A letter from Adam, Matina & Melissa

Dear friend,

We are writing to you from a place that does not yet exist — or rather, a place that existed for a thousand years and has been waiting, in silence, for someone to come back.

Porcieda is an abandoned village in the mountains of Cantabria, Spain. Ten stone houses. A baroque ermita from 1752. Ancient paths where pilgrims once walked on their way to Santo Toribio de Liébana. For over thirty years, no one has lived there. The roofs have fallen. The walls still stand.

We didn't find Porcieda by accident. We found it at a turning point in our lives — a moment where our faith became the compass of our decisions. After years of building a tech company in Africa, of living fast and building fast, we felt a call to slow down. To return to what is essential. To build something that serves God, that serves others, and that lasts longer than a startup.

Porcieda felt like an answer to a prayer we hadn't fully articulated yet.

When we read that pilgrims have walked through this village since the 10th century, that a monastery dedicated to Santiago once stood here, that the ermita is dedicated to Our Lady of the Snows — we understood. This place is not a ruin. It is a seed. A garden that has been left fallow, waiting for hands willing to tend it again.

We think of Genesis. Of the garden that God entrusted to humanity. Of the call to cultivate, to keep, to steward the earth. Porcieda is our Eden to tend — not in pride, but in humility. We want to grow vegetables, raise bees, plant fruit trees, care for animals, and welcome pilgrims who are walking toward something greater than themselves. We want to offer them a place to rest, to eat, to pray, and to be reminded that the world was made to be beautiful.

This is not a business plan dressed in spiritual language. It is a spiritual calling that happens to have a business plan. The two are not in conflict — a village needs to sustain itself to serve others. But the heart of Porcieda will always be hospitality, faith, and the land.

There is something else that matters deeply to us. Matina carries two traditions in her blood — her great-grandmother was a devout Catholic, and her mother raised her in the Protestant faith. The Camino de Santiago is Catholic in its roots. Porcieda sits on this ancient pilgrimage route, and its ermita was built by Catholic hands in 1752. We don't see a contradiction — we see a bridge. The pilgrim walking towards Santo Toribio and the believer singing praise on a Sunday morning are walking the same road. They seek the same God. We want Porcieda to be a place where these traditions meet, where Christians of all backgrounds find a home, and where faith is lived in its deepest, most unifying expression.

We are three. Adam, who dreams in spreadsheets and systems but kneels in gratitude. Matina, whose gentleness and resilience were forged between Madagascar and Paris, and who sees beauty where others see ruin. Melissa, Adam's sister, who navigated the corridors of the United Nations and the European Commission before choosing a village with no roof. She speaks the language of institutions by day and lights the fire around which stories are told at night.

And Coffee. Our border collie. He already thinks the village is his.

We are asking for your help — not just your money, but your prayer, your encouragement, and if you feel called, your hands. Every stone we restore is a stone laid in faith. Every tree we plant is an act of hope. Every pilgrim we welcome is a brother or a sister on the road.

If this resonates with you, come walk with us.