What I wouldn’t give to be that, just for a little while. Carefree, happy, cool, covered with watermelon juice and not even noticing.
It’s been a rough few days, albeit, a rough few weeks but it seemed to come to a head yesterday and all the worry and running and aches and fears piled into one night of non stop tears and despair.
When I saw this picture on my friends Facebook feed I just wanted to jump through the screen onto her porch to join those little darlings. Some days I just don’t want to be a grownup.
Do you remember the watermelon days? Can you glimpse with me into your past just for a moment to a time and place where you and perhaps a similar group of children sat together eating watermelon?
When my Dad cut the watermelon he always told us the story about the little boy he and Mom saw on their honeymoon. He was sitting on street corner eating watermelon in a way that looked sort of like the roller on the typewriter. He just chewed his way all the way across the top and then at the end, where if a typewriter, it would ding, he would spit out a mouthful of seeds, turn his head and start all over again. Of course Dad had to include the motions with the story and usually managed to put on a fairly decent show of spitting seeds out too. He lacked the space in his teeth of a seven year old black kid in Florida but I think he had been practicing before we got there.
I haven’t been able to eat watermelon since without thinking of that little boy in Florida.
The crowd I ate watermelon with as a child was either my cousins or the gang from Elm Park. Our little community at home grew from six permanent families in winter with a total of four kids to 20 families in the summer with too many kids to count in the cottages surrounding our home.
With my cousins it would often be a gathering on the top of the little hill at Grandpa Mac’s house or on the rickety old porch/walkway to the back door of my uncle’s farmhouse. In later years we would gather every summer and the same picture would appear with our own children sitting in a row eating watermelon after a great day of swimming and eating together.
With my own kids it was also the neighbourhood kids who gathered to eat watermelon and when they were at our house they would sit on the porch and have a seed spitting contest to see who could get them the furthest. Each spring in my flower garden I would find the remnants from the previous summer’s spitting. There were always several watermelon growing in the garden.
There is just something about hot muggy days and watermelon that brings back all the goodness of things just not being more important than the moment at hand.
Bring watermelon and we’ll laugh and spit..