I’ve already posted a memory about kites that was triggered by Judy/Remi’s lovely poem HERE. But after a third re-reading, this lovely memory surfaced.
My favorite food memory: I occasionally drove a farm tractor for my good friend Dan my first summer out of high school. When the afternoon got so, so hot, he would give me a couple bucks and have me go to town to get a cold watermelon or two. The crew would gather on his tree-shaded concrete storm cellar & oh-my-goddess devour. We were already dirty, so the juice running down our chins, our chests, was pink & brown. But climbing back on our tractors, well, we were happy.
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As a child, watermelon was a treat, as there was little money. We would eat all the way to the rind. Only then throwing away the carcass. Your post brought back some sweet memories.
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Sounds like a well-earned treat!
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What a great memory — juice and all! My dad did me in for liking watermelon. My first exposure was playing in a terraced back yard — my dad and his partner sat two terraces above us and practiced spitting seeds at us. It was a long time before I discovered the real joy of a cool watermelon — now I can’t get enough during the season!
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Have you mentioned this memory to Dan?
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Literally a slice of life; Wonderful story!
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