I love Myers lemons. I mean, I really love them. My neighbor has a tree smattered in yellow like polka dots. They never eat them. I take them away in full bowls. I squeeze them in water, baste salmon, stir lemon thyme pasta and occasionally make lemon squares.
Three years ago I properly planted seeds I had squeezed from one such lemon, although my compost pile is filled with them.
The seeds took root upon my kitchen window sill, grew larger until I moved them outdoors. They battled winter, bugs and various other attacks of nature that descended on them like locust.
After a year, I had three plants left, one barely hanging on. They vary in shape and size, like siblings perhaps, but this year to my absolute surprise one blossomed an aromatic flower and then two.
The weather, being particular balmy, urged them on and this is the fruit of my labor–my very first lemon. It’s only an inch and half long yet and as green as a lime, but still, it feels like magic.
This winter when the rest of the garden as fallen asunder I have this to look forward to, one–maybe, more–delicious homegrown Myers lemon. 
