The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
‘O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!
Pussy said to the Owl, ‘You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?’
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.
‘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
I know what you’re wondering…”Julie do you make quince jelly?”
Well, I suppose I would but my quince are merely ornamental–or so that’s always been my understanding. Their spindly spiky twig like branches lay bare all winter yet for the shriveled decaying brown spent fruit. Spring brings forth bright brilliant green leaves accented by the most demure and dainty coral or magenta blooms. Summer and early Autumn oddly gives way to the bushes loosing their leaves while their fruit plumps up into globule masses— two of the bushes have bright green fruit while the other two are more yellow/ green tinged with grey spots.
A low growing woody type of shrub that hugs the bank out back almost like a vine. I prune them in the early spring and must be very careful as they have lethal thorns. I think they are some of my favorite bushes/ shrubs in the yard. Unusual, exotic, sturdy yet delicate. The quince dates back to early Greece mythology..passing through Roman lore and cookbooks…they dot the globe from Australia to Scotland–and yet I’ve never tasted a quince nor had quince jelly.
As for needing a “runcible” spoon in order to eat my quince as Mr. Lear so poetically mused in the above children’s poem….it should be noted that Mr. Lear made up the word. There is no such thing as “runcible” let alone a runcible spoon….but don’t tell the owl and the pussycat as it truly made the wedding feast quite special…..
May your Wednesday be just as magically special………
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