Da Quince Trees

Some time in spring 2010 (or was it fall 2009?), we planted two quince trees in the front yard, a few feet from the house. The first year, they put out leaves; the second year, they put out blossoms but no fruit to speak of; the third year, they put out half a dozen or so fruit; the fourth year, they put out dozens of fruit; the fifth year, they put out hundreds of fruit, many of which were full of oriental-fruit-moth larva dirt; the sixth year, they put out hundreds of fruit, ALL of which were full of OFM larva dirt; etc. I've been gradually ramping up the anti-OFM warfare, to include glue traps replaced every week (and this summer they're pretty well filling up in a week) as well as a variety of wasp that selectively parasitizes OFM larvae. But this year we appear to have only about a dozen fruit (the squirrels having gotten the rest), most of which are full of OFM larva dirt.

A week or so ago, I went out on the roof to cut off the tall branches with a long-handled clipper, with partial success, but shalmestere wanted more cut off, and took a turn with the long-handled clipper herself from the ground. And somewhere in there, a berserker rage took hold, as she cut off more and more branches, feeling a thrill of accomplishment at each one. The trees now have perhaps half the bulk, and a third the leaves, that they had two weeks ago, and we've decided they've had their chance.

In eleven years, we've gotten a gallon or two of usable fruit, at the cost of dozens of hours of manual triage, slicing each of hundreds of fruit open and separating the worm-dirt from the clean flesh (if any). The flowers are pretty for about a week in late April or early May, and other than that, they're not particularly attractive trees. And although sold as a "dwarf" variety, they consistently grow beyond the 12' edge of the roof over the enclosed porch, starting to obstruct the view from the bedroom window; they completely shade the porch, so one can't see anything through its windows and there isn't enough light to grow much of anything in pots on the porch. And they're too close to the house: their roots are probably attacking the basement walls.

So the decision has been made to cut them down, remove the stumps (not sure whether this is within our capabilities or requires a professional), and replace them probably with roses or lilacs or perhaps some kind of ultra-dwarf fruit tree (there's something called "cherry bushes" that are supposed to get no more than about 6' high). I'm leaning towards roses at the moment. Possibly dwarf heirloom apple trees, a bit farther from the house, but they would probably have all the same problems as the quinces.

Movie: The Green Knight

We went to see the new movie about Gawain and the Green Knight a few nights ago. Yes, went to see, in a theatre, the first time we'd been inside a movie theatre in a year and a half.

The movie is not a period piece, and doesn't try to be. The clothes vary all over the map, from Hollywood-medieval-peasant-rags to 14th-or-15th-century armor to 15th-century female headdress to 17th-century jerkins to modern-looking shirts that look like they're made of printed T-shirt-knit, sewn together with broad contrasting seams diagonally at the shoulders. The feasting-room at Camelot is bleak, cold, undecorated, and ill-lit even at Christmas.

There are many versions of the story: in some, the Green Knight will return to Camelot a year later to deliver his return blow, while in others, Gawain is supposed to make his followup appointment at the Green Knight's place some days' ride away. In this movie, it's the latter, and the majority of the film is spent on Gawain's journey from Camelot to the Green Chapel, a few days before Christmas. Of course, Gawain has no directions to follow, so things are sorta aimless; he asks directions of locals, who take advantage of his out-of-town status to mug him for anything valuable he might be carrying, including his horse but (oddly) neither his sword or the Knight's axe. He pushes onward, on foot, and as he gets increasingly lost, tired, and hungry, his encounters and adventures get more and more surreal. There's an overarching sense of mystery: things don't make sense, and there's no reason they should make sense, because the Arthurian world is impenetrable and ineffable.

Eventually he does find the Green Knight, and has difficult choices to make. Do I submit willingly to have my head cut off? If so, do I do it while wearing the enchanted sash that I've been assured will protect me from harm, or is that cheating? (Or is it perfectly fair, considering that the Knight knew he could walk away after having his own head cut off?) If I go home without facing the Knight, what sort of man do I become? And so on. The end is left ambiguous: the audience doesn't know what happens to Gawain's head, only sorta what's happened to his self-image.

So after we got home from the theatre, I checked the bookshelves for the original tale. Which, it turns, out, we have in Tolkien's edition, but not a modern-English translation. OK, I can sorta handle Middle English... but this is harder Middle English than Chaucer, using a wide array of obscure words to assist the alliteration. So I've waded through about 200 lines so far, understanding about half of what I read. I'm sure there's a translation on-line somewhere....