What is a human life, after all? We all stumble through it with our triumphs and our disappointments.
I drive across the desert or through the plains of the Midwest and Canada and see all the tumble down places and shelter belts that no longer shelter any buildings at all and wonder who once lived there and what they dreamed would become of what they so laboriously built. I wonder how much would still be recognizable on my parent's ranch today.
Even in my younger life, the original 160 acre plots people had homesteaded in the early 1900s had been absorbed in much larger holdings of several quarters or sections, and there were a few traces here and there of buildings and fences that had long since disappeared. Since then, the trend has increased exponentially.
We bought the property we now own (in partnership with Nationstar) in Cottonwood a little over six years ago, and we've made a few improvements and planted some trees and shrubs. Mr. Guhl, the former owner had died, and it was too much for his wife to keep up. She moved into some kind of retirement community, and the place became ours, but that is only interim also. The day will inevitably come when we will either die or have to give it up for someone else to take over.
The last time I was in Pasadena, the downtown was totally different. That great mall on Colorado Boulevard had gone belly up. Ambassador College was still recognizable, but it wouldn't be today. Many of those magnificent old buildings we took such pride in have been razed to the ground and replaced with something more in keeping with what the population of today needs. That, too, will likely only be temporary.
Nothing is so permanent as change. Nothing more temporary than our personal accomplishments.