A Home Built for Generations

Enduring love, legacy, and gratitude within the walls that connect us.

In the quiet hours before dawn one Sunday, about 14 years ago, my husband of 28 years turned to me and said, “I want to buy a duplex in Cleveland Heights.” At that moment, I thought he was crazy. Yet, we soon found ourselves the stewards of a beautiful brick side-by-side duplex, built in 1926, complete with an extra lot and a spacious back porch, all nestled on a third of an acre.

Enchanted by the possibilities, I began to transform the yard into a sanctuary that bridged our past rural life with our new urban setting. Soon the lawn had blossomed into a thriving garden and orchard, echoing the self-sufficiency and connection to nature we cherished on our farm.

I began by cultivating a variety of fruit trees—apple, pear, and cherry—whose blossoms heralded each spring with a promise of abundance. Beneath their canopy, I planted rows of vegetables and herbs, ensuring a supply of fresh produce for our family. The rhythmic tasks of planting, tending, and harvesting became a source of solace and continuity, grounding us in the cycles of nature.

The garden also naturally served as a communal space, much like the community gardens that have revitalized urban neighborhoods elsewhere. Our neighbors often stop by to share gardening tips, exchange surplus produce, or simply enjoy the tranquility of the yard and the peacefulness of our 3 hens. In this way, our garden has begun to foster a sense of community and connection, reminiscent of the communal gardens that have transformed vacant lots into vibrant green spaces in cities across the country.

In the nurturing this garden, I found myself nurturing the bonds within our family and with our community. The act of transforming the yard into a productive and beautiful space mirrored the transformation in our lives—adapting to new circumstances, cultivating resilience, and finding joy in unexpected places.

As I reflect on our journey, I am filled with gratitude for my husbands foresight that led us to this home and for the garden that has become its heart. It stands as a testament to the enduring value of connecting with the land, even in an urban environment, and to the profound sense of fulfillment that comes from watching both plants and relationships grow and flourish.

In 2020 as the COVID-19 pandemic gripped the nation, our son and his wife found themselves in a locked-down New York City. In the dead of night, we drove to the city, brought them back, and they lived with us for that year. I was grateful for our home, yet I still didn’t fully grasp its significance.

The following year, they returned to New York, and my daughter-in-law became pregnant. After their son was born, my son expressed concerns about raising a child surrounded by noise and smog, as well as the exorbitant daycare costs. When he asked if we planned to reopen the Airbnb, I told him that I had no intention to, especially given the lingering uncertainties of the pandemic. I’d been not too secretly hoping they’d come home. Welcoming them back felt completely natural, and it has been an incredible experience.

I became a nearly full-time grandmother when my son was away, cherishing the deepening relationship with my daughter-in-law and developing a newfound friendship with my son. Being readily available to help them has been invaluable to me.

The gardens and orchards that I planted not only provided sustenance, but this summer they became a living classroom for my grandson. Together, we explored the wonders of the natural world: observing the metamorphosis of caterpillars into butterflies, understanding the importance of pollinators as we watched bees flit from blossom to blossom, and learning the patience required as we awaited the ripening of fruits. Every morning he’d race out to pick a blackberry or a leaf of basil. He loved the ripening tomatoes and ate them with abandon straight from the vine. He fed his “chickies”. He had so much fun enjoying the apples, cherries and pears and when the grapes began to ripen in September he was absolutely thrilled.

He loved helping me pick roses and together we made herb teas and we wandered all fall picking up acorns and buckeyes which we turned into Christmas potpourri. I loved being able to teach him self-sufficiency, responsibility, and the interconnectedness of all living things.

This morning, around 5:00 am, the phone rang. My son was on the line; both he and his wife had woken up ill, and my grandson was also unwell. I took him in and we cared for him until his parents recovered enough to care for him later in the day. In that moment, I realized the true gift of our home: the ability to be there, without hesitation, when my family needed me most.

This house, with its weathered bricks and sturdy walls, is more than just a structure—it is a keeper of stories, a vessel of love, and a sanctuary for generations. It holds the laughter of family meals, the quiet moments of reflection, and the echoes of countless lives that have found shelter within its embrace. It is a testament to the wisdom of those who built homes designed not just for utility, but for connection—a vision rooted in the understanding that proximity to family fosters resilience, belonging, and joy.

As I walk through these halls, I often wonder about the hands that laid its foundation and the dreams they carried. Did they imagine the laughter of a grandchild or the warmth of shared meals under its roof? Did they hope, as I do, that their home would hold not only their family but the potential for generations to grow, love, and thrive?

I am deeply humbled to be part of this continuum, to add our chapter to its unfolding story. This home has taught me the beauty of living intertwined lives—of privacy balanced with support, and independence met with togetherness. It has shown me that the most profound blessings often come not from grandeur or ambition, but from the simple, enduring moments of love and care that take root within a home’s heart.

Though I may never know the names of those who first dreamed this house into being, I carry their legacy forward with gratitude. In every creak of the floorboards, every beam of morning light that filters through the windows, I feel their spirit. This house, this beautiful, steadfast home, is a gift beyond measure—and I am endlessly grateful for it.