I stood at the top of the hill and gazed down at the land that had once been Honey Hill Farm. Somewhat miraculously, the old barn remained, but the house had been demolished and most of the land had been cleared long ago, including those lush trees. The development company that had bought the property from my father eight years before hadn’t expanded its new neighborhood quite this far yet. Whether that was because of funding issues, permit problems, or any number of holdups, I had no idea. But I was grateful. Who knew if the unnamed executives who’d swooped up this land were still alive, but if they were, I was doubtful they’d even remember every inch of property in their portfolio. They had no connection to this patch of earth, not really, but I did and the Swansons did as well. I supposed, when you got right down to it, to claim it would be stealing. But it was hard to see it that way, and in any case, the world was different now.

I used my hand to shade my eyes, peering out at what now looked like wasteland. But I could envision what it could be because I’d seen it in its glory once before, and it continued to live inside me despite my own best effort.

I’d suggest to Mr. Swanson that they continue the new rows of trees onto this property. It would be smart to plant as much as possible and use every inch of the rich soil that still remained.

Feeding people was the priority now. Helping as many survive as possible.

A legacy is everlasting. That echo again.

And I’d come to understand what she’d meant. My grandfather had arrived on this very land with nothing and built a thriving life from scratch. And I’d thought this farm was my legacy, the house and the land and the business. But maybe a legacy didn’t have to be a tangible thing. Maybe my legacy was my grandfather himself. He’d worked his fingers to the bone to create something from nothing. He’d held dreams and hopes and a vision that he strived toward every day. He’d had perseverance and a work ethic that surpassed most. He’d cared deeply about the earth, and about his family and the community.

Follow in his footsteps, my mom had said regarding my grandfather. But also, forge your own. If anyone is capable, it’s you, my smart boy.

Oh, Mom. I miss you. I wish you were here.

But she was, wasn’t she? Part of her anyway. Just walking through this property, even as destroyed as many parts were, I saw her everywhere, her words flowing back to me like she’d never left.