Certain things in life make me ridiculously excited. One of those things is watermelon. Another is growing food in my urban farm (aka back yard). So, the excitement and joy I experienced when I grew a watermelon in my back yard was almost off the charts. When I first noticed the little melon-lette, I may have unintentionally “watered” the melon patch.
The little melon grew and grew. And soon it had melon buddies — it’s true (!!), I have multiple melons in my back yard. But, just like my grandma said to me when I became extremely jealous of the attention my baby cousin was receiving, “the first grandchild always has a special place in your heart.” I think that little nugget of wisdom also applies to watermelons.
Over the past couple weeks, I’ve posed the “how do you know when a watermelon is ripe?” question to almost everyone I know. I got a variety of answers, so I combined my dad’s advice of looking for a little dead tendril on the vine opposite the melon with my gut feeling. I then picked my little sugar baby and hoped for the best.
I also noticed my sugar baby was a bit of a rebel and got a melon patch tattoo.
Look! It’s Pluto!
After admiring my sugar baby’s rind art, I knew it was time to see if my produce was ripe. I grabbed a knife.
My little sugar baby was PERFECTLY ripe! The fruit was a beautiful pink color and tasted exactly like a melon should taste.
The only downside: the five million seeds inside my sugar baby. Holy cow. I forgot how seedy watermelons can be. I had vague recollections of seedy watermelons from my childhood (I think I was born before the seedless watermelon was invented), but it had been a while since I’d dealt with seeds — the speed bump in the watermelon-eating experience of life.
Perhaps it was because my sugar baby was so darn delicious, or perhaps it was because it was the first little melon in my urban farm — but, either way, I was ok with the seeds. John and I spit seeds. And spit seeds. And spit seeds. I may have eaten a few. So, a watermelon may be growing inside me. I’ll you updated.
My sugar baby wasn’t the only exciting object to come out of the garden last week. Mr. Stripey the tomato also made an appearance. Mr. Stripey is the actual name of the seed — I didn’t name the tomato Mr. Stripey. I saw the seed in a catalog when I was visiting my grandma while she recovered from hip replacement surgery. I knew I needed to have Mr. Stripey tomatoes in my life. John got Mr. Stripey seeds, and we watched the little tomato plants grow.
And Mr. Stripey is delicious! His insides are beautiful — a lovely swirl of red and yellow. Mr. Stripey may sound like a weenie compared to Big Boys and Better Boys — but Stripey (yes, we’ve stopped using formal titles) is most definitely superior.