Thoughts on watermelon . . ..

There were news reports last week that watermelon contained a natural substance that had the same effect as Viagra. (Sounds like the first line of a joke from David Letterman or Jay Leno, and if you want to complete the joke, you are certainly welcome to post it.) To get the proper dosage you have to gnaw on a considerable amount of rind, where the substance is more concentrated. Maybe those pickled watermelon rinds my grandmother used to make would have a bigger market now. Wonder if I can find a recipe card?

But that's not why I bring up watermelon. I was riding down a county road on July 3rd when I came upon a pickup truck with a load of watermelon to sell from the tailgate. I couldn't resist. I stopped, spent considerable time choosing the best looking and sounding melon, paid my money, and left with my hefty purchase.

As I was choosing my watermelon, I found myself talking to the farmer, using terms that I had accumulated from a lifetime of hearing older, wiser folk discuss the qualities one should consider in choosing a watermelon. And he responded, nodding knowingly, affirming my astute analysis. I could tell he was impressed.

I cherish all those conversations which are reminders of slow summers and hot afternoons when the most pressing issue of the day was the quality of a watermelon. But there are other conversations I cherish.

In my world half of a watermelon sitting on a counter, tailgate, or picnic table is an invitation to conversation. The watermelon half is never cut into pieces. it remains intact, the centering device of a conversation pit.

As one person speaks, the other uses his or her utensil of choice (some prefer knives, some prefer spoons, but fingers are not really suitable) to carve a bite size piece and remove the seeds, listening intently to the speaker, and ultimately eating the prepared bite. As the bite is swallowed, it is as if a timer is turned over, and it is time for the other to speak. As he speaks, responding to the first speaker's thought, the first speaker takes up his or her chosen utensil, and carves out a bite size piece. The conversation is slow and quiet as the watermelon slowly disappears and understanding appears in its place.

All that is left after a while is the rind. We used to just throw it out into the woods. I'm not so sure now.