There’s a quiet strength that settles in your bones when you care for your elders. Not out of obligation, but out of love—and reverence. The ancient Confucian value of filial piety has become more than a concept to me; it has shaped the arc of my adult life. It’s simple: care for your parents and elders.
I’ve buried both my parents. My father passed in 2001, taken by a most brutal form of brain cancers: glioblastoma multiforma. Before our guest ranch was even conceived, in the summer of 2000, we moved both him and my mother into our little 600-square-foot condo in Seattle so he could undergo radiation treatment at the University of Washington Medical Center. It was cramped. It was intense. It was a blessing to become his caretaker.
My mother left us in 2022. Pulmonary fibrosis. Another cruel, terminal disease, born of her fierce battle with breast cancer and the radiation that came with it. She had endured so much over the years—brain implants, back surgeries—and yet her spirit never dimmed.
She wanted to spend her final chapter here at the ranch. When she called one day asking, “Have you ever heard of a park model home?” I started planning immediately. By March 2020, she had moved into her tiny home here. Days later, the world went into COVID lockdown. Our timing, as it often is in the flow of life, was divine. That tiny home sat in a spot that became sacred; Her home, Her view, Her quiet passing.
Afterwards, we tried to work the tiny home into accommodation offerings at the ranch, but, it didn’t really work. I would meditate on this at the altar to my ancestors. I would look upon mom’s little red plastic purse with Snow White on it, the one she brought to America from Italy when she was five years old, and ponder, ‘what would mom have me do?’ My mother would come through resoundingly clear, ‘sell it!’
She always wanted to see us get amenities for the ranch. So, that’s exactly what we decided to do. We put it up for sale in late 2024 and it wasn’t long until a couple synchronistic connections led us to a young family with two toddlers. They were looking for just something like this to move to the family compound. It was an oddly perfect match, as if meant to be.
But, there was a wrinkle. They wouldn’t be able to purchase it until their own house sold after they listed it in March of this year, 2025. I did have other bites from buyers and could have even accepted a higher offer. No one passed the vibe check like this family. I was willing to wait, and they were willing to put down some earnest money.
Their house sold and they bought the tiny home. We went to the county offices to transfer the title. It was an unexpected several-hour affair, mostly spent waiting for the cogs of bureaucracy to turn. Whilst it was tedious, it went smoothly. Mind you now, this was me with the mom, dad, toddler brother and toddler sister in princess dress. The children were extremely well behaved, considering the long wait. Honestly, it was pleasant spending the time with them.
Finally, we are called back to the counter for the last pen strokes. We are just wanting to get it all done and be out of there. Standing with mom and toddler sister, we await the clerk. This was the actual moment where ownership changes hands.
The mom is trying to keep daughter entertained and asks her, “Tell David who your favorite princess is.” The toddler looks at me and says, “Snow White.” Then, puts finger on bottom teeth and smiles coyly at me to see if I heard. Her mom responds, “well that’s an odd one to pick from the ones you like, but it’s perfect.”
Yes, toddler princess, it is perfect. The perfect symbolic hat tip to a little red plastic purse with Snow White upon it. I just smiled and said to myself, “thanks for the sign, mom.”
Over the years, the ranch has grown into something more than just alpacas and yurt-dwelling glampers. The ashes of beloved friends and chosen family members have joined this sacred space.
That’s the rhythm of this land. That’s the echo of filial piety.
In every act of service to our elders—be it as small as a meal or as immense as hospice—we gain something beyond words. A deepening of spirit. A sharpening of purpose. A tether to the lineage that brought us here. Mom’s legacy at the ranch lives on with our newly constructed amenities area.
It was only when I was ready that this poem found its way to me. I share it here with you now, in honor of all who have had the blessing to experience filial piety:
"A limb has fallen from the family tree.
I keep hearing a voice that says,
‘Grieve not for me.
Remember the best times,
the laughter, the song.
The good life I lived
while I was strong.
Continue my heritage,
I'm counting on you.
Keep smiling and surely
the sun will shine through.
My mind is at ease,
my soul is at rest.
Remembering all,
how I truly was blessed.
Continue traditions,
no matter how small.
Go on with your life,
don't worry about falls.
I miss you all dearly,
so keep up your chin.
Until the day comes
we're together again."
— Author Unknown
