If there’s one thing everyone in my family knows about my mother, it’s that her favorite color is red.

Not just a little red here and there. Red furniture, red decorations, red flowers, red kitchen stools, and even a red coffee maker. If you’re buying Mom a gift and can’t decide between colors, there’s a pretty reliable rule: get the red one.

Even the metal roof on her log-cabin-style home is red. The large pole barn beside it? Red and black, naturally. It’s a color that seems to follow her wherever she goes.

But red is only the beginning of the story.

My mother loves antiques. I don’t mean she owns a few old pieces of furniture or keeps a decorative milk can by the front door. Her house is filled with treasures: antique telephones, advertising signs, vintage tools, license plates, oil lamps, glass lamps, cabinets of dishes, and collections of Indiana glass and Avon glass. There are chests, candlesticks, and objects I couldn’t begin to identify without asking her.

Some of that glass has found its way into my own home. I suppose when your mother collects enough of something, eventually you become part of the collection’s distribution network.

And somehow, she makes it all work. Her home isn’t a jumble of things. She has an eye for arranging objects so that each one feels like it belongs. You can sit in her kitchen for an hour and still notice something you’ve never seen before. Look up at a wall, glance toward a cabinet, or turn around in your chair, and there’s another little discovery waiting.

It’s a bit like visiting an antique shop where nothing is for sale.

Of course, Mom never passes up an opportunity to visit an actual antique shop. She’s always searching for the next hidden gem, something another person might walk right past. To her, an old object isn’t necessarily worn out or forgotten. It might be exactly what she’s been looking for, even if she didn’t know she needed it until that moment.

That fascination goes back to my childhood. We had an entire room in our basement devoted to Coca-Cola memorabilia. Not a shelf. A room. Signs, advertisements, collectibles, and an antique Coca-Cola vending machine were all part of a collection that seemed enormous to me as a boy. I sometimes wonder how many pieces she had. Hundreds? Thousands? Whatever the number, it was impressive. And, as you might have guessed, much of it was red.

Over the years, her interest in old things grew beyond collecting. She developed a talent for seeing potential in older houses and buildings, especially the details other people might overlook. Chandeliers, fixtures, and architectural pieces could be rescued, restored, or given a new home.

After my father passed away more than twenty years ago, that ability became more than a hobby. Mom began buying, renovating, and selling houses. She became a real estate agent and made house flipping an important part of how she supported herself. I was already a young adult, busy finding my own way in the world. Looking back now, I appreciate more fully what it meant for her to build a different life. She had spent years caring for our family, working as the librarian at my elementary school, making dinner, and taking my twin brother, little sister and me wherever we needed to be. Then she had to figure out a great deal on her own. And she did.

I admire that about her. She took the same instinct that helped her see beauty and possibility in an old house and turned it into a livelihood. It required independence, determination, and a willingness to learn.

These days, she’s enjoying the life she worked so hard to create. She and her partner Paul spend time in Florida, often around Anna Maria Island, and sometimes they simply climb into his truck and take off for a weekend or a longer trip. I love that they can do that. After so many years of responsibilities, she deserves the freedom to enjoy herself.

She also takes pride in looking her best. Her hair is done, her nails are done, and when she goes out, she makes sure she looks put together. The attention she gives to her appearance is much like the care she gives to her home: she enjoys making things look beautiful. And then there’s her garden.

If the inside of her house gives you plenty to look at, the outside is no different. Flowers, plants, and outdoor decorations fill the spaces around her home. Geraniums and other blooms bring color to the yard, and she always seems to have another idea for where something should go. Naturally, there’s plenty of red.

Her decorating enthusiasm even extends to the cabin resort Cristian and I own in Southern Indiana. Mom is forever finding an antique, a rustic tool, or a piece she thinks would look perfect in one of our cabins. She might mention that she found something through her friend Connie and then explain exactly where she imagines us putting it. She always knows how to find the best stuff.

I suspect she’s collecting for two properties now: hers and ours, which we absolutely love.

One of my favorite parts of visiting her, though, has nothing to do with the antiques. It’s arriving for dinner. Cristian and I might come by around four or five in the afternoon. We ring the doorbell, walk in, and there she is to greet us with a hug. Before long, we can smell what’s cooking in the kitchen.

Quite often, it’s chili. In a red pot, of course. Mom’s chili has been a family favorite since I was a boy. There are crackers, and always peanut butter and Karo syrup sandwiches to go with it. We tell her how good everything smells, and she lets us know dinner is almost ready. For a moment, the years between childhood and adulthood seem to disappear.

I especially love seeing how close she and Cristian have become. When I’m away flying, they still visit and spend time together, often joining Paul and the rest of the family for dinner. Their relationship has grown into something entirely their own, and it means a great deal to me.

The older I get, the more I appreciate the life Mom has made and the family she raised. My sister and her husband have built a successful life farming. My brother is a creative and has a big heart. Mom remains close to her sister Peggy and her brother Mark, and she's surrounded by people who love her. Whatever else has changed over the years, family is still at the center of her world.

I sometimes wonder what Dad would think if he could see the life Mom has built. I imagine he'd be proud of everything she's accomplished, the happiness she's found, and the love that surrounds her. I think he'd be especially pleased to see her enjoying life on her own terms.

I don't know exactly how my mother measures success, but from where I stand, she's done pretty well for herself. And I think I can speak for my brother and sister when I say we couldn't be prouder of the woman she's become.

Of course, I doubt she's finished finding things to do. There's probably another antique store she hasn't explored, another flower that needs planting, or some old treasure waiting to be brought home. And there's a good chance that whatever she finds will end up in just the right place.

Possibly next to something red.