Dear Great-Great-Grandpa: A Letter to My Ancestors Explaining Modern Life in Their Old House

I was up late last night, diving deep into old property records.

You know how it goes. One record leads to another. Then suddenly you’re mapping out your ancestors’ homes on Google Earth. Zooming in on street views. Trying to piece together their daily lives through the spaces they built.

That’s when this wild thought hit me:

What if you could write a letter to your ancestors explaining modern life?

Not just any letter. A letter about how you’d use their house – their pride and joy, their life’s work – in 2024.

Think about it.

These were people who built homes to last generations. Who crafted spaces for specific purposes. Who designed every room with intention and function in mind.

They couldn’t have imagined remote work. Or air fryers. Or robot vacuums named Herbert.

They built parlors for courting, not Zoom calls. Root cellars for food storage, not Peloton bikes. Studies for letter-writing, not YouTube filming.

What would they think of us?

This is the letter I’d write to my ancestors about their house. About how we’d transform their carefully planned spaces. About what would shock them, amaze them, and probably make them question our sanity.

(Spoiler: They’re not going to believe half of it. And honestly? Sometimes I don’t either.)

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Dear Great-Great-Grandparents,

We need to talk about your house.

Not because anything’s wrong with it. But because you wouldn’t believe how we’d use it today.

Your Kitchen Would Make You Question Everything

That cast iron skillet you seasoned so carefully? Still perfect. But it’s sitting next to something called an “air fryer” that cooks food with… hot air. I know. Sounds fake.

Your precious ice box? Gone. Replaced by a massive stainless steel beast that makes its own ice. And keeps food cold. Without actual ice. (The future is weird.)

But here’s what would really make you laugh: We pay extra for “farm-to-table” food. You know, the only kind of food you ever knew existed.

Your Study Is Now “Content Creation Central”

Remember that mahogany-lined study where you wrote letters by lamplight?

It’s my “content creation studio” now. (Stay with me here.)

Where your desk once stood, there’s a standing desk. Yes, we pay extra money to NOT sit down while working. Your oil lamp has been replaced by ring lights and “smart bulbs” I control from my phone – though honestly, I spend more time trying to get them to work than you probably ever did just striking a match.

And that portrait wall of stern-faced ancestors? Perfect background for my YouTube channel. Think of it as talking to thousands of people through a magic window. (I know, I know. We’ve lost our minds.)

Your Parlor Is My “Remote Work Paradise”

Your meticulously maintained parlor, where you hosted Sunday socials and entertained potential suitors?

It’s my “home office.” But not like any office you’ve known.

I sit there all day, talking to people through a glowing screen. Making money without leaving the house. (Yes, that’s a real job now.)

Your fainting couch has been replaced by an ergonomic chair that costs more than your entire parlor set. But I kept those bay windows exactly as they are – perfect for Zoom call lighting. (Don’t ask. Long story.)

Your Root Cellar? My “Home Gym”

Remember that root cellar you built in 1875?

It’s now my “home gym,” though I suspect you’d be puzzled why anyone needs special equipment to exercise when there’s perfectly good farmwork to be done.

The irony isn’t lost on me that I pay a lot of money to lift heavy things up and down while your generation did it for free (and got paid for it!).

Your Garden Is Now “Instagram-Worthy”

Your practical vegetable garden? It’s now “aesthetic.” People double-tap pictures of it on their phones. (Again, don’t ask.)

Those heritage tomatoes you grew? They’re now “heirloom varieties” that cost $6 each at farmers’ markets.

Your composting techniques? They’re now “trending sustainable practices.”

You were influencers before influencing was a thing. (Though you’d probably be horrified by that title.)

We’ve Basically Turned Your House Into a Magic Show

Remember how proud you were of that newfangled electricity?

Well, buckle up, because we’ve gone full wizard on your house.

We’ve got invisible waves floating through your walls that let us access all human knowledge. We call it “WiFi,” and just like your old pipe system, it works perfectly until it doesn’t.

Then we all stand around unplugging boxes and counting to ten like we’re performing some kind of modern rain dance.

Your beautiful manual thermostat? Replaced by a “smart” one that’s supposedly self-learning. Turns out, what it’s mostly learned is how to ignore our preferences and turn the heat on full blast at 3 AM. Progress!

We’ve even got a robot that vacuums the floors by itself. Yes, a ROBOT. It gets stuck under furniture, bumps into walls, and sometimes just spins in circles like it’s had too much moonshine. We paid extra for this privilege.

Oh, and the doorbell? It’s got a camera now. So we can see visitors before they arrive and pretend we’re not home. Though I suspect you did that too – you just had to peek through the curtains like a normal person.

The funniest part? When none of this technology works (which is more often than we’d like to admit), we end up doing things exactly the way you did. Except we complain more about it.

Some Things Are Exactly the Same

For all our “improvements,” there are some things even our fancy technology can’t touch.

Those boards you hand-planed? Still straight as an arrow. Meanwhile, the IKEA shelf I assembled last week already looks like it’s trying to escape to another dimension.

Your craftsmanship is literally outliving our warranties. Those dovetail joints you cut? They’re still holding strong while we’re out here watching YouTube videos titled “Why Did My Modern Cabinet Just Collapse?”

The morning light still hits the east-facing windows just right – though now instead of illuminating your morning prayers, it’s backlighting our TikTok coffee-making videos. (Don’t ask. Really.)

And that mysterious midnight creaking? Still there. Though now instead of blaming restless spirits, we’ve got a whole Reddit thread debating whether it’s “foundation settling” or “definitely ghosts.”

Those thick walls you built still keep the summer heat at bay better than our overpriced “climate control solutions.” Turns out good old-fashioned mass beats smart home algorithms. Who knew? (You did, apparently.)

Questions That Keep Me Up at Night

Look, I’ve got some burning questions for you:

• That specific shade of green in the dining room – was it really a design choice, or did you just get a deal at the paint shop? (Because we’ve spent three months trying to replicate it for our “authentic restoration,” and I’m starting to think you’re laughing at us from beyond.)
• What’s actually behind that weird bump in the parlor wall? Because we’ve all developed theories, and my money’s on hidden treasure. Though knowing our luck, it’s probably just an 1880s version of a rush plumbing job.
• When you built that window seat in the library, did you imagine future generations would use it for Instagram photos of their coffee cups and vintage books? (Because… guilty as charged.)
• That strange noise in the attic – did you hear it too? Because we’ve named it George and at this point it’s practically part of the family.
• Were you also terrible at remembering which floorboard squeaks, or did you put that one creaky board right outside the bathroom on purpose? (If so, well played. Well played indeed.)

The Truth About Time

Here’s what I’ve realized while writing this letter:

We think we’re so different from you. So advanced. So modern.

But strip away the smart thermostats and robot vacuums, and what’s left?

People trying to build a life. Create a home. Leave something behind for the next generation.

Just like you did.

We’ve filled your practical spaces with technology you couldn’t have imagined. Changed the purpose of every room. Transformed your carefully planned home into something that would probably make you shake your head in disbelief.

But here’s the thing:

Every change we’ve made? Every “upgrade” and modernization?

They’re all attempts to solve the same basic human needs you were solving. Connection. Comfort. Community. Purpose.

We just do it differently.

Your parlor hosted social connections. Our Zoom calls do the same. Your root cellar preserved health. Our home gym does too. Your study captured knowledge. Our content studio shares it.

Different methods. Same goals.

Maybe that’s the real lesson here. Maybe understanding how we’d use your spaces today isn’t about highlighting our differences.

It’s about seeing our similarities.

Because while we’re arguing about paint colors for our “modern farmhouse aesthetic” and trying to explain why our robot vacuum needs googly eyes, we’re really just doing what you did:

Making a house into a home. Building spaces for life to happen. Creating something we hope will last.

With respect, amazement, and a deeper understanding of our shared story,

–Marc (Your Time-Traveling Descendant)

P.S. You’ll be glad to know we still can’t figure out how to stop the third stair from creaking. Some things are better left unchanged.