My Time in Cue ~ Part 19

Thwack

Thwack! It is an impressive sound is Thwack!

How do I know? We have watermelons growing here, and they have ripened, and they have been stored in an outside shed. I hate seeing them sitting on their sides in the shed with old bits of this and that for company, so I deem it my duty to bring them inside and cut them up for human consumption. Luscious pink flesh interspersed with black seeds all clad in a pale green coat begs to be consumed. The coat, or skin, is thick and needs a severe blow to split it open. [Momentarily I wonder if this is similar to smacking open a skull to expose grey matter, but that thought is a diversion only.]

Yesterday morning, while it was still dark outside, and the guys who breakfast at the hotel had either not arrived, or had already left the dining room, and I with time to spare … too early to start the dishes, too late to cook more eggs, I decided to cut up another melon. These melons make a popular addition to the lunches the workers take to their construction site.

I placed a medium size melon on the chopping board, and taking the second largest knife, I held it high and brought it down with a Thwack! Never before had I heard that sound. Thwack! Thwack! It makes a suitably impressive sound … thwack, an onomatopoeic sound that resonated throughout the kitchen. Again I lifted the knife and brought it down, just to hear that sound again … and again.

Slices of melon littered the stainless steel bench top asking to be cut into small pieces, to enable those of us who find the flesh refreshing on a hot day, to eat them without dripping too much juice onto our chin, or worse, onto our clothes. I have heard that some folks actually engage in a pastime of spitting the black seeds a distance … a winning spit being the aim. I can see exactly how that came about. Those black seeds are the right size to spit a distance; their weight would ensure one could aim them in a specific direction. However, as I am a terrible aim, having missed many stray cats with pieces of coal over a lifetime, spitting black melon seeds is something I will resist.

Carefully I cut the melon into quarters and placed them into a pale blue plastic container while a series of images spun through my mind.

Harvest Festival … Autumn; the two are synonymous. The church dressed with pumpkins, jars of jams and pickles, potatoes of many colours, and fruit and vegetables brought from parishioners gardens to be generously distributed to the needy. While the Harvest Festivals of my childhood did not feature watermelons [the climate was not conducive to a large crop], somehow the smell, the ripeness and the healthy Thwack as I sliced them brought the Harvest Festival directly to mind.

One of my favourite books is "The Magic Apple Tree", by Susan Hill, and this book crept into my thoughts as I cut the melon. Why? Well The Magic Apple Tree tells about the seasons in a village in England … very rural, very gentle, and somehow soothing to the soul. Susan Hill makes jams and pickles, she bakes, she gathers crops as they ripen from her garden and around the village. At the moment I thwacked into the melon I felt empathy to Susan Hill as she described simple important tasks in her book.

As a background song to my thoughts I heard, in my mind, Tom T Hall singing "Old Dogs and Children and Watermelon Wine". I have no idea what water melon wine tastes like, whether it is sweet or dry, whether it is pink or a golden colour, indeed whether it is made by many. "Ever had a drink of watermelon wine? he asked. He told me all about it, though I didn’t answer back". The words reverberated in my mind and whisked me to that bar in Miami, while another segment stayed in Olde England with Susan Hill. Thwack … thwack … thwack. Water melon sliced and water melon placed into a container for our enjoyment. It may have been only 6.30am in the morning; it may still be dark outside, but in that moment of cutting the melon I was transported across the globe, and in my mind a sense of peace swept over. Yes, there is something satisfying about providing food especially if it is homegrown and abundant.