There are places that become part of who we are.

For my father, Carl Rehnborg, one of those places was the Nutrilite farm in Hemet, California.

The Hemet farm was special to him. It wasn’t simply a place where crops were grown. It was a place where he could put his ideas into practice. To observe, experiment, ask questions, and continue learning about the relationship between plants, nutrition, and health.

My father was endlessly curious. He believed there was always more to learn. But some of the most meaningful things that happened in Hemet didn’t happen in the field.

They happened through conversations.

A knock at the door

One summer afternoon in the 1950s, my father was taking a nap when he heard a knock on the door. A senior key distributor had come to say hello and wondered if my dad had time to talk.

My father answered the door in a bathrobe, probably feeling a little groggy. He thought there was only one visitor. But when he stepped outside, he found a whole group of distributors waiting for him.

They shook his hand and gathered in the courtyard under the big pepper tree.

My dad was still in his bathrobe.

Nobody suggested he go back in and change. Instead, they settled onto the curved bench built around the tree and started talking.

And they kept talking for hours.

My father later said, “they chattered like a bunch of magpies about nearly every subject under the sun.” They talked about the products, of course, and how they were selling. But they also talked about whatever else came up.

There was no agenda. No presentation. No podium. Just people exchanging ideas.

That was the entire meeting. And yet, it was one he talked about for the rest of his life.

It started as a place. Then became a phrase.

Whenever my father ran into someone who had been there that afternoon, they didn’t ask about the farm or the crop or the numbers. They would ask:  “Do you remember our pepper tree talk?”

Over time, the phrase came to mean more than that one afternoon. A “Pepper Tree Talk” became a way of describing those long, informal conversations where people could exchange ideas freely, ask questions, and learn from one another.

The tree had started as a place. And it became a way of connecting.

When my father began writing his column in the Nutrilite Products Institute News and Views, he called it Pepper Tree Talk. In a way, he took the bench and put it on paper. He created another place to share ideas and continue the conversation with people who weren’t sitting beside him in Hemet.

Looking back, I think that says something important about my dad.

He wanted to understand how things worked. He wanted to hear what other people were experiencing. And he believed there was value in bringing people together to exchange ideas.

That same curiosity helped shape Nutrilite.

I’ve tried to carry that same curiosity throughout my own life. I’m still asking questions. And I’m still learning.

I’ve been fortunate to travel around the world and meet people from different countries, cultures, and walks of life. And I’ve learned that some of the most valuable lessons don’t necessarily come from a laboratory, a textbook, or a formal meeting.

Sometimes they come from simply sitting down with someone and listening. Maybe that’s why my father remembered that afternoon under the pepper tree.

It wasn’t what they talked about. It was the connection itself.

The Pepper Tree Today

I’ve been thinking about what a Pepper Tree Talk could look like today.

The world is very different from the one my father knew in Hemet.

We may not all be able to gather around that same tree. But we now have new ways to connect with one another, and I believe the opportunity is still the same.

So, we’re bringing Pepper Tree Talks into a new chapter through social media. 

I hope it becomes a place where you can ask me questions and where we can explore ideas together. About health, nutrition, Nutrilite, my father’s legacy, lessons I’ve learned over the years, or perhaps something neither of us has thought about yet.

More than 70 years ago, the first Pepper Tree Talk wasn’t planned. It started because someone knocked on my father’s door and asked if he had time to talk.

He did. And the conversation continued for generations.

I’d like to keep it going.

Cheers!