Memories of Sandías and South Texas

Several of my relatives raised watermelons, and one of my memories as an “honorary” farmworker (because I didn’t really have to do it), was being a pitcher who followed the harvesting truck and threw melons that thecortador deemed fit for sale, to the catcher and stacker on it who was smart enough to stack them so they wouldn’t break from the weight of the gourds above them.

Throwing up 25- to 40-pound melons to a truck taught me what being a bracero was all about because when we took a break, my arms would rise inexplicably all on their own.

Markets were different then.

Big melons were a source of pride for the raisers, grocers and customers, and I remember more than once, a trucker knocking on our door because my cousin, Luís Rey Guerra, un sandiísta extraordinario had sent a special melon to our family, duly marked on the skin, for the trucker to deliver to our door.  Some of them weighed more than 70 pounds, and if Luís Rey sent them, we knew they would be super sweet.

Famililia. ¡Qué padre!

We would slice them open and taste them before chilling, and then we would gorge on them for days.  My favorites were the Black Diamonds, which are rarely seen today.  They were dark green and if left to grow to maturity, would grow into oblong monsters.  When you see them today, they are round.

Las blac daimons had thick rinds, not a quality commercial produce buyers appreciate today, and firm red meat, crispy, in fact, that crunched as you bit into it, and big black seeds, and the good melons were super sweet.

I would stuff myself with them when they were around, and so hydrate my body that I’d make more than regular trips to relieve myself.  Now, I must satisfy myself with “personal melons,” supposedly “seedless” but within which seeds never developed fully. And they are sweet but mushy.

No es lo mismo.