The Gardens Of Monticello

Scott Lewis is a seasoned construction manager with twentyseven years of experience in construction and construction management at MMR Constructors, Inc. He started his career as an electrical helper and progressed through roles as a foreman, project engineer, estimator, and construction manager. He has served as a senior project manager for the last nineteen years. An industry leader in construction management, Scott is passionate about supporting tradespeople and leading innovative approaches to safety, quality, and leadership. He believes in a motto learned while serving in the U.S. Navy as a Military Working Dog Handler: always lead from the front.

Scott is also deeply committed to developing and mentoring future generations of tradespeople. He serves on the boards of the Associated Builders and Contractors of the Texas Coastal Bend and Texas Midcoast chapters, the Contractor Safety Council of the Coastal Bend, the Craft Training Center of the Coastal Bend, and Junior Achievement of South Texas.

A few years ago, seeing a need for a new approach to not only train people in safety, quality, and leadership but also help them retain these principles, he founded a company called Building Dancing Horses. In this role, he authors and shares short anecdotal stories from his life, tying them together in his unique style.

While his hobbies include writing and gardening, his true passions lie in his family—his wife, Kathy (whom he has been married to for thirty-three years), his three children, and four grandchildren.

A few years back, my wife and I visited Thomas Jefferson’s home, Monticello. While the history of Monticello did not disappoint us, it was Thomas Jefferson’s gardens that most fascinated me. I had always dreamed of having beautiful gardens like those, but I hadn’t had much luck. That changed in 2015 when we bought our current home, nestled on a lush one-acre lawn. However, the garden beds consisted of twofoot-wide beds of gravel held in place by warped landscape timbers, covered in a dull brown mat of leaves, with saplings struggling to survive in years of neglect.

 Within a week of our purchase, we began the muchneeded overhaul with a rented bobcat and a hired hand. Upon arrival, the operator asked me what I wanted to save, and I said, “Nothing, just rip them out!” And so he did, popping out landscape timber after landscape timber, along with pieces of rebar that had held them in place over the years. After removing the timbers, we discovered that some of the rebars were stubbornly stuck in the ground, rusty and dangerous. They too had to be removed. Finally, we scraped away all the gravel, leaving behind a clean slate—barren, yet fertile ground ready for planting.

Knowing it was unrealistic to redo all the garden beds at once, we developed a multiyear plan to turn the barren ground into a beautiful garden. Section by section, we first put down a weed barrier and proper borders. Next, we laid down a healthy layer of mulch to conserve moisture and protect the roots of the plants from the hot South Texas sun. We decided that small, young plants were best suited to the sustainability of a proper garden, as they could adapt, grow, and flourish over the years. We tried nurturing older plants, but they were more stubborn and took longer to take root. It was hard work and time-consuming, but we now have a healthy, self-propagating garden— visually appealing and bountiful, nurturing hummingbirds, bees, and butterflies. The only downside to a lush garden is that a few of our neighborhood deer have become brave enough to hop our fence and destroy our hard work. That ended, however, when I let our big dog outside!

 I started in construction in 1996 after serving in the U.S. Navy, and I have seen the industry’s safety culture evolve over the years, not unlike my garden. The safety culture we inherited was much like those antiquated gravel beds that came with our house. The safety programs that once seemed functional had aged into programs full of saplings, struggling to push through years of neglect. What our industry needed was owners and companies who would act with the enthusiasm of new homeowners and see what was possible. We needed people with the courage to say what was present was simply not good enough—the foresight to evaluate each program, policy, and procedure and eliminate what wasn’t working.

I am proud to say that I still work for one of those companies that dared to challenge outdated programs, policies, and procedures, which had been covered up by years of neglect. Gone were the old barriers meant to keep craftspeople safe. Over time, they had become warped, allowing unsafe work practices to creep into our industry. Sure, some stubborn people clung to these outdated policies, much like rusted rebar lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for an opportunity to harm. Fortunately, our industry persevered, and we eventually removed them too.

After much hard work and reflection, our industry began to develop a new and beautiful garden. We introduced lifecritical policies that acted as a weed barrier to prevent the bad from returning. Next, we laid down in-person training to nurture the roots of the young people brought into the industry. As those young people matured and advanced, we continued nurturing them with improved safety equipment, training, and ever-evolving policies and procedures focused on safety—not productivity. And it worked. Much like the gardens surrounding my house, our industry’s safety culture is not only visually appealing but self-propagating. It has even begun to nurture other industries that have seen our success and wanted the same.

We still have “pesky deer” occasionally trying to jump over the barriers protecting our tradespeople. But our supervisors and safety professionals are watching over our garden, chasing off anyone intending to harm it.

Thinking back to Thomas Jefferson’s circular garden that surrounded a well-manicured lawn, I am reminded of a sign prominently displayed that said, “But though an old man, I am but a young gardener.” I feel our efforts in safety are similar in that, over the years, we will never stop tending what we have planted so we can continue to make our garden the best it can be. Another Thomas Jefferson saying I encountered while strolling the gardens of Monticello was, “Too old to plant trees for my gratification, I shall do it for my posterity.” I am getting older and will one day retire, leaving behind a lush garden for someone else to tend—someone to mentor. I do not fear that what I leave behind will fall into disrepair. Like Jefferson, I did not plant for my gratification, but for posterity.