Everyday Leadership 12/7/17
That late June day ten years was like any other. I designed a couple of training manuals, mowed my grass, and washed my car. To wrap up that lazy day, I headed down the hill to the banks of the Little Hocking River.
I plopped down in a cloth chair and a slight breeze cooled the sweat on my forearms and legs. The fully leafed maples and oaks swayed on the ridge across the river. Suddenly, I began to hear an unexpected bleating “Maaa, Maaa, Maaa.” It reminded me of a calf that had lost its mother. The bleating became louder with only a few seconds between the repetitions. I reached into my backpack, retrieved my binoculars, and focused them on the opposing bank where the sound seemed to originate. The branches of a box elder tree obscured my view.