It was late January in Texas, the sun was out, and it felt like spring. Out a window, the first tiny orange bloom of quince had just appeared.

I was elated.

Then the blue norther blew in as unexpectedly as normal to the vagaries of Texas weather. The temperatures dropped radically and disastrously; and the sleet, snow and ice started, stayed and refused to leave for a week. A week! The poor little orange blossom shriveled to ash gray — bruised, beaten, fallen and buried by the unrelenting assault of cold and frost. I was dejected. I was defeated. I dreaded the little bush had expired and would never quince again.

I was sad.

Time passed. A month passed.

It was late February in Texas, the sun was out, and it felt like spring. I walked to the same window, sighing, anticipating only bare twigs and looked down.

It was a miracle!

The little quince had returned, grown, matured, full and bright and sparkling orange, with a dancing yellow center. And look! He was surrounded by family, friends and neighbors.

There were Mom and Dad Quince, with all the little Grand Quinces, Uncle Junipero Quince, the long walker, with Aunt Flannery Quince, the long talker, and Cousin Newton Quince, the budding physicist, tilting a complicated phrase with Uncle Gerald Manley Quince, the known and unknown poet, Great Aunt Julia Quince, the famous chef, blowing out her latest honey treats to a boisterous romp of pre-teen Quinces, and that crazy escapologist Harry Houdini Quince swinging from branch to branch waiting for someone to notice. Oh, it was a marvelous, marvelous, mixed, magnificent, muddled, mingled and magical grouping of Family Quince.

It is finally really springtime in Texas. 

And I am so very happy.

To find it so.

I hope spring finds you so soon.

Wherever you are waiting.

And a quince or two

Find their way 

To you.

Thanks for reading,

Grandpa Jim

And enjoy a Spring Awakening Polka while you wait.