Robert Redford died this last week at age 89. Here in Utah, that news landed a little closer to home. Literally.

All week, the tributes I’ve heard have circled around the same idea: Legacy. And in hearing about that legacy, three things stood out to me.

1) He was a legendary actor.
I loved Robert Redford movies. I remember watching him with my dad in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and The Sting. I had a crush on him in The Way We Were and The Great Gatsby. And I just loved The Natural and All the President’s Men. I’m sure you all have your favorites, too.

2) He was a legendary advocate for land, air, and water.
For decades Robert Redford helped put acres and acres of land under protection, showed up when air and water needed defending, and used his name to slow bad ideas and back better ones. You can see the effects of his work in Utah and far beyond.

3) He was a legendary trailblazer for independent filmmakers.
In 1981 Robert Redford started the Sundance Institute. He wanted new voices in filmmaking to have a way in. Sundance grew into a January festival here in Utah and a steady help to filmmakers the rest of the year. It became a place where different kinds of stories found an audience.

For many, many years, the Sundance Film Festival was part of every winter for me — buying tickets, standing in lines (so many lines), attending late or Saturday showings (because: School!) in Park City and Salt Lake, and talking afterward about the movies with Coleen or Carl or Amy or Dina.

The land up Provo Canyon that became Sundance Resort was purchased by Robert Redford in 1968. But twenty years before that, in the 1940s, my Great-Aunt Violet and her husband, Harold, bought property in the area. 

They were part of a social group named the “Gold Brickers” who all bought plots of land up an offshoot of Provo Canyon, gated it, and together called their piece of paradise BrickerHaven.

On their plot, Harold and Violet built a cabin with a huge wall of windows and an even huger stone patio. They loved their BrickerHaven home and entertained and entertained and entertained.  

Decades later, the property became the place my cousins and I loved to gather. We played football in the big field, hiked and hiked to Stewart Falls (and sometimes even farther), sailed paper boats in the stream, had cookouts on the patio, and listened to my grandpa and my aunts sing. It was our spot on holidays like Labor Day.

Because of all that time spent in the Sundance area, I actually saw Robert Redford up close — twice. And because of that sweet great-aunt, I had a lot of other opportunities, too.

She and Harold never had children and spent the majority of their lives in New York City. And when she died in 1992, we didn’t get to keep the BrickerHaven property — it went to my grandpa and then to my mom and her siblings. When the upkeep became too expensive, several years later, there were firm directions about what should be done with it.

But Violet did leave her brother’s and her sister’s grandchildren — upwards of fifty of us — an incredible legacy. She gave us each $1,000 a year for ten years — starting when we turned twenty-one.

That “Aunt Violet” money always came at exactly the right time.

Over the years, I (a single schoolteacher) used mine for taxes and tuition, tires and trips. My siblings did the same: paying for rent, paying for bills, paying for new babies. That decade between twenty-one and thirty-one is foundational for a young adult, and the fact that Aunt Violet offered a steady, once-a-year sum for ten years to all of us was amazing to me. 

Even four decades later, I am so grateful.

One definition of legacy is the long-lasting impact of particular events, actions, etc. that take place in a person’s life.

Thankfully, ‘leaving a legacy’ doesn’t have to mean an end-of-life inheritance. It can be lots of other small, practical, relational things we set in motion now that might ripple forward.

Here are some examples:

• Traditions — simple rituals that anchor a family: a recipe, Sunday dinners, the “this is what we do on birthdays” habit.
  
• Experiences — spaces for connection and adventure: a cabin weekend, a game night, a road trip, a backyard gathering.
  
• Words and wisdom — lines that might keep speaking long after we say them: the phrases and encouragements we hand down, the one-liners from parents or mentors that we still have in our heads.
  
• Presence — showing up in ways that last: a teacher who makes someone feel seen, a friend who stays in a hard season.

• And yes, Financial thoughtfulness — small, steady help that adds up over time: a 529, a yearly gift, choosing how we spend with kids or grandkids in ways that last.
  

Our BrickerHaven cabin gave us the chance to brush shoulders with Robert Redford (which was really cool). But, it also gave us opportunities for adventure, gathering with family, and a host of other things that my Aunt Violet and Uncle Harold’s choices created.

I can’t wait to hear the kinds of legacies — big or small — that have touched you, or that you might be offering to others. And if you want some ideas, let’s talk about it.

PS: If you live in Utah, it’s a beautiful time of year to drive up to Sundance. Maybe the BrickerHaven gate will be unlocked!

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