THE FERN IS AS GOOD AS DEAD
Doug was still annoyed later that evening when Elliott Stein, his friend and neighbor, stopped by after work. They had met several years earlier when they moved into neighboring townhomes. They were about the same age, and they both loved sports. When Doug wasn’t too busy with Mooseland business and Elliott got a break from his CPA workload, they spent hours yelling at Doug’s big screen over scored points, missed attempts, and bad calls.
“I’ve only got a few minutes, but I thought I’d see if you were popping the champagne, Mr. CEO.”
Doug had noticed that since Nan’s death, Elliott had come around a few times to say hello and see if he needed anything. During one of those visits, Doug had mentioned the upcoming meeting at Tommy’s. “It’s just a formality,” he had told Elliott confidently. “I didn’t think I’d be a CEO this early in life, but I’m ready.”
As it turned out, it hadn’t been just a formality.
“You won’t believe what happened,” Doug exclaimed as he grabbed a couple of microbrews from the refrigerator and headed toward the atrium patio. Elliott listened as Doug began a resentful account of the day. “First, it was my relatives. I can’t believe what she gave to them. And get a load of this.” Doug held up the journal he had begun scribbling in.
“What is it?” Elliott asked.
“It’s a journal from Nan. She wants me to record truths revealed during my leadership legacy journey. This letter explains it.” Doug handed the journal and Nan’s letter to Elliott. “The board is going to decide if I have what it takes. Why would she do this?”
Elliott read the journal inscription and scanned the letter. “I’m sorry things didn’t go like you thought they would. I spoke with Nan a lot that weekend we moved in. I have no doubt that she was proud of you. I think she was your biggest fan.”
“Funny way to show it. Nan always had these weird ideas about sending me away to do things so I would learn something by doing them. Yak riding. White water rafting . . .“
“She sent you yak riding?” Elliott asked, laughing.
“No, but she might just as well have,” Doug muttered. “I don’t get it.”
“Sounds like she wanted you to have the best the world has to offer. Let me ask you, did you dive into the experiences Nan arranged, or did you view those adventures as tasks on a checklist?”
“You know how it is. A successful business can’t be built by someone who’s not at work. I figured she wanted me to have little breaks here and there so I could come back fresh and ready to go.”
“Knowing Nan, I suspect she had a little more than R&R in mind for you. Maybe your adventures were designed with another purpose in mind, some personal or professional growth perhaps? Have you ever thought about the differences between a journey and a vacation?”
“No, I guess not,” Doug answered.
“When you take a vacation, you know when it starts and when it’s over. There’s a sense of putting your everyday life on hold and ignoring it for a while, but your intention is to return to where you started. With a journey, there’s no predetermined destination or time frame and your everyday life is part of the trip. The focus is more on what you do along the way. Could it be that those adventures were Nan’s way of attempting to jump-start a journey for you?”
Doug looked up at Elliott. He couldn’t disagree.
“It sounds like your future—and Mooseland’s future, for that matter—depends on your willingness to go along with her journey request.”
“How will the board know what I’ve done to comply with her request? Will they take turns trailing me over the next six months? It sounds far-fetched.”
“Nan obviously thought this was important enough to wager some pretty big chips. I don’t believe she would have done this if she didn’t have confidence in you and the board.”
Doug shrugged.
“The journal seems like a good idea,” Elliott added.
“Why?”
“Who knows? Later on you might enjoy reminiscing about ‘the early days,’” he said, grinning. Then, more seriously, he added, “Nan’s inscription says that you are to write ‘the truth.’”
“Yeah, look at page 1 and you’ll see the truth.”
Elliott read Doug’s scrawled words.
I do not know what to write except that I think the idea of keeping this journal is crap. I have no idea what a leadership legacy is, I have no idea how people would remember me if I left this Earth today, and I don’t care.
Elliott appeared to be amused by Doug’s words. “Well, it’s a start.” As Elliott got up to leave, he glanced at the fern perched precariously on the counter in the dark and windowless butler’s pantry. “I saw that fern on the way in and wondered where you got it. I was pretty sure you hated that kind of thing.”
“Definitely not my idea,” Doug sulked.
“Well, if you decide to spare its life, you might want to move it to a spot where it will get a little bit of light. Just a thought.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” said Doug absently.
After Elliott left, Doug picked up the journal and replayed the day’s images for the hundredth time, hoping to be struck by a bolt of understanding. Nan. Tommy. Adoi. The board. His relatives.
“Don’t be so hard on them,” Nan had told him once after he’d complained about his cousins. “People tend to do the best they can with what they have. They are decent people. They do try.”
“Try? They’re horrible, Nan.”
She had smiled at him. “Maybe it’s not that they’re so horrible but that you haven’t taken the time to really understand them,” she had said.
“How is it that every time I criticize someone you turn it around so it’s me that’s being criticized?” he had asked.
“Just be the man you’re capable of being. You know what I mean.”
He wanted to be the man she thought he could be. But, in truth, he often didn’t know what she meant. Frankly, he thought he was becoming the man she envisioned. Hadn’t he put in his time learning?
He had swept the shop floors, worked at the kiln, delivered mail, typed, and filed. If he ever expressed frustration or impatience while working those mundane jobs, she silenced him quickly.
“I want you to understand what it means to work, Doug. I want you to understand what this place means to the people who dedicate their time and energy to its success— not just what it means to you and me, the ones who benefit most from its financial rewards and its good name.”
Nan had been relentless in seeking ways to make sure he learned “life lessons.”
“Doug, you will take over Mooseland one day. Your success and Mooseland’s success will depend on your understanding what I’m trying to teach you. You’ve got to take me seriously.”
He had rolled his eyes. “Not another lecture,” he had moaned good-naturedly. “Besides, I’m at the top of my class at college. I’ll be ready.”
“Darling, you need to be so much more than what you’re learning in school. One of these days, I might decide to retire and Mooseland will need a new leader. Your education and your experience do not ensure your leadership capability.”
“Okay, okay,” he’d said, seeing how adamant she was. But he’d said it only to pacify her.
Doug would always remember Nan as a no-nonsense sort of woman. People were dealt all sorts of hardships, but she was determined to meet life head-on with character, no matter the circumstance. Development of character, in her mind, required challenges and adventures. While his friends were traveling through Europe during the summer after high school, she had arranged for him to work on a Montana ranch. Any boyhood fantasies he had about the lure of the Old West were quickly replaced by the realities of 5:00 A.M. wake-up calls and painful blisters. He quickly decided that digging postholes and building fences was no way for him to spend a lifetime, and he eagerly returned home at summer’s end.
“Look at my hands,” he had complained when he came home. “These calluses are huge.”
She had smiled. “I bet you dig the straightest post-holes in all of Montana.”
Doug looked down at his hands. Those blisters and calluses—they were only the beginning of your plans for me, weren’t they?