What connects us to our grandparents and to soil—it's the same network.

Mostly underground.

Call it mycelium.

Memory lives there too, threaded through systems that refuse to break.

Easy to ignore. It exists quietly—purpose without performance, service without announcement.

My 9th grade history teacher told me it's not who you are, it's whose you are.

Interdependence is the most descriptive term I can find for this.