What Pumpkin Pie Has Taught Me About Building Culture
Every year, I bake pumpkin pies for my children's classrooms. In the beginning, it was simple: one pie, one class, just me in the kitchen.
Now? It involves sourcing pumpkins, recruiting international grandparents, coordinating timing across multiple classrooms, and baking more than a dozen pies.
It would be easier to buy them—but they don't sell them here in New Zealand.
In reality, it would be easier to change the pie altogether.
But that's never really been the point.
Pumpkin Pie, Heritage, and Intention
Pumpkin pie isn't just dessert in our house. It's heritage.
It's an American and Canadian tradition—tied to family gatherings, autumn, and Thanksgiving. A reminder to pause and be thankful for what we have, who we're with, and the connections we build.
Now we're raising our children in New Zealand, and we love sharing this piece of our culture with our community here. Different season. Different context. But the same intention—gathering together and expressing gratitude.
We want our kids to carry that thread of where they come from while embracing where they are.
But here's the part no one tells you about traditions: they don't travel neatly.
There's no canned pumpkin at the local supermarket (unless you want to order it from “the American shop” in Auckland for about five times the price).
It's summer here when we're baking—not crisp autumn—which means the pies have to be fully chilled right up until serving or they'll collapse in the heat.
The conditions have changed completely. The intention hasn't.
So you adapt. You adjust. You figure out how to make it work—because it matters.
The Leadership Parallel Most People Miss
This is exactly how meaningful culture gets built inside organisations.
The principles travel, so the execution has to adapt.
I see this constantly in my work with global organisations. Leaders try to "roll out" culture initiatives across offices, regions, time zones, and industries—often wondering why something that worked beautifully in one place falls flat in another.
The canned pumpkin version isn't available.
The climate is different.
The people are different.
But the underlying intention—belonging, trust, shared identity—doesn't change.
The best leaders understand this distinction. They don't copy and paste culture. They translate it.
That's why our Leadership Performance Program is built the way it is—world-class content paired with professionals who've actually navigated these challenges, not just taught them.
Knowing the framework matters, but understanding how to adapt it to reality? That's where the actual work happens.
Every organisation has its own version of "no canned pumpkin." Our role is helping leaders translate principles into practice that fits their context.
The Investment Most Leaders Underestimate
Whether it's family traditions or team rituals, the most powerful investments are non-financial—and they compound quietly over time.
Belonging is built through repeated, intentional acts.
Trust grows when people experience consistent care, even when it's inconvenient.
Identity forms around "this is who we are and how we do things here."
Resilience develops when people know what they can count on.
None of this is free.
These investments cost time. Attention. Thoughtfulness. They require leaders to show up consistently, adapt when needed, and follow through even when conditions aren't ideal.
And the returns? They show up everywhere:
In retention, when people don't want to leave a place where they feel genuinely seen.
In discretionary effort, when teams go above and beyond because they feel the investment flowing both ways.
In collaboration, when psychological safety has been built through hundreds of small, reliable moments.
In innovation, when people feel secure enough to take risks.
And yes—in the bottom line, because engaged teams perform better.
The leaders I work with across Fortune 500 companies, government agencies, and scaling organisations aren't just managing work. They're architecting culture—through intentional, repeated signals that say: you matter here.
What the Pies Have Taught Me
A few lessons keep showing up—both at home and in my consulting work:
Traditions worth keeping are worth adapting. If it matters, you'll find a way—even if the execution looks different than you imagined.
Context changes everything—and nothing. The how must flex. The why stays constant.
Scaling requires others. What started with one person now involves a community and coordination. Culture works the same way—it can't live on one leader's shoulders.
Authenticity beats perfection. These pies aren't bakery-perfect. They're homemade, sometimes imperfect, and made with care. The same is true of the most effective culture practices.
Sure, you could think spending all this time on pies is ridiculous or silly.
And maybe it is.
But sometimes it's the ridiculous, the small, the "extra" things that stick. People may not remember the exact dollar amount on their paycheck, or how big their bonus was twenty years ago—but they will remember when someone made them feel seen, included, or part of something bigger. Those are the stories we tell.
It's in these small, human gestures—the ones that feel almost silly at the time—that culture actually lives.
The Question I Ask Leaders
So here's my question for you:
What are you baking?
What non-financial investments are you making that build belonging, trust, and identity? What rituals or traditions are you establishing that might start small—but could one day define your culture?
And when the conditions aren't ideal—when it would be easier to skip it, outsource it, or move on—are you willing to adapt and make it work anyway?
Because real culture isn't built in perfect conditions. It's built in the consistent choice to show up and invest in what matters.
A Final Thought
This past weekend, I was in the kitchen baking those pies.
I was away for Thanksgiving this year, so I'd already had to push them back. There were many times I looked at the to-do list and questioned whether I should even do it. It would have been easy to let it slide—to tell myself “next year,” or that the kids wouldn't really notice.
But the tradition was important. And once you let something go, it's harder to get it back. Before you know it, it's just something “you used to do.”
They got chilled, transported carefully, and shared with classrooms full of kids growing up in a different place than their parents did—learning what it means to honour tradition, share heritage, and build community. And eat what I thankfully was told were "the yummiest pies ever."
And in boardrooms and team meetings around the world, leaders are making their own version of that same choice:
To invest in the non-financial things that create cultures where people don't just work—they belong.
In the end, it’s just pie.
But it’s also everything—gratitude made tangible, one tradition at a time.