Closing the Gate.

Most children see their fathers off to undefined jobs in highly manufactured, controlled environments, and are disconnected with the work that provides for them. For years, I was fortunate to work alongside my father in unique and challenging situations, and am significantly richer for my experiences. I'm glad I'm at an age when I can appreciate fully the impact of my work, and to see it not just as a piece of beautiful land to which I reported often for many summers, but as interconnected to everything I will do in my lifetime. Much of what I've learned, I've learned at Hild and Associates.

1. Change is the only constant.
Hild and Associates began as a lawn-care company, moved more towards irrigation systems, to prairie and wetland restoration, to producing liquid and solid solutions for sediment control. It operates as a global-business now. My father imports materials from around the world, and distributes them widely. There's small chance that, in his twenties, he envisioned such a transformation, but as a self-made man, he has remained ahead of the curve, finding niche markets in which to work, building the company from a few riding lawnmowers to a bustling nursery, to eventually selling his product to places like Joe Robbie Stadium in Florida, home of baseball's Marlins.

2. Integrity means everything.
My father is the most honorable man I know. He conducts business the way it's supposed to be done; with a handshake, a smile, and eye-contact, he has earned his customers' trust one trade-show at a time. This used to drive me crazy. I couldn't understand why we couldn't cut corners sometimes, or close early on Fridays, when my friends were already at the bar. Every teenager feels this way, of course, but my father never wavered, fighting fatigue with indefatigable energy that he somehow summoned from somewhere deep inside himself. Even when the rest of us withered in the heat, complaining about bugs or inclement working conditions, he pressed forward. I always knew when he needed a break when he would emerge from the barn, scythe in hand, to take out his aggression on thistles that grew in the field. The product we delivered was always satisfactory, even when it was crushed slightly by heavy wooden shelves in a bouncing trailer on the way to Detroit. The farm was a reflection on all of us, and our product a proud extension.

3. Things are always better with a cat around.
R.I.P., Khunta Kitty, the best barn-cat who ever lived. Somewhere, his spirit sits proudly beneath a towering pine on a warm summer's day, waiting to have his head scratched.

4. Business is personal.
Especially when it's a family cooperative. My mother, sister, her friends, and me and mine; all of us contributed over many years towards the company's success. People eventually drifted to other things, but I'm sure they still remember fondly the times we shared, working outside in so many scenic locations, getting to know each other as we better understood ourselves. Our coworkers became our friends, and our friends became like family. When our large greenhouse was destroyed by high winds, it was like we had lost one of our own, but we were supported by volunteers who helped with the cleanup, and rebuilding.

When I started working professionally, I tried my best to recall the way my Dad dealt with customers; as friends and confidants, not just as numbers and crass sales opportunities. And you know, it worked pretty well. Still, I'm not my father. When he eventually sells the land, Hild and Associates will, and should, go with him. For everything he's done to develop his business since the early 1980s, he's irreplaceable.

When, just two weeks ago, I finished helping my Dad for what might be the last time, I fought back tears, and choked-up when we embraced. There's a lot of emotion in that place, and the memories run deep with names, faces, stories, sweat, sunburns and laughter. Oh, and plenty of grass clippings, Salted Nut Rolls, respect, and love.