Building a Bridge Too Vast to Cross

Our bridge has four generations. The outside is snow-white because of the sun, but our breeding caves are like the warm gold that I remember from my youth. It takes half a day to crawl from end to end, and the apex is proud to look at the southern ocean. My ancestors built this bridge with mineral saliva that dries as hard as bone. It will last for generations, but the lake below the bridge shrinks, leaving white salt rings as the water level drops. When the water is gone, we will be exposed to predators, and there is already not as many algae as there used to be.

It's time to move on.

I whistle loudly, and my descendants imitate the notes, passing my message up and down the bridge-calling meeting. My family members are out on the streets and in the mountains. Their eyes bulge with fear, and their delicate legs tremble. It is spring, so mothers have babies attached to their backs. They will not want to leave the safety of our bridge.

"I was born on this bridge, but my mother was not born," I tell them. "He told me the news of his move, from a lake in the north. A lake that would dry up like this."

"There is still water in the lake, Matriarch," said one of the mothers. "Enough until the summer rains."

"Maybe." My offspring are young, they know the cycle of the seasons but not a big pattern that stretches over the years. The rain continued to fall, and the lakes burned. "But what about next year, or next year?"

One of my daughters crawls next to me. "I will help you find another pond, we can all build the next bridge."

It is a tempting solution. It's simpler than I think. Some lakes have not dried up. Not many, but few. It is enough to support a few more generations if the weather patterns stick. If we stay, everyone here can live comfortably. Some may prefer that option, the easier way. Not me.

"We will not hold on to the old ways. There is no future for these lakes." I point south with my front leg. "We have to cross the sea."

"Matriarch, no. It will take more than a lifetime to build such a long bridge," said my daughter. Others complained about their agreement. "More than your whole life even crawling through it."

"Some goals cannot be achieved in one life." I have gained the respect of my descendants, but they are afraid of my proposal. I crawl to the young mother and whisper a few notes to calm her angry children. "Otherwise we will not stay here. The pond is burning."

I crawl down the south side of the bridge. My family is following, but far away. They don't come with me - they watch me go. I can't even build a normal bridge on my own, and even if I don't know that it's not what I want. I need to save my family, not leave it.

When I reached the end of our bridge, I stopped. "If we want the best for our children - for all our generations - we must start on the right path. Go with me. We need a family to build a bridge."

No one answers. I'm waiting. I force myself to be quiet, expressing the calm I feel.

"I'll go with you." One of my daughters crawls over me with trembling legs but is determined in her eyes. His daughters joined us, and then a crowd of others.

I take them out of the bridge. Not everyone follows, but most of them do. We are heading for the southern sea, and it is so close that even I am scared, I refuse to show my fear. I crawl along the shoreline and put in the first mineral of our new bridge, a shiny gold piece that meets the rocky shore as it solidifies.

My offspring encircle me, add to what I have begun. One day this piece of gold will expand in the water, and over the years the sun will be white. Generations from now on our descendants will find new lakes on the south coast, or perhaps they will choose to live their lives on a bridge along the sea itself. I will not live to see the end of this effort, but I am proud to start it, this bridge is too big to cross.