By Janell Turner, Managing Director
Picture this: every family—no matter the balance sheet—has a garden. Some are sprawling landscapes with towering oaks and perennial blooms; others are modest but lovingly tended. Over time, generations plant new seeds, prune old branches, and decide which roots to keep or pull. The work of stewardship is rarely simple, but always sacred.
I have the privilege of walking alongside families who have chosen to use their wealth as a tool for good—to cultivate gardens that nourish communities and future generations alike. They give with grit, heart, and a deep desire to work collaboratively toward a better world. But even the most generous gardens can become overgrown if the caretakers are overwhelmed or unsure where to begin.
As the largest generational wealth transfer in history unfolds, we are witnessing more than the movement of financial capital. As James E. Hughes so wisely reminds us, legacy is not measured in dollars alone. Families are passing along their human, intellectual, social, and spiritual capital—the stories, values, and ideas that make them who they are. This kind of transfer can be both tender and turbulent. The soil of legacy, like the earth itself, shifts with time.
Consider the rhythms of a multigenerational family foundation:
Baby boomers, who built the original garden, often see philanthropy as a civic duty—a tangible way to contribute to the community. Their generosity built theaters, museums, and science centers that stand as monuments to their commitment.
Generation X grew up in the shade of these institutions. They remember dance recitals, science fairs, and art classes made possible by their parents’ philanthropy. Now in their middle years, many Gen-Xers are bridge builders—close enough to remember how the soil was tilled, yet forward-thinking enough to nurture what’s next.
Then come the Millennials. Their garden looks different. They may be less interested in naming buildings and more drawn to planting seeds of belonging and justice. Their giving is experiential—focused on relationships, equity, and systems change. Having inherited not just assets but also awareness, they hold both gratitude and complexity in how they see wealth.
And yet, amid all this growth, something subtle happens: the garden begins to outgrow its gardeners. The roots deepen, the vines stretch, and the work of daily care—bookkeeping, tax filings, board coordination, grant administration—can quietly consume the very energy meant for reflection and connection.
In philanthropy, we sometimes speak of the “dead hand of the donor”—the well-intentioned impulse to control the garden long after one’s season has passed. But the inverse is also true: sometimes, the living hands are simply too full to tend what has already been planted. Foundations can unintentionally become burdened by their own good intentions.
That’s when I often meet families like the “Jamesons”. Michael, a young father and new trustee, found himself navigating nap times and grant cycles with equal urgency. His parents hoped to see him “step into leadership,” but he felt lost in the weeds—wanting to honor the family legacy while struggling to find his own place in it.
What Michael’s story—and so many others like it—reveals is not a failure of care, but a moment of evolution. Just as a gardener might call in new hands for pruning, design, or soil management, so too must families recognize when their philanthropy has matured to a point that requires fresh tending.
That recognition inspired Phīla Engaged Giving’s Foundation Management Service—a quiet, steady hand in the garden. Our role is not to plant new trees or dictate design, but to help families maintain the soil so their vision can keep growing—vibrant, adaptable, and rooted in purpose.
I’ve seen families rediscover joy when the daily tending no longer consumes them, and younger generations find meaning when the garden once again feels like theirs to shape.
As Millennials and Gen-Z begin to sow their own seeds, many are already inviting their children into conversations about giving. I’ve met parents who are teaching seven- and ten-year-olds not just about money, but about stewardship, generosity, and responsibility. They’re not waiting until the next wealth transfer—they’re cultivating belonging right now.
Because the healthiest gardens are not those with the most impressive gates or oldest trees. They are the ones where every generation feels the sun on their face, dirt on their hands, and pride in knowing they helped something beautiful grow.
As we move into the winter months, you might be thinking about how your family foundation can grow and flourish in the new year. If so, please reach out to info@philagiving.com and set up a conversation with one of our family foundation experts.
