第4章 chapter two

EVERY JOURNEY BEGINS WITH ONE STEP

Driving away from Tommy’s office was a blur for Doug. What just happened? Why would Nan, whom I trusted and loved more than anyone else, do this to me? How am I supposed to discover my leadership legacy?

“I’ll quit, that’s what I’ll do. I love Mooseland but I don’t have to work there.” Even as he said these words, he knew they were hollow. He cared about Mooseland and he wanted to do right by Nan, but what was she asking him to do?

As Doug zoomed past the manicured streetscape, his thoughts softened a bit as he remembered happier days. “My, aren’t you full of yourself,” Nan had teased, “but I love you just the same.” On other occasions, he would carry on about a mistake this person had made or a crazy idea that that person had proposed, and she would simply give him a loving pat on the cheek. In more serious moments, like the one a few weeks earlier, she had responded to one of his tirades with a tone that still disarmed him. “I love you,” she had said softly, “not only for the person you are but for the person I know you’ll become.”

Returning to the present, he glanced at the empty journal flung carelessly on the seat beside him. His thoughts returned to the letter and the journey that Nan had planned for him. “Nan,” he said aloud, “my leadership legacy? What is this all about?”

Truth Seekers Garden Center

Doug liked to solve problems with immediate action. If this was what Nan wanted, then so be it. It was Friday. He could handle a few items at the office, pick up his dry cleaning, and check out the garden center on the way home.

The sun was beginning to set as he approached the garden center. He found it easily and stopped safely away from other parked vehicles. Doug was not about to subject his car’s flawless exterior to the assault of carelessly opened doors and recklessly piloted shopping carts.

The Truth Seekers Garden Center was busy as veteran landscapers and novice gardeners filled baskets and carts, intent on beautifying some corner of the world. Rows of perennials, annuals, and hanging baskets ready for adoption boasted all the rainbow’s colors.

As Doug walked through the outside displays, pungent scents of soil, cedar mulch, and blooms engulfed him. He turned and looked at the panorama surrounding the garden center. There was a magnificence here that he had not noticed when he first pulled into the parking lot. Nan had loved the beauty of this part of the country and had often said that once she’d seen it, she knew she had found her new home. Perhaps it was this very view that had welcomed her so many years ago. Realizing he had heard Nan tell her stories for the last time, Doug’s mood melted into sadness.

He made his way around the browsers and eventually found the entrance to the main building, recessed behind protective Victorian-style brick arches. As he came closer to the heart of the nursery, he overheard a young couple discussing their future. What about me? What does this place have to do with me and my future as a leader and CEO? At the main counter, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the business card. He studied the name printed on it: “Adoi, Master Gardener.”

“May I help you?”

Doug found himself facing a woman with chocolate-colored skin holding a large fern, similar to the fern imprinted on the business card.

“I’m looking for Adoi,” Doug said.

The woman smiled. “I am Adoi. I have been expecting you, Doug.”

His mouth opened but, uncharacteristically, no words escaped.

Adoi smiled but said nothing.

“How did you know . . . ?” he asked slowly.

“I feel as if I know you.”

Doug felt his head swimming. He wanted to turn and run. From what? Adoi? The Truth Seekers Garden Center? What kind of name is that for a garden center?

“Please follow me,” Adoi said. He followed her as she walked leisurely along the path, deeper and deeper into what seemed to Doug to be a mysterious paradise.

Adoi remained quiet as she led the way. Why am I following this woman? What does she have to do with Nan’s journey assignment? Is she some kind of leadership legacy tour guide?

As if reading his thoughts, Adoi stopped and turned to Doug. “I knew your aunt Nan. She was a wonderful woman,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry for your loss. It is very difficult to say good-bye to someone who was so central in your life.” Doug thought he noticed a tinge of sadness as she spoke. Her next words brought him up short. “Her legacy to all who knew her is so positive, so admirable.”

Doug was about to reply, but Adoi had already turned and begun to walk again. It sounds like Adoi had been close with Nan, yet I know nothing of her or of this garden center. This is crazy.

She went around a display of plants depicting a high-country meadow and then passed through a wrought iron gate that was partially hidden by thick greenery. As he approached the gate, he noticed an engraved plate affixed to the ornamental iron. A fern was etched into an upper corner of the plate that read “Welcome Truth Seekers.”

But it was the appearance of Nan’s phrase below that numbed Doug: “Every journey begins with one step.”

Adoi led him to a pavilion situated in a clearing where several paths converged. At the center of the pavilion were an ornate wrought iron table and two chairs. Adoi took a seat and motioned to Doug to do the same.

Doug began to sit but then stopped. He eyed the iced tea pitcher resting on the table. A beautiful, signature moose from Mooseland Stoneware adorned the distinctive pitcher and the mugs waiting to be filled. He raised his eyes and saw that Adoi was watching him. “I don’t understand.” Even before he finished the sentence, he noticed other Mooseland pieces. Bird feeders graced the branches of the old oak tree, and whimsical garden creatures hung from trellises and pillars overrun with climbing roses and ivy.

Why wasn’t I aware of this place? They must be a large account.

“Please sit down,” Adoi said as she again motioned to the empty chair.

Doug nodded and eased himself down into the chair as Adoi poured iced tea into the mugs.

“Back there, you said you knew Nan and that you’ve been expecting me. How is that possible?”

“Your aunt was a gifted gardener. She came by nearly every week to nurture this garden. Over the past few years, we became good friends.”

Doug looked around. “This garden? I didn’t realize.”

“You know that Nan loved gardening, right?”

He nodded. Of course he knew. Whenever she had a moment of free time, she was outside, working in her garden. The garden event center and offices of Mooseland were proof positive of Nan’s green thumb.

“I’ve been expecting you because of your aunt’s letter.”

“You know about the letter? First Tommy and now you. Did everyone know about the letter but me?”

“Those of us who loved your aunt knew. But not because she betrayed any trust. Your aunt would never have done such a thing.”

“I know that,” he said guardedly.

“We could never have known Nan without knowing you—you were such a vital part of her life—even if you did not know us.”

“Yeah, well that doesn’t explain much,” Doug replied. “What is it that Nan wants from me? Will I discover my leadership legacy from you? Is that why I’m here?”

“Perhaps it is what your aunt wants for you,” Adoi suggested gently. “Nan lived her leadership legacy. She always hoped you would do the same.”

“Why would I worry about living my leadership legacy when I had not been given a leadership role? Nan was the leader. My job was to crunch numbers.”

“Perhaps your definition of leadership is a bit narrow.”

Doug felt a pang of resentment at Adoi’s comment. What right does she have to counsel me? We’ve known each other less than an hour. She’s what? Maybe ten years older than me? She’s a gardener. What qualifies her as an authority on Nan or my leadership legacy?

“Look, I thought Nan wanted success for me. I thought she wanted me to take over Mooseland. If you know about the letter, then you know there’s a hitch. I have six months to accomplish Nan’s mission of constructing a leadership legacy. Why do I need a leadership legacy? Aren’t legacies for old people? I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. Your business card was attached to Nan’s letter. So, I took ‘one step in my so-called journey’ and here I am.”

They sat silently for several moments. Finally, Doug spoke. “No secret leadership legacy formula? No words of truth?”

“Words of truth,” Adoi’s voice mimicked Doug’s inflection, but, unlike his voice, Adoi’s tone was calm. “You know, the truth is, Nan had exceptional abilities. All these trees and plants you see here benefited from her guidance. She paid attention to them and learned the best way to nourish each one.”

Doug shook his head. “I agree that Nan was a great gardener. What is the point?”

“Living things are not carbon copies of one another,” Adoi continued. “One regimen of care does not benefit all plants; soil, light, moisture, and temperature must be tailored to each plant’s specific needs. Some living things survive in extraordinary circumstances, but if our goal is to thrive and to encourage those around us to thrive, we must consider individual needs. Would you treat an oak tree like you would treat a rose?”

“I am sure that your intention is to help me. But—”

“Your aunt had a special affection for this oak tree,” Adoi said, rising and gesturing toward a large tree to Doug’s left. “She regarded it as majestic yet humble because it provides shelter for some of nature’s more fragile creations, allowing them to mature and thrive. Nan was strong and powerful, yet she constantly found ways to attend to those around her so that they, too, could blossom.

“I believe her understanding of nature was a model for her approach to life. For example, perhaps you can appreciate the good fortune of an orphaned infant who was blessed with a loving relative, one who provided him sanctuary and dedicated her life to nurturing his.”

“I know what my aunt did for me,” Doug said impatiently. “But what does Nan’s green thumb and her affection for an oak tree have to do with my leadership legacy and becoming CEO of Mooseland?”

“I think Nan would be impressed by your question. Indeed, what do a CEO and a master gardener have in common?”

“Am I supposed to take up gardening to find out?”

Adoi fingered a nearby fern. “Isn’t this plant beautiful?” she asked. “Healthy and thriving.”

“Yes, it’s a very nice plant,” Doug answered in a patronizing voice. “Beyond that, I’m afraid I’m not much of a horticulture expert. As you’ve pointed out, Nan was the plant aficionado in our family.”

Adoi persisted. “Come closer and tell me what you see.”

Doug decided the quickest way to finish this meeting was to do as Adoi asked. Rising and stepping toward the plant, Doug said, “Well, it’s green and it appears to be some kind of fern.”

“That’s a good start. This is a Microlepia strigosa,” Adoi said as she gently misted the fronds with a hand sprayer. “This is just one of thousands of species of ferns in the world today. What else do you notice?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Doug replied.

“Different plants require different environments to thrive. Tell me about this plant’s environment. What do you notice about the soil and light? Go ahead, touch it. I promise you it is not poisonous.”

“Okay, I’ll play,” Doug began, shaking his head. “The soil is moist and breaks apart easily.” Surveying the surroundings, he added, “The fern is mostly in shade. There’s a lot of breeze out there,” he said, pointing to the screened outer walls, “but it is sheltered back here.” Pleased with himself, Doug turned to Adoi. “Is that what you were looking for?”

“Not bad for your first time. Perhaps you are more of a plant aficionado than you realize,” Adoi complimented him with a friendly smile. “You paused long enough from your busy schedule and used your senses to observe another living thing’s growth.”

Doug was unprepared for what happened next. Lifting it from its safe haven, Adoi placed the cumbersome planter containing the fern in Doug’s hands. Not giving him a chance to refuse the gift, Adoi stated, “With you as its caretaker, this plant will continue to thrive because you know what it needs to flourish.”

Looking at Adoi through the fronds that partially covered his face, Doug protested. “Adoi, you must be joking. I can’t take this plant. I have never cared for plants, and I don’t know the first thing about them. Trust me, this plant means more to you than it does to me. You can’t seriously think I can keep this thing alive!”

Adoi moved to another fern and began tending to that one as she had the previous one. “You are right that I have enjoyed watching that fern grow for many years. But it will live with you now.”

“Adoi, really . . .” Doug was trying to balance the unwieldy pot and follow Adoi.

“Sometimes, Doug, we become caretakers unexpectedly. Unforeseen circumstances place us in a position to be responsible for people and things that were once lovingly tended by another.”

Adoi turned and faced Doug, then sealed the terms of their arrangement. “Declining or evading such a responsibility is not an option. Instead, our duty is to provide an environment that ensures the continued growth of that which has been entrusted to us. You have six months before the board meeting. Mooseland Stoneware will flourish under the leadership of someone who understands this: A large part of gardening is figuring out what you want to grow and providing an environment that is conducive to that growth.

“Sometimes we must observe how others have achieved goals that mirror our own. There is someone you should meet.” Adoi drew a business card from her pocket and handed it to Doug.

She turned and started to leave but paused long enough to declare a challenge. “The next CEO of Moose-land Stoneware will become its leader and the custodian of its future—an enviable yet momentous responsibility. I hope that such a person would not be bested by a potted fern.”

Doug noticed at once that the image of a fern was embossed in the upper right corner of the card. While he read it, Adoi departed through a screen door. Their meeting was over.