It is a splendid morning here in The 'Kan EWA. The daffodils bloom in big blobs of sun kisses, with the buttercups making a carpet of golden winks along the paths of Bellemaison. The new leaves of the climbing hydrangea rise into the sunshine of the sky, ladders of gold green vines creeping up to the attic windows. The white and pink and lavender blooms of the early alyssums scatter and spill across the rocks and trails of the garden in bucketsful, throwing out the welcome mat after their long absence when they were tucked away in the dark arms of winter.

The Chows patrol, monitor Cliffie's progress, and look for a ball game. I mentally make a note to lay in supplies for Sunday brunch. The birds sing in cacophonous joy and the dew on new leaves twinkles along in accompaniment. I think of the May basket left at my front door yesterday. No matter what the politicians, the media or the scientists of this world have for me, I have my garden and The Chow Nation. And no one, not even them, can take that away.



JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA