The house I grew up in had a big yard with lots of fruit trees, a vegetable garden, a beautiful flower garden with alleys and a nice old and solid bench right under a grapevine where my parents would have their afternoon coffee and chat. There were lilacs and berry bushes with bugs which were, in my opinion back then, the happiest bugs on the planet. And then there were these quince trees, three of them, with low enough branches for me to climb on and comfortable enough to sit there and read for hours. And think. And hide, whenever I did not feel like playing with my sister and my friends.