“You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl.”
– Anonymous
I’ve now lived outside of the Midwest longer than I lived in it growing up, but the Great Plains states (or “fly-over states” depending on your perspective) will always be my home.
A 90’s Country Ride in my morning cycling workout or an encounter with a tourist with that distinctive Minnesotan accent looking for help is just as likely to bring me back to my youth. In these moments, the New Yorker in me fades away and I am reminded that my country roots run deep.
Every morning in the summer time, my mother and I would saddle up the horses and go riding. My sisters participated for many years as well, and we always went in age order. Hours would go by as I patiently (or not so patiently), waited for my turn. As my sisters grew up, gradually lost interest, and moved out of the house, it was a ritual Mom and I maintained and cherished even through my college years.
Some of my favorite conversations with my mom took place on horseback as we walked along a country dirt road. We’d canter alongside the edge of a wheat field, head lifted and heels to the ground, balancing in our stirrups.
I felt alive and free, with the wind blowing in my hair and my horse’s mane billowing to the rhythm of her gait. Occasionally we’d see a family of deer or a fawn jump up from a resting place as we passed by.
These daily adventures together were just one of the incredible ways my mother found to connect with me, even in those dicey teenager years, and to remind me that I was loved and to dream big.
Seeing my love of horses, my mom brought me to the Walsh County Fair when I was probably six or seven to watch the 4-H horse-showing competitions. We pet each horse and talked to the rider before he or she headed into the arena. Mom brought me through the barn and talked to the other parents.
When we got home that night, she asked me if showing was something I’d want to get involved with. Before the night was over, she was on the phone gathering information on the local 4-H club that specialized in horses, the Walsh Wranglers.
In the years that followed, that 4-H club was my introduction to governance and traditional meeting etiquette (i.e., do we have a motion to approve “old business” and move onto “new business”?). I worked my way up through the officer roles during elementary and middle school, serving as president for at least two years towards high school.
While the appeal of horse showing is what got me into 4-H, I learned a lot more from the various lesson plans about both life skills and the basics of business and entrepreneurship.
The 4-H year culminated in the annual fall County Fair, where we each lined up to speak to the judges about our projects. You’d be awarded $3 for a blue ribbon, $2 for a red ribbon, and $1 for a white ribbon. The pay-out was even higher if you received “grand prize” or “honorable mention,” with the bonus that you got beautiful a deep purple or lavender rosette ribbon and the pride of its being on display.
As rich as I felt then, as a ten year old with $50+ in my pocket, now I can only imagine what my parents spent on the supplies that went into each project. My parents always let me keep the full amount earned to award my hard work. My sweet mother keeps my childhood room with rosette ribbons adorning my canopy bed as a shrine harkening back to this phase of my childhood.
Reflecting on those interviews with judges where I needed to explain my process and field difficult questions, it was very formative. While I’m not quite sure how yet, it is something I want to build into my children’s lives as they figure out their own passions and extracurricular activities.
I also grew up a lot at the county fair each year. Left to explore the fairgrounds with my friends over a three-day holiday weekend, we entertained ourselves with the usual festivities–the potato peeling contest, mashed potato wrestling, and the annual Dance in the Dirt on closing night. A member of my extended family was never too far away, so it was a pseudo-supervised long leash, and I really appreciated the independence.
The love of hard work, the core values of faith and family, and the importance of being a good neighbor are life lessons that are hardwired into you when you grow up on a farm. I remember bringing my father meals out to the field and hopping in the tractor with him. I’d sit on his lap to get some quality time in as we watched the sunset over the field.
My father worked hard all year long, but when the crops were ready it was go time, and as a family, we raced against the changing seasons and the threat of bad weather to harvest our investment. In this modeling, I saw early on what became my core concept: “Family comes first; career enables family.”
The Kingsbury Company is still in operation (run by my cousin, Barry Kingsbury), and grows wheat, chipping potatoes (for potato chips), sugar beets, and soy beans.
Being true to these old-fashioned values in my work has helped me even in a vastly different corporate environment in New York City. People are people and hard work is hard work no matter where you go.
I once had the most senior executive at our Brooklyn campus tell me years after the fact that I was one of the few people she knew she could fully trust as we were partnering on a full asset merger deal. “You gave us the benefit of the doubt and assumed competency and positive intent until you were proved otherwise. For many people, it’s the other way around.”
I have a farmhouse-style plaque hanging above the door of my kitchen that I reference with my kids on an almost daily basis. It reads “Kindness matters.” In my experience, even working in the heart of Manhattan, this sentiment holds true.
I’ve come a long way in discerning and navigating interactions with those who may try take advantage of this un-calloused outlook, but have decided that it is worth looking for the best in everyone. Even those who have developed some bad habits over the years are generally trying to do good and be good. Finding that common ground is important and helps me work effectively with just about anyone.
Perhaps most rewarding is helping cultivate leadership lessons through coaching members of my team and others who have reached out for mentorship. The farming metaphors run deep. Prepare the soil. Plant in fertile ground. Tend to the crop and fertilize it to maximize growth. Pull the weeds and fend off threats that might choke out the good. Harvest the yield. Celebrate its abundance and reinvest for the next season.
For my family, farming isn’t simply a job; it’s a vocation and a way of life. I feel most fulfilled in my own vocation as a business leader when I’m positively influencing others and helping them develop as leaders.
Put simply, my father grew potatoes, I grow people.
How have your roots (whether rural or urban) shaped you as an adult?
