People need to understand how and why things are done this way
Mariana Pereira's Volcanic Beings farm welcomes tourists and locals to experience Azorean dairy farming, with visitor numbers exceeding expectations since May launch. The farm prioritizes animal welfare with year-round pasture access and longevity records, while implementing innovations like robotic calf feeding systems.
- Mariana Pereira launched Volcanic Beings agritourism farm in May 2025 in Maia, Ribeira Grande
- Farm visits increased from one per week to nearly daily by August-September
- Cows live year-round on pasture; some remain productive past 14 years old
- Her father's profit margin is three cents per liter after expenses, despite premium pricing
A young Azorean entrepreneur launches agritourism venture on family dairy farm, combining animal welfare practices with educational experiences to promote local dairy sector and rural heritage.
Mariana Pereira stands in a pasture on the island of São Miguel, watching visitors approach a black cow named Jéssica with the kind of wonder usually reserved for something far more exotic. The cow is famous here—intelligent, gentle, the sort of animal that once helped identify a sister in labor during a difficult birth. This is the world Mariana has opened to the public through Volcanic Beings, her agritourism venture launched this past May on her family's dairy farm in the parish of Maia, in Ribeira Grande.
The idea emerged from a lifetime spent between pasture and barn. Mariana is the daughter and granddaughter of farmers. She grew up among animals and grass, then left to study management at the University of the Azores. When she finished, she realized she didn't want to abandon the world she'd grown up in—she wanted to transform it. She partnered with her father, José Eduardo, who has worked in dairy farming since he was young and has owned the farm since 1992. Together they built something that serves two purposes at once: it diversifies their income and it brings people closer to the reality of agricultural life on the islands.
What began cautiously—one visit per week—quickly overwhelmed expectations. By August and September, Mariana was receiving visitors nearly every day. They came from across the island and from abroad: families, school groups, clusters of tourists. Mariana was careful to emphasize that agritourism shouldn't be only for outsiders. "The people of the island need to know this reality," she said. "They need to understand how and why things are done the way they are." A group of more than thirty children from a summer camp visited; they arrived hesitant and left reluctant to go, having touched calves and learned where milk comes from.
The farm itself operates on principles that set it apart. The cows live outdoors year-round, free to graze. The farm keeps birth rates deliberately low to avoid exhausting the animals—a choice that has resulted in cows still producing milk well into their teens, some past fourteen years old. Mariana jokes that keeping a cow that long is like owning a Ferrari. She is also implementing new technology: a robotic feeding system for calves that allows them to drink multiple small meals throughout the day instead of two large ones, improving health and reducing mortality while making the animals more social.
Yet the Azorean dairy sector faces structural problems that no amount of innovation can fully solve. The milk produced here is recognized as high quality, but it receives less market value than dairy from other parts of Europe. Even with her father's participation in the "Happy Cows" program—which pays above-average prices—the profit margin is razor-thin: three cents per liter after expenses. Without European Union subsidies, the economics don't work. This is the hard reality Mariana shares with visitors during the farm tours, turning each visit into a lesson in agricultural vulnerability and the importance of supporting local products.
The experience itself unfolds as a narrative. Visitors arrive and meet Russa, a fifteen-year-old mare, before moving into the pasture to see the cows. They learn the names and stories of individual animals. They move to the maternity area, where they bottle-feed calves—a moment that visibly moves children, dissolving their initial shyness. Then comes the milking demonstration, where Mariana teaches the technique and lets visitors feel the warmth of fresh milk, creating what she describes as an immediate connection between human and animal. Each visitor leaves with a postcard, designed not as a throwaway flyer but as a lasting memento.
Mariana's vision extends beyond the present. She wants to deepen the farm's commitment to regenerative agriculture, plant native species to strengthen the island's biodiversity, and create new experiences like picnics. She sees each visit as an opportunity to shift how people think about farming and food. "I want people to leave here with more than memories," she said. "I want them to feel they've learned something, that they've gained a new understanding of what it means to live from the land." In a region where agriculture is increasingly fragile and often misunderstood, that education may be as valuable as the income the farm generates.
Notable Quotes
Opening the doors to our farm isn't just diversifying income—it's bringing people closer to rural life, valuing Azorean milk, and showing what farmers actually do day to day— Mariana Pereira
The people of the island need to know this reality and understand how and why things are done the way they are— Mariana Pereira
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did you decide to open the farm to visitors when you could have just kept running it as a traditional dairy operation?
Because I grew up here, and I saw how disconnected people were becoming from where their food comes from. My father has been doing this work for decades, and there's so much worth showing—not just the animals, but the care that goes into it all. Opening the doors felt like the natural thing to do.
The numbers jumped dramatically from one visit a week to nearly daily visits by late summer. Were you prepared for that?
Honestly, no. We started cautiously because we didn't know what to expect. But people were curious, and word spread. By August it was overwhelming in the best way. It told us there was real hunger for this kind of experience.
You mentioned that your father makes only three cents per liter in profit, even with premium pricing. How does that change what you're trying to do here?
It makes the agritourism piece essential, not optional. But more than that, it's why I talk about these economics with every group that visits. People need to understand why supporting local dairy matters. It's not just nostalgia—it's about keeping a sector alive that can't survive on market prices alone.
What surprised you most about watching children experience the farm?
How quickly they lose their fear. They arrive nervous, uncertain. Then they touch a calf, feel the warmth of fresh milk, and something shifts. They're not just learning facts—they're forming a relationship with the animals. That's what I hope sticks with them.
You're planning to implement robotic feeding systems and regenerative practices. Isn't that a lot of innovation for a farm that's also trying to preserve tradition?
It's not either-or. Tradition without innovation dies. My grandfather farmed differently than my father, who farms differently than I do. The core values—animal welfare, respect for the land—those stay constant. But how we achieve them evolves.