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Chuck Hinman No. 112: The Watermelon Patch It's Just Me No. Again112 The Watermelon Patch The next earlier Chuck Hinman story: Finally Aa Big BoyIs Chuck Hinman your favorite Sunday with CM columnist, as many tell us? If so, we hope you'll drop him a line by email. Reader comments to CM are appreciated, as are emails directly to Mr. Hinman at: charles.hinman@sbcglobal.net By Chuck Hinman At the risk of being told that I am "sick" I am going to share with you my secret fetish. You are going to be surprised, I "gar-an-tee," to steal an expression from the Cajun Cook. It came to mind last week here at Tallgrass Estates. I was partaking of the afternoon snack bar in the dining room. One of the things that caught my eye was a large tray of assorted melon tidbits. I had difficulty moving on for grazing in this "melon patch." When I returned to my room and my recliner, I recalled something that happened more than seventy years ago. It was on our farm in southeast Nebraska. Besides our owned land Dad leased some nearby but not adjacent farm land called the Fauver 80. Although most of this leased land was rich bottom land bordering along Wolf Creek, there was some sandy upland soil which Dad knew was ideal for raising watermelons. The Hinmans were not in the truck-gardening business but every year Dad planted this small sandy tract in diamondback watermelons. We had watermelons "out our ears" so to speak. We generously shared our watermelons with everyone. And it was a given in those days that a certain amount of thievery on beautiful moonlit nights could be expected. And it was laughed off. No one got up tight over suspected watermelon thievery. It went with the times of economic distress known as the "depression -- dust-bowl days." Even so, jillions of huge watermelons went to waste at the conclusion of each season. What a shame it seemed. When I was 15 years old and about this time of year (early October) I was down on the Fauver 80 with a 16 gauge sawed-off shotgun doing a little pheasant hunting. When I topped the hill, the watermelon patch came into view. By this time of year we had had several killing frosts and the watermelon vines which camouflaged the watermelons were dead and withered. What a sight, especially for an ornery teenage boy with a gun and a latent bent for destruction - literally hundreds of watermelon "hogs"! I couldn't resist the luxury of smashing open some of the blue ribbon melons and just eating the heart of each melon. Grizzly sounding? You betcha and you should see the "red stuff" in my teeth and gushing out my overfilled mouth! Where's the camera? This patch had no value to us anymore so I laid down my gun and lifted up and dropped each melon. The more melons I "smashed to smithereens" the more fulfilled I seemed to be. What a way to relieve the tension of a teen-age boy wanting to hurt some thing or somebody! When the last melon was smashed, I stood back with hands on my hips and thought "how beautiful!". The tray of colorful watermelon at Tallgrass Estates reminded me of that childhood destruction derby in the Hinman watermelon patch so many years ago! And while I am in a confessing mood - yes, my childhood friend, Bill Price and I "trashed" some windows (those not already broken) in an abandoned farm house on the canyon road. Bill died years ago and I can't see well enough to get any pleasure out of trashing watermelon patches anymore. But don't tempt me. I'm overdue to tear up something! On a bright moonlit night if you know of a watermelon patch (or abandoned house) I can get to with my walker, give me a ring. Don't tell my son or granddaughter or it will worry them. This story was posted on 2010-10-10 11:49:35
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Have comments or corrections for this story? Use our contact form and let us know. More articles from topic Chuck Hinman - Reminiscences:
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