Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling

Your ring?’ Said the Piggy, ‘I will.’

So they took it away, and were married next day

By the Turkey who lives on the hill.

They dined on mince, and slices of quince,

Which they ate with a runcible spoon;

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,

They danced by the light of the moon,

The moon,

The moon,

They danced by the light of the moon.

Edward Lear, “The Owl and the Pussycat”

My quince is preparing to flower. Planted almost four years ago on a late July afternoon, I was never sure it would actually grow. I purchased it as a birthday gift to myself after noticing one on a trip to The Cloisters in Washington Heights; I was clueless about them prior to my visit. Anyone who knows me knows I frequently exhibit that kind of arrogance – rashly commit to something and figure it out later.

I’m not really sure why I was smitten. Perhaps it was the architecture of the tree, the gnarled bark that started around the base of the trunk, its undulating lines continuing up through its sinuous branches. Maybe it was the ancient history of the specimen, which the museum label said grew in monastic gardens throughout medieval Europe. Or maybe because it was because I knew I’d be the only kid on the block with one in her backyard. Probably the last, because not only am I arrogant, but also like to be different.

After the first year, three new branches appeared and the leaves were fuller and darker. In the second year I was treated to a display of beautiful flowers, much like the magnolias you find in the South only pinker. In the third year there was not only significant growth, but the tree was loaded with fruit, which I neglected and the squirrels enjoyed. This year I will be better prepared, since I have designs on making jam this October.

Besides nurturing its growth, I’ve spent the last four years learning about the cultural and literary history of this special tree. In mythology, Paris awarded Aphrodite a quince and it became sacred to the goddess of love and fertility. Plutarch reported that Greek brides would nibble on slices to sweeten their breath before entering their bridal bedchamber. King Edward I introduced quince to England when he planted them at the Tower of London during the 13th century. The very tree that piqued my curiosity has been growing in The Cloisters garden for over 70 years, surviving countless hurricanes, snowstorms and smog.

I think I made a good investment with the Birthday Quince; this tree has pretty good staying power and is a great conversation piece. Any tree that does double duty in my garden is alright with me.