Many years ago, while house hunting with my then husband-to-be, we came across an antique farmhouse for sale. We were immediately enchanted by the sight of two friendly dogs running free in the meadows and by the quaint, nook-and-cranny style of the house.
The custom kitchen was a marvel of perfection. Designed by a culinary professional, it had every amenity imaginable along with cabinets, flooring and wall panels in solid natural cherry, my favorite wood.
The door leading out from the kitchen took us into a walled garden where a small quince tree stood in full flower. I was utterly captivated by its magical beauty and began to imagine myself making jam and other culinary delights with its fruit.
But it was not to be. After we looked at the house, we decided to drive up the street to get a better sense of the farmhouse's location and discovered that the town dump was located there, less than a block away. Though it was out of sight, we knew it would never be out of earshot and the constant traffic on weekends would be awful.
Seeing a flowering quince this week brought back the memory of that farmhouse and I found myself wondering, what if...
An excellent article about the long and interesting history of quince trees and ways to use their fruit can be found here.