My name is Lourdes Millan, but most in the community know me as Aunty Lulu.
I live on a piece of agricultural land that my husband and I cared for together.
It was always our dream to turn this land into a safe, healing space for the community—and that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to carry forward, even as I grieve his passing.
Our dream was to create a place where people feel safe, supported, and connected—a space rooted in love and community. Since his passing, that dream has become even more important to me. Continuing this work keeps his spirit alive.
This land isn’t just mine—it belongs to the people. We grow food here and give most of it away to those in need. Some things grown on the farm are mangoes, dragonfruit, watermelon, ti leaf, squash, edible flowers. I’ve opened the space to local families and farmers trying to build a life or find their footing again. I hire people often overlooked—those with difficult pasts or who’ve been cast aside. Everyone deserves a second chance and to be seen.
I also care for stray animals that wander our neighborhood. Over the years, this land has become a home to many. I help local aunties and uncles get their pets fixed free of charge to ease their burdens and keep our community healthy.
There were easier paths with this land. Many use land to make a profit, and I understand that. But this land is sacred. It’s a place of healing—a refuge for those hurting, hungry, or feeling alone—where they can leave knowing they matter.
Even in my grief, I feel deeply called to care for others. That’s what my husband and I did together, and it’s what I’ll keep doing as long as I can.
This land holds love, struggle, joy, heartbreak, and hope. Sharing it helps others feel less alone—and that tells me I’m doing something right.
I live on a piece of agricultural land that my husband and I cared for together.
It was always our dream to turn this land into a safe, healing space for the community—and that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to carry forward, even as I grieve his passing.
Our dream was to create a place where people feel safe, supported, and connected—a space rooted in love and community. Since his passing, that dream has become even more important to me. Continuing this work keeps his spirit alive.
This land isn’t just mine—it belongs to the people. We grow food here and give most of it away to those in need. Some things grown on the farm are mangoes, dragonfruit, watermelon, ti leaf, squash, edible flowers. I’ve opened the space to local families and farmers trying to build a life or find their footing again. I hire people often overlooked—those with difficult pasts or who’ve been cast aside. Everyone deserves a second chance and to be seen.
I also care for stray animals that wander our neighborhood. Over the years, this land has become a home to many. I help local aunties and uncles get their pets fixed free of charge to ease their burdens and keep our community healthy.
There were easier paths with this land. Many use land to make a profit, and I understand that. But this land is sacred. It’s a place of healing—a refuge for those hurting, hungry, or feeling alone—where they can leave knowing they matter.
Even in my grief, I feel deeply called to care for others. That’s what my husband and I did together, and it’s what I’ll keep doing as long as I can.
This land holds love, struggle, joy, heartbreak, and hope. Sharing it helps others feel less alone—and that tells me I’m doing something right.
