I was fifteen the summer I got my first job at Hollandia Nursery in Bethel, Connecticut. I still remember the smell of peat moss and pine bark, the early morning truck deliveries, and the rows of perennials waiting for a place in someone’s garden. I didn’t know it then, but that was the first time I saw agriculture not as something “out there,” but as something alive—something I could be part of.
At first, I was just trying to earn a paycheck. But over time, I started learning the difference between a hemlock and an arborvitae, how to wrap root balls in burlap, how to speak to customers with muddy boots and weathered hands. I learned to listen to the seasons, not just the clock. And I started to realize that people who work with plants often carry a deeper story—one rooted in patience, care, and quiet resilience.
I didn’t grow up on a farm. I didn’t inherit a legacy of land. But that job gave me something just as valuable: a way in. It taught me to pay attention. To appreciate complexity. And most of all, to see agriculture not just as an industry, but as a way of being in the world.
That memory sticks with me. Not because it’s dramatic, but because it’s ordinary—and that’s the point. Agriculture is full of quiet beginnings. No two are the same, but all of them matter. Whether your roots are in research, policy, production, or a backyard garden, your story deserves a place in this larger conversation.
Looking back now, I see that my first job didn’t just introduce me to agriculture—it introduced me to a way of working that honored relationships. Not just between people, but between people and place. That’s something I’ve carried into every season of my career. The deeper insight is this: agriculture is never just about what we grow. It’s about how we grow as people, in relationship with the world around us.
What This Taught Me
When we start from the ground up—literally—we learn humility. No task is too small. No knowledge is beneath us. In fact, the strongest leaders I know in agriculture are the ones who never forgot how to dig a hole, water a seedling, or listen to someone explain how they prune. If you want to lead in this field, start by honoring the basics. The way you do the small things will shape how you’re trusted with the big ones.
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