The garden of the Southwest is where I was born and raised. My hometown has endless fields with storks flying straight, there are long orchards, garden after garden, sweet and fragrant fruits at different times. The rice fields turn yellow in the ripe rice season. Each cart and tractor carried rice slowly to the drying yard or to the dryer. Ripe rice season is also durian and mango season. The village streets are fragrant with the scent of rice, sweet mango, and the passionate scent of durian. The sounds of farmers chatting and calling each other mixed with the sound of motorboats carrying rice and fruit back to the city. Looming in the afternoon sunlight, buffaloes and cows wandered back to the barn in herds, the sound of their feet tapping their hooves on the village road mixed with the sound of. Looming in the afternoon sunlight, buffaloes and cows wandered back to the barn in herds, the sound of their feet tapping their hooves on the village road mixed with the sound of the afternoon wind blowing. My village is so peaceful and prosperous. I love my home