06/03/2026
Every August growing up, my family drove to the Jersey Shore. Same gas stops. Same town. Same house my grandparents had owned for decades.
I was a kid, so the beach was just the beach. I didn't notice that my grandparents had built something meant to outlast them, a place where four generations kept walking through the same door.
Building forts out of the porch furniture. Watching the Philadelphia news with my grandmother. My grandfather knowing everyone in every store we walked into. The screen door announcing each new arrival.
None of it was about the property. It was about the pattern.
Here's what I think about now, as a lawyer: that house is what held the tradition in place. And a family property is fragile in exactly the way a tradition is. Skip the planning one year, it's a busy season. Skip it for good, and the place gets sold in a fight a few years after the funeral.
I see this constantly with Minnesota families and the cabin. Everyone assumes it'll just stay in the family. Nobody writes down who pays the taxes, who can use it when, or what happens when one sibling wants out. The asset that was supposed to bring everyone together becomes the thing that splits them.
The families who keep the cabin aren't lucky. They're intentional. They put a plan in writing while everyone's still getting along.