06/12/2026
Last weekend, Granddaughter Number One moved into her first apartment. She needed some furniture. Wisely, she didn't bring any from home. Once you move your bed and dresser out of your bedroom at home, you run the risk of coming back at Christmas time to discover it’s been converted into a sewing room or a tai chi studio.
She didn't have much money, but what she did have was a guy with no job and a pile of boards.
Twenty or thirty years ago, a pine tree in our front yard died of old age. I could have used it for heating, but pine isn't great for wood stoves. Instead, I hired a guy I knew to whack it up into boards. I stacked the boards in the corner of an unused hog house and pretty much forgot about them.
I remembered I had them when I volunteered to make a bed and started scrolling the internet for inspiration. For the main parts of the bed that would be visible, I had some beautiful black walnut, but the mattress needed something to hold it up. So, now she's sleeping soundly at night, resting on a mattress solidly supported by wood from a tree planted by her great-great-great grandparents.
The metaphor just writes itself.
Who we are is who we were. Of course, that's not always true. You don't want to get stuck in the past, and you need to be willing to leave the bad ideas and dubious traditions behind, because the world is always changing - and that's a good thing. But if you're fortunate enough to come from a family or a place that gives you a solid foundation to build on, you're lucky beyond all measure. I love telling my grandchildren about their great-great- great grandfather getting a job shoveling snow off railroad tracks simply because he had a family to support and that was the type of job an immigrant could get. I've shown them the three tiny graves in our local cemetery that are a symbol of some of the other costs of stepping off into the unknown. I've told them about their great grandfather joining the army at seventeen and ending up at the gates of Dachau, because someone had to do it or their other great grandfather clutching a rifle waiting for the Japanese to come out of the jungle. I've told them of their great grandmother going to a Farmers Union Encampment for Citizenship where Eleanor Roosevelt cooked hot dogs and where she had her world view upended by meeting a young black man who wanted to be an orchestra conductor. He knew that was an impossible dream, just because of the color of his skin and that was a lesson she carried with her the rest of her life. I've told them about their grandmother raising three children, working full time and going to night school so when the opportunity for advancement came around she'd be ready.
I’m aware and grateful that our family, all of us, lead good lives. Some of it is just luck, from being born in the right place or at the right time. A lot of it isn't luck, though. A lot of it is getting up, working hard, and building on top of a solid foundation built by those who came before.
And it always helps to get a good night's sleep.
Copyright 2026 Brent Olson
