| |
Watermelon,
a high Summer treat if there ever was one. It ranked right up there alongside
baseball, exploring and running through the hose, as far as great ways to spend
the unencumbered days. Long, hot, humid weeks invited relief in any form, and
this was most definitely a high point.
Normally Mama bought a melon at
the local grocery store, Weingarten's, Henke & Pillot, Evans or Fertitta's on
Park Street. It depended on where she chose to shop and whether the budget would
allow for a splurge. If we were very lucky we would have been on a trip to Caldwell
to visit my grandparents and would have stopped at a roadside stand in Hempstead,
the Watermelon Capital of Texas, at least at that time. Back in the 50's and 60's
they often sold for as little as 6 or 7 for a dollar, depending on the variety,
I think it was mostly the light green ones.
My mother would tote the torpedo,
she usually bought the long, light green ones, but occasionally she'd get one
with dark green stripes, out to the back yard and place it on newspapers spread
across the cement picnic table that was edged with decorative, colored, glazed
ceramic tiles that sat middle of the yard, matching benches on either side. Then
she would split and slice that big boy. The members of my family had their unique
ways of eating it. My Aunt Lydia always ate hers standing up, a chunk of French,
or slice of any white, bread in one hand, utensil in the other. Mama opted for
a slice of rye with hers, if we had any. Each time Butch and I questioned the
bread thing, we were told that “Granny always eats hers this way.” I never remember
any further explanation. My father took his without any sides except salt. YUK.
I loathed the idea, and taste, of salt on a perfectly nice, juicy, refreshing
treat. Not so the others. They were universally agreed that this was the way to
eat watermelon. I repeat, YUK.
Even the choice of utensils was individualized.
Our Dad used a fork, which I personally thought shredded everything to a soggy
pulp. Butch would only use a spoon, a small coffee sized one, digging deep into
the light green rind, leaving little baby craters filled with puddles of juice,
until Mama told him to stop and get more melon if he still wanted some. My Aunt
Pee Wee used both a knife and a spoon at various times, and Mama preferred a long
butcher knife, the same one she used to cut the melon. As for me, I always used
a heavy butter knife, safe but sharp enough to saw my slice into squarish little
bricks.
Once in awhile our mother would let us invite a couple of neighbor
kids over, and she would sit us down on in the grass on newspapers, or maybe on
an old sheet, spread out under us as a chigger deterrent, and bring slices outside
for each of us. That meant bending our heads down and chomping from side to side
until we were done, and our faces, hair, arms and legs were a sticky mess, the
hard, black, and soft, embryonic, white seeds stuck flat against our skin. Before
we could attract hordes of flies, we were sent off to “get the hose.” Then the
real fun began. I'm sure Mama only wanted us to get rid of the dried juices before
coming inside the house, but this was too good a play opportunity to pass up.
We shrieked, squealed and ran in and out of the spray. The kid controlling the
hose had a lot of power and usually wielded it unmercifully, and this was very
often my brother Butch. He was able to occlude part of the end of the hose with
a thumb or finger in such a way that he created a hard, stinging stream of water
that mimicked jillions of gnats nipping at our bare skin.
When our clothes
were saturated and practically transparent, we stepped up into the screened in
back porch and stripped down to our underwear and went off to dress in dry duds
while the neighbor kids ran home to do the same. We weren't the adorable little
imps found in the children's book, the Water Babies, but we had just as
much fun.
© Frances
Giles
"True Confessions and Mild Obsessions"
September 24, 2013 Column
Related Topics: Food
| Columns | People
| Texas Towns | Texas |
| Texas
Escapes, in its purpose to preserve historic, endangered and vanishing
Texas, asks that anyone wishing to share their local history, stories, and vintage/historic
photos, please contact
us. | | |
