@Flickr & Yogitiad

A few days ago I received a request from my cousin Vickie to record a favorite memory of my Uncle Melvin and Aunt Elsie Marie’s 500 acre farm in Hindsville, Arkansas. This family farm, like so many others, will turn into a major highway expansion. My Uncle and Aunt are forced to move away from the farm that has been home or home away from home for over 50 years to three generations of Scott & White family members. Imagine picking-up and moving in your 80′s from the home in which you’ve raised your children and reared your grandchildren and great-grandchildren for over 50 years.

Here is my favorite memory that will be shared one last Thanksgiving of that magical farm in the Ozark Mountain foothills.

About six-months ago I was asked to speak to a group of small business owners in Las Vegas. I thought I was going to speak on using new marketing channels for small business owners. Turns out, I was speaking about hope.

I spoke for an hour to over 500 people. Like many speaking events, it’s sometimes hard to gauge the audience interest. The hour ended without any big speaking mistakes: I didn’t fall off the stage or have my fly open or anything.

And then a lady asked me a question…

I could tell as soon as she grabbed the microphone that she was struggling in business, life, and even in asking this question. And sure enough, she never had a question, but rather just needed to publicly talk about how tough it is for her and her business right now. After she finished speaking I said, “You need an Uncle Melvin to chop down a tree for you.” You could have heard a pin drop. Her physical stature changed instantly as if she needed to stand taller to receive what I was getting ready to say next.

I said, “Mam, I’d like to share a story with you.” I considered saying to the group that I’d like to share a story, but it just sounded somehow disingenuous to me at the time.

I shared my story with the lady and I guess the other 499 other people.

When I was around 14 years old, I loved to spend time on my Uncle Melvin and Aunt Elsie Marie’s farm. I would ride an old motor cycle on the trails and then my Uncle would have me hop on the tractor with him to check-out the cows. About that time, I was learning to hunt; not very well, but I was learning. I wanted to be included in the annual hunting with my cousins Mick & Tim, & my father on Christmas Eve. Truth be told, I didn’t care if I killed anything as long as I didn’t kill one of them.

The day before Christmas Eve I stayed the night by myself at my Uncle & Aunt’s farm. I awakened early, grabbed my 22 caliber rifle, and began to walk the pastures. I shared that I remember that day so well that many times afterward when I was patrolling with a loaded M-16 in Iraq while serving as an Army officer, I felt the way I felt that day. My senses were more acute and my movements very deliberate. Even today, I go back in my mind to the exact moment when I saw the squirrel and pulled the trigger on my Uncle and Aunt’s farm. After the cracking sound of the bullet echoed against the Arkansas hills and then faded, I waited a second before finding my kill. I, or should I say, my ego needed that kill.

I searched but couldn’t find the squirrel.

I walked back to the house and told my Uncle Melvin that I killed a squirrel, but I could not find it anywhere. He said, “Yes, squirrels get caught in the tree all the time. That’s what happened for sure.” Uncle Melvin grabbed his coat and said, “c’mon, let’s get that squirrel.” I began to say, “Uncle Melvin, don’t worry about it. I probably missed it.” but before I could he said, “No, you got it.” He sounded so certain.

Uncle Melvin grabbed his chainsaw and told me to get on the tractor and take him to the site where I killed the squirrel. As we drove to the spot, I imagined that maybe the squirrel had fallen from the tree and was waiting for me and then I would be congratulated by Uncle Melvin. I would take it back to Aunt Elsie Marie and she would make biscuits and gravy and then I would know what it felt like to be a provider or at least that’s how I justified killing an animal with little actual meat.

So I thought…

We walked around the tree, but no squirrel. Uncle Melvin looked at me and said, “It’s up there and we will find it.” Before I could say, maybe I missed and just imagined I shot the squirrel, Uncle Melvin had the chainsaw started and was ripping into the good sized tree. He was cutting down a beautiful big tree based on my belief that I killed one squirrel. When the tree toppled to the ground, I had hope that I would find the squirrel amongst the fallen branches. We searched for around 30 minutes and saw no evidence of the squirrel.

Just as all hope was fading for me, Uncle Melvin said, “You know the squirrel was in the tree, but was most likely crushed under the tree when I cut it down.” When Uncle Melvin said it I actually convinced myself that I killed a squirrel that day and experienced a common post-kill event where me and thousands of other unlucky squirrel hunters were not able to fully celebrate our conquest because the squirrel died in a nest of branches and when your Uncle cuts down a beautiful tree on account of one squirrel that the odds of the tree smashing the squirrel stuck in the branches were actually very common.

I believed Uncle Melvin. I stopped doubting that I imagined shooting the squirrel. My mind confirmed I killed the squirrel and the doubt I experienced faded like the echo of the bullet that killed the squirrel.

Here’s what I think today…

I think Uncle Melvin knew that cutting down that tree on his farm would teach me a lesson as deep as the foundational roots that caused that tree to stand straight and tall amongst the other trees. In some ways, I think both the squirrel and my concept of hope were saved that day thanks to Uncle Melvin.

After my talk and answering a bunch of questions, I saw the lady who shared her challenges with myself and the audience waiting nervously at the back of the room. She waited till everyone had left and then she approached me very cautiously. I didn’t say a word and then she hugged me and began to cry. I was still wearing a microphone on my lapel, so her sobbing filled the room as others walked in the room to hear the next speaker.

Lisa gathered herself and looked at me and said, “Thanks, I needed that story of hope. It’s been really tough.”

But wait, it ends on a funny and happy note…

Lisa walked away and I was gathering my laptop when a gentlemen in a suit walked up to me and said, “how am I supposed to top that?” I didn’t think much of it until I started to walk out of the conference center and then noticed he was on stage as the next speaker.

How will you offer hope to a business owner?

Are you able to receive hope from another?