Watermelon memories.

I am reminded today of summers in Mississippi. A lot of our time was spent in the garden, on a lawnmower, in a pool, in a tree, on top of haybales, or lying in grass making shapes out of clouds.
But we also spent time under the acorn tree. What were we doing there? Sometimes we were husking corn. Sometimes we were shelling butterbeans and peas. Sometimes we were drinking sweet tea and visiting with friends (that sounds very Southern doesn’t it). And sometimes we were eating up some delicious watermelon.

I can remember my grandfather’s obsession with growing watermelons. This obsession was passed down to my father. He would gather us under the tree in our front yard and unload the watermelons he had just picked. We would crack open all the different varieties of melons and go at it. Man, just thinking about sitting there with a slice of melon and juice dripping off your chin and down your arms….it’s a sweet memory. (No pun intended)

Why am I thinking about this? Today, Paul came home with a yellow-meated watermelon, which we have never seen here and which I have always told him are so much sweeter than red-meated ones. He now believes me. The funny part of this story is that while at the fruit stand some Italians were asking the vendor what the yellow-meated watermelon was. He told them it was a watermelon mixed with bananas. And that is why I love Italians.

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