Baking Soda in the Flour Jar
This Friday morning is dawning with clear skies and the day promises to be a great end of the week. I am enjoying my coffee as I listen to the birds around the patio while my wife and son skitter about in the house preparing for their day. As I sit here with the warm mug in my hand on a chilly morning my thoughts turn to a conversation I had with my wife last night relating to silos and how we pigeonhole people.
Last week I attended a public meeting of the plan commission in a county where we own land and farm. The commission needed input on altering regulations for "small commercial" livestock operations, the ones that fall below the state-regulated CFOs. My experience in the commercial swine industry throughout the Midwest, coupled with being a landowner, taxpayer, and farmer in the county, put me in a unique position.
As I sat there watching and listening I quickly realized the public commenters were not answering the questions asked by the plan commission, and the commission was led by both elected and non-elected officials who had no idea what they were doing. Most of the public complained about smell, threw out that they had lived in their homes for 25 years, and offered no input on the setbacks proposed. They offered nothing the plan commission could use to better their proposal.
I was the last speaker. I had the opportunity to listen and watch the commission blanch at unconstructive comments. I started by sharing my experience as an international swine production consultant and how I have worked with these types of operations throughout the Midwest. I was not just another citizen there to complain.
My suggestions were twofold: around property lines and the potential to use windbreaks to help with neighborly relations and reducing odors leaving the farm sites. When I offered potential solutions I saw the telltale signs of understanding with the head nods, eye contact, and note taking. They were listening to me because I was not offering the same "these barns are bad," "they are poisoning our water," or "I don't want them in my backyard" comments they had heard for the twenty minutes before I took the lectern.
Then last night I attended a local park board meeting simply as an interested taxpayer. The talk was similar to the public comments at the plan commission meeting, opinions and perspectives limited by the participants' geographic experience around our area. There were two discussions where I was able to add potential solutions that were outside of our community, solutions I was able to offer because of my experience outside of the community. After the meeting, two members asked me for more information on what I suggested. Maybe my contacts will help the park.
As I shared this with my wife she said, "Too bad those skills and experiences were not highlighted in your past jobs."
She was right. She saw my public speaking, my interviewing, my experiences — all things not related to swine nutrition. She saw that they were benefits ignored in the past.
In our specialized world we tend to pigeonhole people, throwing them into canisters like those on grandma's counter filled with baking ingredients. Separated and not to be mixed unless needed.
I see this all the time. You're the salesman, we don't need your input on trucking. You're the tech manager, we don't need your input on sales. You're the plant manager, we don't need your thoughts on product development.
As you look over your teams, who are the people you see sealed off in the wrong canister — baking soda in the flour jar — that could add perspective and vibrancy to other parts of your business?