I finally decided to cut my fourth baby watermelon. It had not gotten any bigger in two weeks. You recall two were stolen and smashed by critter or human on my neighbors’ front steps. I draped netting over the patch after the theft. The first one I ate and it wasn’t very sweet.
I cut this one and popped it in the frig before I slaved in the hot sun, pulling out the corn, and turning the soil over with a shovel.
So, when I finished work, soaked from sweat, I went to my prize, and sliced her open. Alas, too late. It was sweet, but too far gone. I got a few bites out of it. I shouldn’t have waited.
I remember so well growing up and visiting my grandmothers, and we’d cut open a melon, and if it wasn’t perfect they’d say, “Go back to the field and cut another one.” And we would, and we’d sit around in a circle on the lawn under the merciful shade of a big maple tree, and eat watermelon, (with salt!) till our insides hurt. Well, I had one more in my patch the same size, but younger. I took a chance and cut it. Nope, not ripe. Oh, for some more space to grow watermelon! Thanks for stopping! – Kaye