Last night as K and I were coming home, we stopped in our garden to pluck a watermelon from the vine. I wasn't sure if the melons were actually ripe, but I was eager to see and couldn't wait until morning. Plus, our neighbors are clamoring for our watermelons. I'll give the neighbors all the tomatoes they want, but those melons are ours. So, under cover of darkness, I picked our first melon of the season.
We brought the watermelon inside, dirt and bits of grass still clinging to its yellow underbelly, and hastily sliced into it.
This is a watermelon from our garden, but not the one we ate last night. I picked this little guy on a soggy day a couple of weeks back only to discover that it just wasn't ripe yet. I didn't tell you about it then because it was a sad day of unfulfilled expectations. But time passes and more watermelons grow. So it goes.
This is the watermelon we had last night. It was ripe and still warm from the day's hot sun. I'll leave the rest in the garden a tad longer to get some more sweetness into them.
It was delicious--sweet and juicy, its pretty pink flesh lined with rows of seeds just right for a watermelon seed spitting contest. We spooned up big scoops of melon until our stomachs were full, but we've still got lots left. I know what I'll be having for breakfast, this time nice and cool from its overnight chill in the fridge. Hurray for garden-grown watermelons!