Won't you be my neighbor?

When I joined Skinner Nurseries in September I bought a new pair of work boots. My old ones were falling apart.

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I received my Skinner apparel (shirts, hats and a jacket). I was also presented a brand-new, shiny BlackBerry. It’s now permanently attached to my body like a remora.

But there was something else I acquired when I joined Skinner -- new neighbors. The 10-acre wholesale nursery in Garland, Texas, has about six residences adjacent to its southern property line.

And let’s just say these people weren’t thrilled when Skinner construction began in 2007. They were used to having an open field over their back fences. Now they had giant, loud machines grading the property six days a week.

In all my years visiting nurseries around the country, I’ve seen lots of ways to deal with neighbors. The most common is, “We were here first. They knew the nursery was here when they bought their homes.” I don’t have that luxury.

Misinformed hysteria

I’ve heard plenty of horror stories of how bad neighbors meant serious headaches -- and sometimes lawsuits -- for nursery managers. A favorite story came from a propagation facility in California.

It seems a hysterical woman came tearing into the nursery and confronted the owner. “You’re poisoning us all!”

When the owner asked what the woman meant, she pointed over to a vat where the company steam-sterilized its media. She’d seen the harmless water vapor and assumed it was deadly gas.

The problem is that, these days, most people know nothing about nursery production or even agriculture in general. They almost always assume the worst.

Reaching out

I received lots of advice on dealing with my new neighbors. Some said leave them alone and forget them. The less they know, the better.

But, in my experience, the nurseries that are most open and honest with neighbors have the least trouble. I decided I was going to reach out and tell them exactly how we did business and why.

I arranged my first visit on a weekend while the site was still under construction. They pulled up in four cars and their faces were sour. They didn’t like Skinner, and they didn’t like me.

But in my most kind demeanor I told them about the company, about myself, where I lived, what church I attended and how we were going to operate.

I answered all their questions, and the subject of chemicals came up quickly. I told them that, as a distribution center, we weren’t in the business of nursing sick plants back to health. If something gets diseased, we’ll likely chunk it rather than treat it with fungicides.

I told them we’d be using Roundup for weeds and we treat plants for fire ant if we ship anything out of the quarantine zone. But the products we use were no more dangerous than the stuff you buy at the hardware store. Plus we had a licensed pesticide applicator on staff so we were likely using these products more safely than many others living in the neighborhood.

The more we talked, the more at ease they became. The sour faces turned to smiles. We laughed, joked and had fun. When I told them I’d be willing, once a year, to host a neighborhood association meeting in an open, shady area on the nursery property, they became really excited.

One of them actually said, “This is going to be great.”

It’s really easy to be angry with a corporation. It’s harder to be mad at a person. It’s really hard to be angry with a person you like.

So when these neighbors look over their fences, they don’t see an evil, faceless corporation anymore. They see a nursery that’s managed by a guy named Todd, who they can call any time if they have a problem.

And now, if you’ll forgive me, my remora is ringing.

Limerick

This old oak...

This oak tree has me in a funk.

My customers call it real junk.

It has a nice head,

Good fullness and spread,

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But it has a big scar on its trunk.

- Todd Davis

April 2008