Pet That Donkey

After several glorious months, it was time to leave New Orleans and head home to Washington. On the way down, I’d rushed past my friend Dana’s farm and missed meeting his new donkey. It took me weeks to recover from that frantic blur of a drive, so this time I made a promise: I would slow down. And I would pet that donkey. Boy, am I glad I did.

Dana’s farm sits in a sunny meadow surrounded by California redwoods, with a creek running along the property and animals scattered everywhere. Twenty-five chickens. Two rabbits. Two dogs. A formerly wild mustang the size of a studio apartment. And one very cute donkey named Murphy.

It’s the kind of place that repairs a person, if you let it.

Moments after arriving, I found myself walking down a private logging road alongside Patrick the mustang, Abel the dog, Murphy the donkey, and Dana the human. No settling-in period. One minute I was a visitor, and the next I was just one more animal in the crew.

I spent my visit chasing chickens, trying my hand at poultry portraiture. It was only when I gave up the chase that I found success. I spent each morning at the corral with Patrick’s nose pressed into my neck as we breathed each other in. I found Murphy’s sweet spot, right behind his ears. And I sat by a campfire surrounded by dogs while Dana played guitar and sang.

I thought I was stopping because of a random promise I’d made to pet a donkey.

Excellent donkey. Ten out of ten. Would pet again.

But what Dana’s farm reminded me is how much joy there is in getting still enough to notice what’s already around you. In filling your life with life. In connecting fully with the creatures, people, and places that make you feel like you belong to the world again.

Maybe joy isn’t something you can catch by chasing it harder. Maybe sometimes you have to stop, breathe in, and let the chickens come to you.

So go find your donkey. Pet him. Feed him some carrots. Maybe take a nap in the grass with him.

Joy will find you.

-Eve