The Watermelon Patch

The Duke called to ask if Uncle Bubba would go over to his river house and measure the bench seat in his outdoor shower. The wooden seat is rotting out and he wants to cut a new one. He has a thick piece of cypress in the barn but needs to know the measurements. It sounded as though the Duke was slightly out of breath, which is not so unusual, so Bubbie asked what he was doing. He excitedly told him that they were starting to pick watermelons today. It’s a new venture for the Duke and the first time as he planted quite a few acres. The Duke’s enthusiasm peaked Uncle Bubba’s interest so he rode up to Williston to check things out. It was so cool! Though Uncle Bubba had seen them do it many times from afar, he learned a lot and felt oddly privileged to get up close and personal.

He rolled up on the watermelon patch and there was heavy action. Parked pickup trucks lined the weedy roadside near the sandy road entrance to the field and just beyond the barbed wire fence were white beehive boxes stacked in the high grass. He could see the Duke’s pickup truck out near the middle of the field and he was standing next to it under his cowboy hat talking to the workers. The Duke saw Uncle Bubba pull up; he waved and hopped into his truck and headed towards the entrance. He pulled up aside Bubbie’s truck and rolled down his window to say that one of the work trucks just knocked over one of the bee boxes and the bees were swarming. He told Bubbie to hurriedly follow him thru the field to the back to get away from the bees. They pulled into the patch on the dirt road and Bubbie could easily see rows and rows of green melons crowning among the lush green plants, as well as three rows of black men cutting, picking and loading onto 2 old yeller school buses.

It’s not usual to see these watermelon buses on the roads this time of year; they chop the sides and tops out of them, remove all of the seats and throw carpet over the cut edges for padding and to protect them, and more importantly the fruit from getting cut. They walk in single file rows next to the bus and pick the melons fire brigade style. With the minimum melon weight of 17 lb., one can easily imagine how heavy they are to be bending over, picking up each melon and hand tossing it to the next man in line until they toss it to the men in the bus who stack them.

There is another crew of sweating, hunched over black men that walk ahead of the pickers and they cut the fruit from the vines. They look for the best melons and when found, a quick slice from their sharp 4 inch blade slips through the vine detaching the melon. They know how to select the correct melons based on size and “the break”. The break is when the rind separates into the green and white colored stripes. The whiter the stripes the more ripe the melon. When they cut a melon free, they flip it over so that the yellowish colored rind that was on the ground is sunny side up. Then the pickers know that it has been cut.

It’s hard work man, and no shade from the ol’ Florida sun. But nothing that this white man wouldn’t do if he was so inclined. One does what they have to do and are qualified to do to make a living. They’ll work this field for 3 1/2 weeks before it’s depleted. They’ll make pass after pass over those weeks to get the ripest fruit, leaving the rest to ripen for picking later. Uncle Bubba and the Duke talked about the things the Duke has learned since undertaking this venture. From clearing the field that he had been using as a pasture to the planting. It takes one seeded plant, the male plant to pollinate 4 seedless (female) plants. So the field is planted by hand placing one male plant between 3 or 4 female plants. The Duke took Uncle Bubba out to the wooded area beyond the field to show him the boulders and rock pile that they amassed in clearing the field. They stood in the cool shade for a while and discussed the politics that interfere with and inhibit the small farmers ability to make a decent living. While by the rock pile they kept a watchful eye and a harkened ear for rattlesnakes; they like the cracks and crevasses in between the rocks and rocks are pretty rare in Florida.

Uncle Bubba’s belly was talking to him as it was long past noon. He left the patch and drove over to Frog’s Barbecue for some jumbo pulled pork sammiches, freedom fries, and sweet iced tea. He got them to go and met the Duke over at the packing plant. They sat on a tailgate under a large hickory tree and gorged themselves on the spice barbecue under the watchful gaze of a polite but slobbering red bloodhound. The packing plant is where the rattletrap melon buses deliver the fresh picked melons to be boxed and shipped up the east coast. The buses are backed in the loading dock and the melons are hand placed on a conveyor. The workers separate the melons into the proper boxes based on them being seeded and seedless. As you may know, the more round seedless melons look distinctively different than the seeded that are longer. As the packers load the melons in the boxes, they slap a barcode stick on each one.

At 750 lbs per box, that’s a load! By the way, shortly after Uncle Bubba had arrived at the watermelon patch, the Duke proudly grabbed one from the field and handed it to Bubbie. Uncle Bubba was very thankful and honored to receive one of the inaugural melons. It don’t get no fresher than that! Good times!