Pure Life Development Atenas Costa Rica

Pure Life Development Atenas Costa Rica Dennis J. Easters- I am originally from Tampa, Florida, but now live in Atenas, Costa Rica. A family vacation to Costa Rica changed all that.

Dennis and Gerardo have been trusted advisors in Atenas real estate since 2007, helping clients create a life well lived through thoughtful homes, clear guidance, and local expertise in Costa Rica. I have always wanted to live outside the United States, but had ideas of the south of France or Spain. After that first trip I was hooked. It was all I could think about. Now I am living my dream and lo

ving every minute of it. I attended the University of South Florida, with studies in Accounting and Industrial Psychology. This has helped me immensely throughout the years in my business. In addition, I hold a real estate license in the state of Florida. I have been involved in real estate investing for more than twenty-five years. I specialized in restoration and renovation of historic homes in the Tampa Bay area. In addition, I built a portfolio of rental properties, all single family homes through out Tampa. This experience along with my partner, Getardo Gonzalez-Porras, we bring with us to Costa Rica to apply to our development company, Pure Life Development. Real Estate is our passion. When we set a goal for ourselves, we go for it

09/06/2026

Some properties deserve a new legacy....

07/06/2026

Luxury is a state of mind....

Sunday Reflections | The Taste, Sound, and Smell of SummerThe other afternoon, after I had finished cutting the grass, I...
07/06/2026

Sunday Reflections | The Taste, Sound, and Smell of Summer

The other afternoon, after I had finished cutting the grass, I was sitting on the front porch while Gerardo made me a glass of iced tea. The clanging of the ice as it hit the glass. The crackling sound of the warm tea meeting the cold ice. The smell of freshly cut grass. The sight of rain clouds building and the distant sound of thunder.

A gust of breeze swept across the lawn with an underlying chill — the kind that arrives when the rains begin drifting down out of the mountains.

I walked through the garden and picked a mango from the tree, slicing it open and enjoying the sweet flesh as the juice rolled down my arm. The wildflower garden had fully sprouted, each seedling stretching toward the sky. The smell of beef short ribs roasting in the oven drifted through the screen door, mixing with the sweetness of my iced tea.

Then, a nearby crash of lightning announced with vibrato the arrival of a tropical downpour.

For me, these are the tastes, sounds, and smells of summer. Now and of my childhood.

I couldn’t resist walking out into the yard, allowing the summer rain to soak my body just as I had done as a young boy back in Riverview.

The place has changed. The boy is now a man.

But some things remain untouched by time.

The freshness of summer rain. The smell of freshly cut grass. The sound of thunder in the distance. The taste of sweet tea over ice.

And for a brief moment, standing there as the heavens opened, I was both people at once.

Sunday Reflection — Still BecomingFrom the very beginning — at least the beginning I can remember — I’ve been becoming t...
31/05/2026

Sunday Reflection — Still Becoming

From the very beginning — at least the beginning I can remember — I’ve been becoming the person I am today.

I’ve always lived life with a sense of urgency. As a youngin’, it showed up as restlessness — wanting everything yesterday instead of tomorrow. I was always in a hurry to arrive somewhere, even if I didn’t yet know exactly where that was.

Looking back, maybe I was chasing independence. Maybe identity. Maybe I simply wanted to prove to myself that I could build a life of my own choosing.

A memory from the summer before I turned twelve comes to mind.

A family friend invited me to travel to London, then up through the English countryside to Glasgow to visit her daughter. The moment I heard about the opportunity, I wanted it desperately. But I didn’t want to depend on anyone else to make it happen.

So I bought a lawnmower and spent the summer cutting grass in the Florida heat. By the end of it, I’d saved $2,200 and paid my own way.

Even then, I was chasing independence.

In my late teens and early twenties, that same energy carried me into real estate. At eighteen, I found my first property. Until the deal closed, I could hardly sit still. Before one project was finished, I was already searching for the next one.

Then came Costa Rica.

By my early thirties, after my first trip here, I knew life was shifting again. That same restless pull — the one that had followed me since childhood — pushed me toward a different country, a different rhythm, a different version of myself.

And somehow, now in my fifties, that feeling still remains.

Not anxiety. Not dissatisfaction. Something else.

A quiet understanding that life is still unfolding.

I still feel the urge to live fully, to experience deeply, to keep growing into myself. Maybe even more now, because time feels more valuable than it once did. But age changes the texture of urgency. You begin valuing your days differently. Your tolerance for the meaningless thins out. You become more protective of your peace, your energy, your time.

And maybe that’s one of the gifts of getting older.

You eventually realize you never fully arrive.

You don't stop becoming.

Somewhere along the way you start being.

And at the end of the day, I can say — I’m just so proud to be here.

30/05/2026

Livin' la vida loca!

28/05/2026

This is the Pura Vida lifestyle....

It's a beautiful morning!
25/05/2026

It's a beautiful morning!

Sunday Reflections | Morning PeopleYesterday morning I woke up at 4:30 a.m. That’s not unusual, but it’s also not my dai...
24/05/2026

Sunday Reflections | Morning People

Yesterday morning I woke up at 4:30 a.m. That’s not unusual, but it’s also not my daily ritual.

The light had already begun to seep through the crack in my bedroom shades and the sound of roosters announcing a new day. I made my way to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee — grown just down the hill.

As I looked across the front lawn, I could see birds grazing and the dew laying heavily on the tender shoots of the rose garden. The sun’s first rays were peeking from behind the Irazú Volcano.

It’s a peaceful time of the morning.

There’s a stillness to life, a silence from the intrusion of man.

It’s a feeling more than anything.

As I poured a cup of coffee, the feeling took me back to my childhood. Not to one single relived memory, but rather a flood of memories connected to that mystical, pre-dawn hour.

As a little boy, I can remember the sound of my father in the kitchen as he filled his tall, blue mercury-glass-lined thermos with coffee before heading off to work. The sound of a drawer opening, the clanking of a spoon in the sugar dish, and the smell of fresh brewed coffee.

I’d wake up and ask him if I could carry the thermos to his truck for him.

I can still feel the cool dampness of the grass beneath my feet.

A similar memory immediately followed — one from having spent the night with Grandma Murphy.

She always rose before the sun, collected her Tampa Tribune from the front doorstep, and sat in the kitchen on an old wooden stool browsing the morning paper. The oven door would be cracked open slightly, taking the chill out of the crisp morning air.

Trying to drift back to sleep, I could hear the stool slide across the floorboards and the old wood creak as she stepped down, followed by the heavy sound of a cast-iron skillet landing on the stovetop.

The smell of bacon grease was soon followed by the smell of fresh bread.
She was making hoe-cake to eat with homemade guava jelly.

I couldn’t resist the smell and wandered into the kitchen, one eye opened and one eye closed.

“Good morning, honey,” she’d say. “Did I wake you up? Are you hungry?”

There’s something almost sacred about that hour of the morning — as though life itself is still waking slowly.

It grounds me.

It aligns me for the day ahead in a way waking after sunrise never quite can.

It’s when my creative thoughts begin to flow naturally, without effort.

Maybe that’s because those early hours don’t feel rushed or performative.

It’s the essence of inhabiting life — not merely surviving it.

And perhaps that’s the real gift of mornings like these.

Not productivity.

Not discipline.

Presence.

Sunday Reflections | Softening the EdgesLife requires contrast. Soft edges… and sometimes sharp corners.This thought fol...
17/05/2026

Sunday Reflections | Softening the Edges

Life requires contrast. Soft edges… and sometimes sharp corners.

This thought followed me through my walk this morning and somehow brought me back to the garden once again.

When I’m pruning roses or deadheading blooms, wanting everything uniform and tidy, I still hear my mother’s voice: “Find the first set of five leaves and cut on a diagonal just above them.”

Precise. Intentional. Ordered.

And then I think about standing in my grandmother’s kitchen years ago, wanting exact measurements for biscuits while flour dusted the countertops and her hands. She’d simply hold up her fingers coated in lard and say: “You need about that much.”

No measuring spoon. No recipe card. Just instinct born from repetition and time.

Funny how wisdom is passed down that way.

Some lessons arrive with sharp lines and exact instructions. Others are absorbed slowly through feel, rhythm, and experience.

Even old sayings come back to me now differently than they once did. When I worried too much about all the “what ifs” in life, I can still hear Grandma Murphy saying: “Honey, if that old ‘if’ wasn’t there, this old world would be a different place.”

Back then it sounded funny.

Now I understand it was acceptance.

Perhaps that’s one of life’s quiet lessons: not everything is meant to be controlled into perfect symmetry.

Even the landscaping around our home reminded me of this recently. I originally wanted the borders straight and crisp, following the exact footprint of the house. But when the lines softened and curved naturally, somehow everything felt more alive.

Costa Rica teaches this too.

This place will soften your edges if you let it. If you resist entirely — if you demand rigid control over every outcome, every inconvenience, every uncertainty — eventually it has a way of breaking you.

Rain comes when it comes. Gardens grow how they grow. Life unfolds imperfectly.

And maybe wisdom isn’t becoming entirely soft or entirely hard.

Maybe it’s simply learning which edges deserve each.

At some point, it becomes less about where you are…and more about where you’re going.The decisions that matter most are ...
15/05/2026

At some point, it becomes less about where you are…

and more about where you’re going.

The decisions that matter most are rarely loud or dramatic.�They often begin as a quiet shift—�a different pace,�a different environment,�a clearer sense of how you want life to feel.

Over the years, we’ve learned that the people who make the move to places like Atenas aren’t chasing something.

They’re choosing something.

And that distinction changes everything.

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Martes 09:00 - 17:00
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Jueves 09:00 - 17:00
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