My great-aunt left me her handwritten recipe book filled with old family canning recipes—fig preserves, beach plum jelly, and pickled vegetables from her garden. Making her strawberry jam for my kids made me realize these recipes connect four generations to this property. I created a trust to maintain the family property where she developed these recipes, ensuring my grandchildren can preserve that connection. It's not about the monetary value of the home, it's about them understanding that this place, these recipes, this rhythm of planting, harvesting, and preserving is part of who we are as a family.

Every christmas eve, my grandfather would gather us around his old upright piano to sing carols, even though half of us couldn't carry a tune. He'd play by ear, learned from his mother who immigrated from ireland with sheet music sewn into her coat lining. That piano survived the depression, three moves, and countless family celebrations. When we inherited his house, we knew the piano had to stay. It's now in our living room, where my granddaughter practices weekly, playing her own version of "jingle bells," keeping his music alive.

My dad taught me that a handshake means everything: look someone in the eye, firm grip, keep your word. He built his construction business on that principle, never needing contracts with longtime clients. When i took over, i worried about maintaining those relationships without his presence. But his clients stayed, telling me i had "his handshake." now i'm teaching my son the same lesson as he joins the business. It's not just about construction but about integrity being the foundation of everything we build, both in business and in life.