I’m a lifelong Pennsylvanian. Born here, raised here, built a business here. And somehow, in all those years, I had never been to the Philadelphia Flower Show.
That changed this past weekend.
The 2026 theme is Rooted: Origins of American Gardening — a celebration of the traditions, memories, and cultural stories that shape how we plant, grow, and gather today. It’s also the 197th year of the nation’s largest and longest-running horticultural event. Two hundred years of people showing up to celebrate what grows. And I was finally one of them.
It will now be an annual tradition. It was that good.
But what struck me wasn’t just the beauty — though the beauty was staggering. What struck me was what I didn’t see.
What Nobody Sees
Walking through the exhibits, I was surrounded by towering floral arches dripping with roses and orchids, suspended jungle canopies of monstera and hibiscus, fields of tulips so perfectly arranged they looked painted, and sculptural installations that defied gravity.
Every single one of these displays represented thousands of decisions about what to remove.
Nobody walks through the Flower Show and thinks about the branches that were cut, the blooms that were pinched, the shoots that were sacrificed so the spectacular ones could thrive. Nobody sees the dead wood that was cleared, the weak growth that was redirected, the “good enough” that was pruned away to make room for the extraordinary.
But every gardener in that building knows the truth: beauty is not the result of addition. It’s the result of courageous subtraction.
A Decade of Seasons
Ten years ago, in March 2016, I developed a leadership program called Seasons of Leadership. The premise was simple: leaders, like gardens, go through seasons. There are times to plant, times to grow, times to harvest — and times to prune. I taught that productive leaders understand which season they’re in and act accordingly.
Walking through the Flower Show a decade later, I was reminded that those lessons never stop growing. They just keep finding new soil. My father, Charlie “Tremendous” Jones, built a leadership legacy that has endured for over sixty years. He used to say, “If you’re not using what you have, you’re losing it. If you’re using what you have, you’re getting more of it.”
That’s a pruning principle. Use it or lose it. Keep what’s producing. Cut what’s not. And trust the process.
Three Cuts Every Leader Needs to Make
In gardening, not all pruning is the same. And in leadership, the same principle applies. There are three essential cuts that every leader needs the courage to make.
1. Cut the Dead Wood
Dead wood is anything that has run its course. It might have been vital once. It might have produced fruit for years. But it’s done now, and keeping it attached doesn’t honor its past — it just blocks new growth.
In leadership, dead wood looks like: the project you keep funding because you’ve already invested too much to stop. The meeting that nobody needs but everybody attends. The role that existed for a reason that no longer applies. The habit that served you in 2024 but is choking your 2026.
Cutting dead wood isn’t failure. It’s recognition. It’s the mature acknowledgment that seasons change, and what once thrived has completed its purpose.
2. Cut the Suckers
In gardening, a “sucker” is a shoot that grows from the base or roots of a plant. It looks productive. It’s green and growing. But it’s stealing energy from the main branch — the part that actually bears fruit.
Leaders deal with suckers every day. They’re the tasks that feel productive but aren’t. The busywork disguised as progress. The people who look like contributors but drain the energy of the team. The shiny new opportunity that pulls you away from your actual mission.
Suckers are the hardest to cut because they look alive. But looking alive and bearing fruit are two very different things.
3. Prune for Shape
This is the most strategic cut of all. Pruning for shape isn’t about removing what’s dead or parasitic — it’s about directing future growth. It’s the gardener saying, “I want this plant to grow ‘that way’ — toward the light, toward strength, toward the vision I have for what this can become.”
In leadership, pruning for shape means making hard choices about direction. It’s saying no to good opportunities so you can say yes to the right ones. It’s restructuring a team not because something is broken, but because you can see where it needs to go. It’s the hardest kind of leadership because you’re cutting things that are working — just not working toward the vision.
The Courage to Cut
Here’s what I know after sixty-plus years of family legacy in leadership development, after ten years of teaching Seasons of Leadership, and after one jaw-dropping afternoon at the Philadelphia Flower Show:
Most leaders don’t have a growth problem. They have a pruning problem.
They’re dragging dead wood into spring. They’re feeding suckers instead of fruit-bearing branches. They’re letting their organizations grow in every direction instead of the right direction.
And then they wonder why nothing blooms.
What the Flower Show Got Right
This year’s theme — Rooted — is about honoring origins. The traditions passed down through generations. The cultural practices carried across oceans. The gardening wisdom that shaped who we are today.
But here’s what the show also demonstrated without saying a word: roots alone don’t produce beauty. Roots plus pruning do.
Every one of those breathtaking displays was the result of someone who understood their roots — their craft, their heritage, their training — and then had the discipline to cut, shape, redirect, and sacrifice so the final product could take your breath away.
That’s leadership.
It’s Pruning Season
We’re in March. In the garden and in life, this is the season to cut. Not out of cruelty or impatience, but out of hope. You only prune what you believe will grow.
So take a walk through your own garden this week. Look at your calendar, your team, your habits, your commitments. Ask yourself:
What’s dead that I’m still carrying?
What looks alive but isn’t bearing fruit?
Where do I need to direct my growth — toward the light, toward the vision, toward the future I’m called to build?
Then pick up the shears. And cut with courage.
Because the most beautiful things at the Flower Show didn’t get there by growing wild. They got there because someone loved them enough to prune.
