the TRUE. story

28 February 2006: the dream

March 2006, Bogotá. At long last, Preesman would have its first (and last) Open House at the Marinyanna Farm in Colombia. Coinciding were two gerbera seminars at the farm and in Medellin, for which the Dutch specialist Erik Kuiper and the new manager for Latin America, Avinash Mokate, of Indian origin, were flown in. One of the first nights, in the hotel in Bogotá, I woke up dreaming. I realized that the dream was different, appearing symbolical, and decided to write it down. Then the alarm woke me up. I read: “Again in a canoe in the canal next to Opa’s former house, this time returning to collect the last blue plant.”

Before I finished showering, the meaning of this message was clear to me and my mind made up: I would start my own marketing business to launch a consumer brand for roses.

Explain. My grandfather, Opa Jan, has been my great example in life. Born in 1892, as a teenager he would work extra in the moonlight at the farm of Mr. Elsgeest. The extra money earned was saved by Elsgeest’s daughter Koosje, his first and only love and thus kept out of the hands of his alcoholic father. After their marriage, Mr. Elsgeest lent my Opa some money to start his own bulb and chrysanthemum nursery.

Their firstborn died after a year’s sickness, another drowned as a toddler in the canal in front of the house. Twelve boys, one girl, nearly fatal cancer and two wars later, they bid farewell to three emigrating sons. Opa formed a flower firm with three of his sons, the youngest dropping dead at his feet, just married, his wife pregnant. Opa sat in his chair for a day, staring with his coat still on, hands still dirty from harvesting the flowers. Then he dragged himself up, held his wife, whispering “Koosje, we must move on. We must.”

And he did, working every day with one of the sons after the firm broke up. They travelled to Australia to visit their sons and families and celebrated their golden wedding. Opa stopped working when he was 80 to look after Oma Koosje, who had started to suffer from Alzheimer’s disease. “She has looked after me all her life. Now it’s my turn,” he explained. He learned how to cook, do the laundry and other household chores. He picked up drawing as a hobby, childish at first, but very realistic later on. People he found difficult to draw, but his animals and especially flowers were beautiful. Oma died peacefully, one week before their 60th wedding anniversary. Opa had lit a candle, held her hand. Together they had prayed a Saint Mary. He had felt her last heartbeat, closed her eyes and then slept by her side.

He then set to writing his memoirs and when he became blind at 90, the light disappearing from his beautiful blue eyes, he started to play the harmonica. “Just go on,” he would say, “see what you can do instead of what you can’t.” Soon he would be playing all sorts of popular songs. A year later, he had an eye operation. “Look,” he said, after the bandage had been removed, “look at the carpet”. I looked down, but there was nothing to see. “Look at the colors. Fantastic!” He gave me the gold watch that Mr. Elsgeest gave him for his engagement. I cherish it, but even more his lessons. “Go on. Discover what you can do, don’t look back.”

The canal by his house. No doubt in my dream I was peddling forward in life when I was reminded of my exemplary Opa with his eyes reflected in the delicate blue plant. The plant itself an opportunity to be seized, a talent to be tapped before it was too late. The message was clear: I had been thinking about starting my own business for 15 years and introducing a rose brand for 10 years. The time had come.