For National Poetry Month — one of my favorite sentiments from the poet Zia Hyder…
“When it is night in New York,
the sun shines in Dhaka,
but that doesn’t matter.
Flowers that blossom here in spring
are unknown in meadows of distant Bengal–
that too doesn’t matter….
No one here knows Grandmother’s hand-sewn quilt–
even that doesn’t matter.
There’s an enormous comfort knowing
we all live under this same sky.”
~Zia Hyder, “Under This Sky” (Bangladesh) (translated by Bhabani Sengupta with Naomi Shihab Nye)
This bonsai quince tree is blooming pink and white and loaded with plump round buds.
Almost every colonial kitchen had a quince tree, but these days they’re scarce. The nation’s entire quince crop covers only about 250 acres. Years ago the quince was valuable for its pectin used in making preserves. Soak a few seeds in water and presto — you have Jello! The pretty blossoming tree lost its job, however, with the introduction of powdered gelatin. Quince products not easy to find but worth trying — quince liqueur, cider, butter, and slices in syrup.
Check out this NY Times piece “In Praise of the Misunderstood Quince”