“You’re probably wondering what’s going on here,” says Kenny Blandford with a smile as we begin our tour of his farm. “I’m guessing it’s not what you were expecting.”

He’s referring to the fact that Cocoa Valley Eco Farm doesn’t have tilled soil with vegetables or ground provisions growing in neat rows, not even raised beds made of tree stumps and old galvanised sheeting. There are no orderly orchards, no gravel paths, no neatly trimmed grass. At first glance, it seems like six acres of unruly bush—and in some ways, it is. But take an educational tour, and subtle, important differences soon emerge.

This is what Kenny calls natural farming. At first, it can seem chaotic—but the more he explains the interactions, connections, and the science of soil, the clearer the structure and intention behind it all become.

The tour begins with a shallow wade across the Pagua River, just outside the hamlet of Concord on the northern edge of Dominica’s Kalinago Territory, and follows a roughly beaten track climbing gradually uphill. Keen to explain the farm’s appearance, Kenny crouches and carefully parts the undergrowth.

“The basic idea is to mimic nature as much as possible,” he says. “We minimise our impact by not interfering with natural processes. And key to that is soil management. What you may view as a blanket of weeds, we see as essential ground cover that protects the soil from harmful UV light while also maintaining moisture and an environment for organics to thrive. There’s no tilling, no weeding, and absolutely no chemicals.”

“Take a spade or a hoe,” Kenny continues, “and you turn living, thriving soil like this into inert dirt. Add fertilizer or chemicals, and it’s the same story—you kill the natural processes. The plants become junkies, dependent on artificial fixes to survive.”

No-till soil management is becoming a more common practice in gardens and natural farms such as this one, whereby minimum disturbance helps to protect soil health and structure, organic matter, and ‘beneficial biological communities’ that thrive in undisturbed humus. Crop rotation is also considered important for this kind of farming though Kenny questions the need for it.

“Based on my experience here,” he says, “banana plants such as these have established relationships with the soil and everything else that grows around. If I break that and plant somewhere else, then it must start over and reestablish these relationships. So, while they continue to be healthy and productive, I see no reason to impose my will on them. Nature knows best.”

“I’m often asked about weeds competing for the same resources as the crops that we plant. We’re led to believe it’s beneficial to pull them out. But that only happens if your soil is poor or inert, and there are not enough resources to go around. The same happens if you add chemicals. But if your soil is healthy, everything lives in balance. Just look around.”

It’s hard to argue with Kenny’s logic. His knowledge is self-taught and experiential; his enthusiasm, infectious.

As its name suggests, the farm’s dominant crop is cocoa, though there are many other interesting things growing here. The bananas, for example, are the kinds of varieties that were present before large commercial crops of cavendish took over and became the backbone of the so-called Caribbean ‘banana boom’ of the mid to late 1900s. These older varieties grow as tall as trees and their bunches are the biggest I’ve ever seen.

The farm is so productive that Kenny has been feeding his family from it for around five years. With a background in traditional farming, he gave up his job in tourism during the pandemic and redirected his efforts into producing food for his wife and seven children. They all get involved in the day-to-day tasks, and his eldest son, O’Brian, has become accomplished at grafting cocoa plants. Together, they’ve constructed a clay oven which they use to bake bread made from their banana and breadfruit flour.

We walk past a large hole that has recently been excavated.

“Tilapia pond,” says Kenny, grinning. “Coming soon, I hope.”

As I follow Kenny and O’Brian through ankle-deep ground cover, they point out and offer me different varieties of guava, we see lemon trees that are so full they’re tipping over, huge golden apples, pineapples peeking out of vines and weeds, avocado trees, coconut palms, and ever more towering banana plants. What first seemed like randomness and entanglement is beginning to reveal a quiet logic. Companion planting, shade growing, nitrogen fixing, regular spacing, bird-attracting ornamentals—my head spins trying to take it all in.

“We don’t just plant a young cocoa tree in the ground,” O’Brian explains. “We’ve learned to plant pigeon pea next to every cocoa. The pigeon peas grow quickly, providing the cocoa with nitrogen and shade. And they also feed our family.”

In their large greenhouse are all the plants they are currently propagating. There seem to be hundreds of cocoa saplings as well as a healthy supply of other young trees such as cherry, avocado, breadnut, and more.

“We try to maintain a regular stock. Many are grafted, some are grown from seed,” says Kenny. “These plants will either go out into the farm or they’ll be sold to other specialist farmers and gardeners, giving us a source of income.”

I had been wondering about that. While the farm feeds the family, there are still life essentials that require money.

“That’s true. And it’s why we’re now developing our farm tour and inviting locals and visitors to come and look at what we’re doing. Having said that, a freshly peeled lemon works excellently as a deodorant. Do you think I smell?”

He doesn’t, and I make a mental note to experiment with said citrus.

“But make sure you peel it,” O’Brian says with a smile. “Or you’ll be doing a dance. It stings!”

The tour lasts around three hours and, by the end, I’m itching to plant the Surinam cherry tree I bought and look at my garden through new eyes. But first, Kenny and O’Brian have invited me to taste some of their first attempts at chocolate-making. It’s coarse because they haven’t used a melanger (on their shopping list), but what strikes me most are the strong fruity flavours, which I assume were added during processing.

“Not at all,” says O’Brian. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? Those flavours come from the fruit trees growing alongside the cocoa we harvest. My favourite is the cherry.”

Mine too. It’s quite a jaw-dropping moment. I’m one of those people who struggles to identify ‘notes’ in coffee or a glass of rum. But this was easy—and any doubts I may have harboured about the interconnectedness of plants and trees through healthy soil were swept away by this small piece of chocolate.

Back across the river, I wave goodbye to Kenny and O’Brian, knowing I’ll be back. These days, we’re inundated with cruise ships and seemingly endless festivals, but Cocoa Valley Eco Farm is proof that another Dominica still exists—quiet, grounded, and thriving beneath the radar, rooted in the fertile soil of a resilient Nature Island.

This article featured in the July/August 2025 edition of Caribbean Beat magazine