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soon dripping into her collar that she hadn’t had the foresight to tighten around her neck. Then the seat of her pants got wet straddling fallen logs covered with very wet moss. She should have brought an umbrella. Marisa was already grinning at China’s difficulties. The sight of the city lady struggling with an umbrella in the dense forest would have made Marisa fall down laughing.
    There were about five different kinds of mushrooms sprouting everywhere but the chanterelles were few and hiding in precarious places. Nevertheless she managed to fill half a bucket and so did Marisa. Bear’s was filled to overflowing. Marisa complained she couldn't find the magic clearing she'd found before where the chanterelles were abundant. They struggled back to the road which they found by listening for the sound of the logging trucks. China was thrilled to see the gravel road heralding the return to civilization. Fallen, rotting tree trunks, a dense forest and pouring rain had by this time thoroughly quelled her enthusiasm for chanterelles. They had a bite to eat and then Marisa and Bear went back to the delights of mushroom picking.
    China didn't mind being a wimp (not that they had said a word), and she sat in the truck, turned the heat on and slowly dried out to the accompaniment of rain on the roof. Ah, the luxuries one took for granted - like dry socks and boots and a smooth terrain on which to walk.
    A couple of hours later Marisa and Bear returned with two baskets full and a story of a flat meadow simply blanketed with the golden mushrooms. China thought it a bit strange that Marisa had quickly found the abundant meadow after China had given up.

    ~ ~

    China spent the next morning making a superb chicken stock to steam the chanterelles in. She decided to try out her new recipe for Soupe a la Creme de Chanterelles on Sam, who was due to arrive on the seaplane at 4pm.
    China was impatiently counting the minutes. She put on her garter belt, stockings and flirty black dress and high heels. When the plane landed it disgorged a troop of sports fisherman with American accents. Sam followed with suit and briefcase. China ran and threw herself into his arms and felt the wind throw her skirt to indecent heights. The Americans clapped and whistled as Sam led her to the car.
    “Sweetie,” said Sam, “I think you just got their minds off salmon for awhile.”
    “And where’s your mind?” asked China.
    “Right between your legs.”
    “That’s my boy!” said China. “Did you win the case?”
    “Of course we won. The white logging companies can’t buck the irrefutable evidence of CMTs.”
    “Of what?”
    “CMTs. Culturally Modified Trees.”
    “Detailed explanation for the culturally ignorant, please, Sam.”
    “OK. No aboriginal has a piece of paper for land that he’s owned for generations, and so the white man stole plenty. Right?”
    “Right,” agreed China.
    “It took a while for the logging companies to start looking in more remote areas,” continued Sam in a voice bored with repeating. “Meanwhile, things changed and aboriginals now have doctors, lawyers, and lots of Indian Chiefs. Well, we always had those. Anyway, we still don’t need a piece of paper. All we have to do is prove that the trees in question have been culturally modified. Bark stripped for cedar baskets, roots cut for medicine, a gouge made by an axe to test if it’s the right tree for a canoe or a totem.”
    “The trees are talking,” said China delightedly.
    “You got it darling. A piece of cake.”
    “Did you get a piece of cheque?”
    “That wasn’t so easy.”
    “Sam!” wailed China.
    “Well, my client couldn’t fish when he was in court, could he? Don’t worry, he’ll pay me when the season is over, or he’ll pay me with fish, and if he doesn’t I’ll confiscate his boat.”
    “Sam, we can’t possibly eat our way through all the salmon that’s in the freezer now!”
    They pulled into the driveway.
    “Don’t worry,