I have to admit, it still cracks me up to see Ralph on a tractor. When we met in grad school — almost 21 years ago! — his dream was to make it as a sportscaster. You know, wear some fancy suits, sit on the anchor desk in a big city, and pontificate about football.

Six years after we graduated, Ralph was a weekend sports anchor for the NBC affiliate in Fresno, Calif., and I was the food writer for The Fresno Bee. Our jobs were ridiculously fun. But then the Great Recession hit, and a future in journalism looked increasingly uncertain.

At the same time, my mom (Lorie) was here in Hawaii, continuing to grow Rusty's Hawaiian after my dad died. We worked with her behind the scenes, and by 2011, Plan B became Plan A. Fresno gave us a wonderful sendoff, and Ralph and I moved to the Big Island. Now, Ralph’s usually in T-shirts, jeans and a Cafe Imports hat. And instead of taking the wheel of a TV live truck, he drives a couple of old pickup trucks — or this tractor.

And you know what? We wouldn’t have it any other way. During this pandemic, we’ve thanked our coffee farm a million times over. Here, we have fresh air, ocean views and no trouble social distancing. Not to mention ample running space for our dogs (AKA the best lockdown partners ever).

Lately, folks tell us they're considering their own big leaps. They're inspired by my parents, a couple of green-tea drinkers who left New Jersey for Hawaii to grow coffee. They want to know how Ralph and I made the transition from employees to entrepreneurs, or from city life to a super-rural one. We’re not surprised. World upheavals will push you to places you didn’t know you’d go.

The message I give them is one you may need today: You’re more resilient than you think. So trust yourself, even when you're trying something radically different. You may find out, years later, that it's exactly where you needed to be. ~Joan Obra

Dear friends, for this Father's Day, we wanted to re-introduce you to Rusty Obra, the late founder of our company -- and leader of our family.

Many of you learned about Rusty's Hawaiian from the awards our coffee has won. What many of you haven't seen is our why: This man, who was as dedicated to Ka'u coffee as he was to us as a husband and father.

Rusty would be proud of our accomplishments, but his vision was far bigger than our company's list of awards. He wanted Ka'u farmers to succeed in coffee, so our community could transform its failed sugar plantations into an enclave of thriving small entrepreneurs.

In the last weeks of his life, as friends and family called and visited the hospital from morning until night, Rusty took a moment to gather us -- wife Lorie, children Joan and Rusty Jr. -- for a final family meeting.

"When I'm gone, I don't want you to be bitter," he said. "Yes, I have cancer, but these things just happen in life. Just because I got sick doesn't mean that God loves me any less."

We were all quiet. And then he spoke these words: "Remember, I will always be with you, guiding you."

Almost 14 years after his death, those words ring true. Lorie still talks to Rusty as she hand sorts coffee beans. When we enclose handwritten notes with our coffee shipments, Rusty's heart is in those words. He may no longer be here physically, but he's still very much here. And today, it is our honor to share him with you.

#HappyFathersDay

Hi, friends. It has been a while, hasn’t it? We’re like you nowadays: feeling the grief that’s spilling onto American streets. This moment is painfully vivid for us. In between roasting and farm work, we’re calling the black elders on Ralph’s side of our family. They grew up in the Jim Crow South and a segregated North, and they remember the brutality of the Civil Rights Movement. They’re frustrated that we must protest all over again.

We also have other talks that give us hope for change. Ones in which friends lean into Ralph’s personal stories. Like the sudden lockdown near the Specialty Coffee Association Expo in 2017. One minute, Ralph was on his way to make photocopies for the Hawaii Coffee Association. The next minute, he was on the edge of a police manhunt, thinking fast to avoid being mistaken for a suspect. Our non-black friends are taken aback. They’ve never had to take such precautions.

For this year's Hawai'i Executive Conference, I was asked to tell the origin story of Rusty's Hawaiian: the coffee farm, mill, and roastery my parents started in a little-known area of the Big Island. My talk wove their tale with those of former sugar-mill workers in the Ka'u District. Together, they transformed abandoned sugar fields into a region that grows internationally award-winning coffee.

The clips here highlight the big risk taken by Rusty and Lorie Obra, my parents, in launching their improbable dream -- and the even bigger one we faced as a family when my father died. The lesson here? Many times, we talk ourselves out of pursuing a vision. We don't have the "proper" training. We don't have every step figured out before we start. And when the going gets tough, we're scared to continue.

Guess who's featured in Hawaii Business Magazine this month? Our co-founder, Lorie Obra, shares her journey from the Philippines to America. (Click here to read.)
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Lorie is part of the magazine's cover story about immigrant contributions to Hawaii. We take those seriously: In our state, 1 out of 5 residents is a first-generation immigrant.
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"Hawaii stands out in the category that measures income generated by immigrant households, rates of homeownership and income from second-generation immigrant households. Hawaii’s recent immigrants and their children are integrated into the social and economic life of our islands in a way unmatched by any state except California."
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Lorie has been a naturalized US citizen for about 40 years now. Here's an excerpt of her story: "She went from Mindanao to Manila for university, where she met her future husband, Restituto. 'Rusty,' a chemist, had applied for an American green card under the 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act, which abolished the immigrant quotas based on nation of origin that had existed since 1921. When Rusty got the OK, he urged Lorie to marry him so they could go together. It was 1972, the year Marcos declared martial law that would last for nearly a decade – and by then Rusty and Lorie had gotten used to the tear gas and Molotov cocktails used regularly near the university. 'It was so chaotic,' says Obra. 'I said, ‘Do you have to go?’' (Rusty) said, it’s a greener pasture in America.”