
My car smelled.
Normally when I use the word smell, it has a negative connotation, but this time it was an unbelievable, heavenly aroma. I was intoxicated, and a visit to Thistledown Farm was the cause. Tucked in a big wooden bin near the apples and pears were lovely and ugly quince.
While living in Portland, I had discovered that one of the old gnarly trees in the used-to-be orchard in our backyard was a quince tree. It was always covered with tons of fruit that looked like squished dreadful pears; full of divots and dark spots and definitely not uniform and pretty. And to boot, they never seemed to get ripe like the two other pear trees growing nearby. Continue reading