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“Watermelons
Fresh and Fine.
Watermelons Right off the Vine.”
by N. Ray Maxie
"The true Southern watermelon is ... chief of this world's
luxuries, king by the grace of God over all the fruits of the earth. When one
has tasted it, he knows what the angels eat!" ~ Mark Twain |  |
Truck
farming in the Ark-La-Tex during the Great Depression was a very necessary
way of life. Everyone that was able to work cultivated a pretty large garden and
some even had larger “truck patches” of watermelons. Home grown vegetables were
a way of survival helping carry many a family through the hard times by raising
what they needed and selling the watermelon.
My earliest recollection
of a garden was in early spring, about 1944 - 45. I was in our family garden with
my mother while she was setting out onion slips. ( ref:- from Webster’s Dictionary:
onion- “A widely cultivated Asian
herb of the lily family with pungent edible bulbs.”
“Asian family ”:
I never knew that. But, I can tell you, I like a nice sweet onion like the Vedalia,
Georgia 1015, raw, or most any way it is prepared. And like most any adolescent
adult, I like fried onion rings best. There is one chain of East Texas drive-in
restaurants that prepares their ORings the most scrumptious you have ever eaten.
Many of you know just which one I am talking about. Every little town that is
anything, has one.
Meanwhile back to my gardening. Mother was setting
out onion slips, a term given the little onion bulb about the size of your thumb.
The ground was already prepared and soft. She would, of course, plant in rows
by using her finger to make a hole in the soil and set the bulb into it. Then
cover it about an inch deep.
There were many other vegetables planted
in our garden, many from seed packets bought at the same place as the onion slips;
the feed store in Atlanta; Texas
that is! Mother and her big helper, me, planted radishes, lettuce, tomatoes, carrots;
the whole host of fresh and enjoyable stuff. We used the little seed envelopes
placed on a stick to mark the row, identifying what was planted there. Then the
“fun” part came in a long wait, plus work of cultivating it all until harvest
time.
Now don’t get to thinking that my dad escaped this laborious gardening
chore. He was one of the hardest working men I ever knew. Bar none!
He worked in the garden when it might get too hard for everyone else. But, he
had a more serious interest in what was called “cash crops”.
A “cash
crop” was one that he could raise to maturity, harvest it and take it to market,
turning it into cash. Dad, in addition to his regular job in the oilfield, used
truck patches of an acre or more in size to grow corn, peas, cantaloupes and watermelons.
He could later deliver some of that produce to large city super markets and put
cash in his pocket. Dad liked that a lot!
One of his favorite “fall”
past times was the “peddling” of watermelons throughout the countryside. That
way he got to see and talk to a lot of people. Oh, by the way, it was one of my
favorite adolescent and teenage activities with my father, too. We were busy,
worked hard together, had some fun, made friends and little money.
At
autumn-time harvest, especially for watermelons, Dad and I would pick and load
a half-ton truck and trailer full of those luscious dark green, red meated, widely
cultivated African vine fruit of the gourd family. The melons were of various
sizes, medium to large and were all near ripe and ready to eat. We prepared our
load one afternoon and early evening for “peddling” the next day. Most often one
of us would take the water hose at home to spray-clean the entire load.
Living near McLeod, Texas, about
an hour west the mighty Red River bottomland, we would leave home before daybreak
the next morning. Dad drove over into Louisiana, usually near Ida, Hosston and
Plain Dealing, into the great Red River bottoms. There, it was also cotton
harvest time. During those years, hundreds of African-American workers, perhaps
sharecroppers and other cotton pickers were out in the fields working hard, bringing
in the cotton.
Dad would drive slowly
down the back roads and often into the cotton fields as we carried watermelons
to these people. They dearly loved watermelons which were seldom grown in their
cotton country. We sold melons from twenty five cents to a dollar apiece.
The smallest ones were twenty five cents and a large one might go for a dollar.
Before many hours passed, we would empty our entire load and get ready to head
for home, and supper time.
But then if enough daytime remained,
we could stop by a large plantation estate and (harvest) pickup pecans on the
halves. Meaning, we could keep half of what we picked up. The biggest problem
there was, all of the pecans were the very small variety. Again, no bigger than
the end of your thumb. They were small and hard to crack and shell, but most succulent
with the best flavor I ever tasted. We often brought home three or four gallons
of those little pecans. Mother was happy to get them, but often fussed about the
shelling problem. I can hear her now, “Can you boys find some larger pecans,
somewhere?”
My favorite memory of watermelon “peddling” goes something
like this. Dad would drive along slowly with his head out the window, or I would
ride outside on the load and we went about the cotton fields shouting as the “customers”
came running from the fields; “Watermelons, watermelons, fresh and fine. Watermelons,
watermelons right off the vine.”
These are just some of the joys
of growing up in a clean and healthy country lifestyle.
© N. Ray Maxie
"Ramblin' Ray" July1,
2008 Column
piddlinacres@consolidated.net
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