Years of neglect bear fruit, thanks to this quiet achiever's accommodating nature.
I can't imagine why I planted a guava. At the time I bought it I was probably attracted to the foliage, but I suspect I didn't even know it made fruit and I'd certainly never tasted one. The plant didn't do anything spectacular in its first five minutes, so I turned my attention to the higher achievers and ignored it for the next four years.
I noticed it this year only because, ambling past one day on my way to some other, more interesting part of the garden, I squelched through a mushy carpet of windfall guava, slipped, and became acquainted with the fruit at rather closer range than I had planned.
There were certainly plenty of them, both on the tree and off, so I decided I had better find something to do with them. It didn't occur to me at that point to simply eat them, so I trawled through pages of recipes on the internet and finally found one that seemed easy. Cook them to a pulp and add to stewed apple, it said.
I picked a colander full, added the four granny smiths still clinging to our solitary apple tree and headed for the kitchen to make pulp. I sampled a couple of guava on the way. Sweet and tart at the same time, with an indescribable flavour, they created a taste explosion in my mouth. I decided I might pay the guava tree a little more attention.