Medlar Tree

Along with the quince tree, in fact to a greater degree, the medlar is one of those elusive, romantic fruit bearers, once quite common but now so obscure that finding one would be quite a task. The fruit which it produces is most unusual in that it requires to be blet before it can be eaten, meaning that it's at its sweet sticky best when on the verge of being a putrid pulp. As if that weren't enough to dissuade the potential picker, the thing quite plainly resembles a cat's bottom. Needless to say I covet this greatly, and will certainly be planting one in my garden. When I get a garden that is.



Shakespeare dots his work with mentions of the medlar...

Now will he sit under a medlar tree,
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.
O Romeo, that she were, O that she were
An open-arse and thou a pop'rin pear!