Watermelon seems to be one of the best-loved parts of American summers.
Which is why it seems odd that I’ve never cared for watermelon. I’ve met few people with a similar opinion.
Nonetheless, I have good memories of the summer fruit.
When I was a kid, Dad saved seeds from a watermelon he found particularly tasty and planted them and, later, seed from their offspring. The seeds reliably produced — I’m told — good watermelons.
I thought it was cool to help grow them, and I liked picking garden produce, watermelon and all. People would get excited when my family offered them surplus melons.
I remember sitting outside with my parents and brother as they ate big chunks of watermelon. Mom said she didn’t see how I could stand to watch and not have any.
Our dog Droopy would scour watermelon rinds clean of any bits of fruit the previous eater left.
The other dog, Badger, would chew up the rind, slobbering about half of it out of his mouth before swallowing the rest. I think he didn’t like rinds but thought they must be good since Droopy liked them.
Here’s to summer, family, childhood dogs and good memories. You can have my watermelon.