Day 16,066. They say that magic is all around us. Caught up in the day to dayness of it all, it is so easy to overlook ... er, um, underlook, as the case may be.
We have lived in this house for 7 1/2 years. Every spring, I watch the shrub by our beer garden burst into furious hot pink blooms which don't last nearly as long as I wish they would. This year, this autumn, it has gone above and beyond the call of duty and surprised us with fruit. Dan and I have been standing around scratching our heads in fruitful befuddlement. Are we being horticulturally punked?
These little gems look like green apple golf balls. I've cut them in half and they even smell like green apples (of the Granny Smith persuasion). It's all I can do not to munch, but my mama taught me not to put things from trees and shrubberies in my mouth without first clearing it with her. She hasn't gotten back to me yet.
So unless you can tell me what it is I'm dealing with here, I will henceforth refer to it as our beloved apple-bush-from-which-we-shall-not-eat. But I sure would appreciate it if someone could solve this mystery. Anyone?
Thanks to Susie, the bush has been identified as a Flowering Quince. Hooray!