized over for a week and shouldn't have. Which one looked trivial and cost you a season. Which piece of universal advice turned out not to matter at all.
That memory has a short half-life, and losing it is why so much expert teaching skips the steps that mattered most.
We're in month ten. It's all still sharp — and our farm manager Tiago planted his own syntropic food forest six years ago, so the long view is here too.
The beginning, taught by people who just finished it. The maturity, shown by someone who's lived it.
The reason most people never start is that it looks impossible. Twelve species. Five vertical layers. Four stages of succession. Across an acre.
You don't design an acre.
You design one meter — every species at its correct spacing, every layer filled — and then repeat it down the line. That's how we plant here, and it's the difference between a problem you can hold in your head and one you can't.
On Wednesday you'll design your meter and plant it, in ground you read on Monday. Seven teams, seven meters, seven different designs side by side, each labeled with the names of the people who drew it.
Come back in three years and see whose worked.
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Everyone planting a food forest is quietly asking what happens if it goes wrong. A groomed demonstration site answers a question nobody has.
So you'll walk an orchard we planted before we understood syntropic methods, where we replace five to ten percent of the trees every year. Four years in, we've harvested one mango.
You'll see coffee planted with a canopy above it, and coffee planted without one — and design the retrofit we haven't built yet.
You'll stand in front of trees the goats stripped the bark from, and work out where animals belong.
And you'll hear what happened to Tiago's own six-year food forest during the twelve months he had no time for it.
Six thousand square meters, enclosed by tall volcanic rock walls, divided into twelve equal squares.
Each square carries a different main crop — pomegranate, macadamia and walnut, orange and tangerine, Australian finger lime, mango, fig, mulberry, starfruit. Every one of them shares coffee underneath.
The walls are why mango grows here and nowhere else on the property. Which is the whole lesson about shelter, standing in front of you.
And the coffee is our bet: four thousand plants heading for ten thousand, on the belief that the Azores can grow the best coffee in the world.
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Six hours a day in the field is real work. The rest of it shouldn't be.
You'll stay on the estate — everyone, no shuttles between villages, one dinner table and one fire circle. The farms feed the kitchen: passionfruit, DOP Azorean pineapple, figs, cherimoya, loquat, banana, guava, grapes.
Two evenings you cook. One is a farm-to-table dinner you harvest and make together. The other is a preserving night — fermenting, canning, dehydrating, blending spice rubs — and you take the jars home.
There's a fire most nights. A local musician plays viola da terra at the last one. Somebody usually stays up too late.
A step-by-step procedure for turning land into a food forest, written by people doing it right now.
Sixty-eight steps, from standing on a hillside looking at land you're considering buying, to deciding what happens to the place after you.
Every step tells you what you're doing · why, framed as what fails if you skip it · how, with tools and timings · what it costs in hours and money · how you'll know it worked · what we did · and what we got wrong.
That last panel is the one nobody else can write.
And every step is marked with how we know it — whether we did it this year, whether Tiago did it across six years, or whether it comes from Götsch and other practitioners rather than our own hands. We'd rather tell you where our knowledge ends than write confidently about things we haven't done.
Every graduate gets every future version.
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A complete design for your own land — diagnosis, amendment plan, water strategy, planting consortium with a twenty-year timeline, plant supply schedule, labor estimate and outline budget.
Eight assessed practical competencies, signed off in the field, and a certificate that means something because not everyone earns it.
Cultures and preserves you made. A tool you sharpened. A meter of trees with your name on it.
And twelve months of support: quarterly group clinics, a one-to-one design review, and a card you write on the last morning listing three things you'll do in ninety days — which we mail back to you on day ninety.
The VIVA Quinta team will teach most of the program. We will be joined by others specializing in biology, agricultural funding, real estate, and law.



It's three questions, simple: where your land is, what stage you're at, and what you're trying to solve. Anita reads every one herself and replies within two days — and if we're not the right fit for you, she'll say so.








It's three questions, simple: where your land is, what stage you're at, and what you're trying to solve. Anita reads every one herself and replies within two days — and if we're not the right fit for you, she'll say so.