It is October already and autumn is licking around the edges of the garden. The quince trees, Major and Minor, are resisting the pull of the change of season so far.
The foliage remain green, and generally healthy looking. I have been particularly pleased that Quince Minor has not succumbed this year to the blight that it has had in the last couple of years.
Quince Major is has put on quite a lot of growth this year and I am already deciding how it will be pruned during the winter dormant months. The flock of imaginary pigeons are already standing by to practice flying through the branches (the Monty test of pruning as I like to think of it).
This is all thinking ahead, but the trees are grounded in the moment and I need to do likewise. I look up to the quince, the singular quince, that Quince Major has produced.
It is high up in the branches and so I will be waiting for it to fall rather than choosing to pick it. It looks a good quince, a nicely shaped quince. I imagine its scent and I speak loving words to it..... 'imagine yourself in an apple crumble with singular quince situation' I coo to it. The quince imperceptibly nods acknowledging its destiny......
and the breeze whispers 'with custard....'
In the meantime I continue to encourage Esme to complete her quince picking course, I am not sure if she is fully committed to it yet.
With thanks to Squirrelbasket, the guardian of the followed trees.
