At Lulu’s crossing, time is changing the landscape. The grass is getting tall – Ted Emerson is coming to brushhog the pastures this weekend. The water is drying out. Lulu is usually the first one over into the new pasture. Like most donkeys, Lulu didn’t do what the humans wanted, she did what felt safe to her, a survival mechanism that is unique to animals like dogs or horses. It is difficult to even recall the mud and blog that blocked the gate. I have learned to listen to animals, to be careful about imposing my will.

I have learned to cross muddy bridges, to figure out how to get to the other side. You come to something blocking you, and you either surrender to it or you don’t. Why were so many people all over the world rooting for this donkey to make it across? Because they stand in for us, we identify with them, they are our surrogates in life sometimes. Lulu got across.

At Lulu’s crossing, it feels like an old pasture now, an organic place, it fits right into the farm as if it grew there, and of course it did. It was our bridge to get across too.