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Plant trees. I don’t mean this in the hippy, tree-hugger sense. It’s not about saving the world in some abstract way. It’s about thinking beyond yourself, about family, about the generations yet to come. In all the debates that whirl around these days, whether about politics or the economy, there’s a thought I keep coming back to: the weight of building for the future. Great cultures weren’t built by people who only thought about their own lifetimes. They were built by those who poured their labor and resources into things they might never fully see to fruition—but built them anyway. I remember the day I decided to plant alamo trees along the roads of my farm. It wasn’t a grand act. It was quiet. I stood there, holding a young sapling in one hand and asking myself if it was worth it. Would these trees dry up and die? Would they take too much water, too much care? Now, years later, I walk those same roads in the shade of those trees. They stretch skyward, a testament to something simple but profound. Of course it was worth it. Many voices today bemoan the declining birth rates in our culture. Some say it’s because things are more expensive now, and that’s true. But it’s not the whole truth. When my children were born, I didn’t have much money. None of my friends did either. But we had children because it was what you did. It was a responsibility—not to ourselves, but to something greater: society, the future. Having children was a source of pride, a fulfillment of the first command given to humanity: be fruitful and multiply. At some point, though, we lost the point. The focus shifted. It became about money, about living for today, about chasing a lifestyle that left no room for anyone else. Children didn’t fit neatly into that picture. I think my generation bears some guilt in this. We got busy building things and forgot to show our children what matters most. We forgot to show them that life isn’t about the size of your bank account but about who you spend your days with. And now, those children have grown up. They’ve learned the lessons we didn’t mean to teach—that wealth and comfort come first. But some of us are trying to warn them about what lies ahead. Every culture warns of the deceitfulness of riches, and every culture learns the truth the hard way. I’ve had more money than most, and I’ll tell you this: the deepest joy doesn’t come from acquiring. It comes from building. Building things that last, things that serve others. Building for the future. Planting trees. There’s an old interview with Milton Friedman where a college kid asks about the estate tax. The kid says people still have an incentive to build wealth, even if they lose everything when they die. Friedman’s response was quick, sharp, and right. Why would you want to discourage parents from building things for their children? Sure, some kids will squander it. That’s their right. But some will do great things with it, employ people, help people. Usually, those are the kids who were taught to live for more than themselves. There’s nothing wrong with wealth, but it’s important to acquire it for the right reasons. Not for hedonism, not for vanity, but to build and plant. Plant trees—for the future.