Growing Up With Grandpa Jack

Hi, I’m Annie—Jack’s granddaughter. Or, as my grandma once introduced me to her friends, “the grandchild that talks back to grandpa.”

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had the privilege of working alongside my family at Al’s. In the last five or so years, that’s meant following Grandpa around as he walked, talked, and pointed out everything we should have done last week.

In my opinion, there’s no better place to grow up than a nursery. It’s where I learned the value of hard work, dedication, and—most importantly—my love of plants. I gained an appreciation for how things came to be—what it takes to grow a business and (literal, plant) life.

Hard work is on display everywhere you look in a nursery. There’s no one who works harder than nursery people—my grandparents included. Growing up, there was always something that needed to be done, and if you wanted to chat, you’d better be working while doing it. 

I swear, that work ethic is ingrained in me. To this day, I get an itchy feeling in the back of my neck whenever I pause for even a second—just waiting to hear Grandpa’s larger-than-life voice boom, “What are you doing standing around?” He somehow always seemed to appear at the exact moment I stopped moving. Quick to encourage us to work harder, and also never able to take a break himself, next thing I knew he’d be moving plants alongside me.  And yet, he was never around when my brother and cousins decided it was a great idea to toss freshly planted one-gallon containers across the aisle—spilling filberts everywhere and doubling our workload because now we had to sweep. Honestly, Grandpa probably would have been throwing plants too.

Summers at the nursery meant long days of weeding, moving, dumping, and fertilizing plants. But Grandpa was right there with us, showing us what it meant to work hard and love what you do. Because if you love what you do, “you’ll never work a day in your life.”

That’s what it all came down to for Grandpa: dedication. Dedication to my grandma. Dedication to the life he built. Dedication to any nursery person he met—even if they were halfway across the world.

One moment that really sticks with me happened while I was working in the office at Al’s of Woodburn. To paint the picture for those who haven’t been there—it’s a 40x40 space with three desks, plus two real offices with doors that actually close. Grandpa’s was closed. I was typing away in the common area when, out of nowhere, I nearly fell out of my chair as his voice boomed through the door:

“$11 for a one-gallon wholesale rose is horse shit.”

The poor sales rep practically ran out of the office after Grandpa told him he needed to “go consult with his boss.”

I love this memory because it captures his unwavering dedication—not just to the business, but to our customers. Grandpa was always after the next best thing, innovating to be on the leading edge of horticulture. He liked to say, “leading edge, bleeding edge;” he knew there were risks, and he was willing to take them. On occasion, his drive for a good deal was a little… overzealous. Like when he decided to buy 10,000 one-gallon barberries completely infested with weeds just because it was a screaming deal. Grandpa, I think we figured out why it was a deal. After weeding, then fertilizing, then pruning them all, we grandkids started to suspect his true intent was just to keep us busy that summer.

Though Grandpa was often larger-than-life, if you watched, you’d notice he had a quiet way of showing people he cared for them by consistently showing up. Without needing to be asked, he’d be there, supporting his family, neighbors, friends, and even people he met that day, with whatever they needed. Many times, instead of just answering a customer’s gardening question in the store, he’d take time out of his day to actually go to their house and help them with whatever planting, pruning, or gardening project they were working on. He never missed an opportunity to support his grandchildren in our many sports competitions, science projects, class field trips, dance recitals, plays, and graduations. If one of us was even thinking about doing work in our garden, he’d show up (likely in some big farm machine like a tractor or skid steer) and get to work, somehow reading our mind. It was easy to feel in all of the ways he showed up for us just how much he loved us. 

I’m beyond grateful for all the life lessons he passed down. And I know his voice will always be in the back of my head, reminding me to “show them a dream, sell them a promise.” Or, more likely, asking if I was awake yet—no matter what time of day I answered the phone.

— Annie (Jack’s Granddaughter)