By. Dr. Curtis Varnell
Watermelons and summertime are synonymous memories of most of us in Arkansas. By late July, farmers began checking under the dark green vines, watching as the big melons rapidly expand and ripen. Kids began thumping the melons, hoping for the deep bass sound they felt indicated that the melon was sweet and ready to sample. More adept growers rotated the melons, checking the expansion of the yellow underside to more accurately determine the quality of the melon. Whatever the method, when the big day arrived when the melons were dark red, sweet, and juicy were times to be remembered.
Arkansas has always had a fondness for the melons; possibly because some of the largest and sweetest watermelons found are produced in the state. Hope, Arkansas proclaims to be the home of Bill Clinton, Mike Huckabee, and the worlds’ largest watermelons. I am not sure which they are most proud of but they hold a watermelon festival in August of each year. The biggest melon recorded there weighted in at a whopping 268.5 pounds.
Not to be outdone, Cave City, Arkansas lays claim to the sweetest watermelons in the world. A three-day festival in late July attracts hundreds of visitors celebrating the famously sweet watermelons produced locally.
Growing up, most farmers planted, with varying degrees of success, cantaloupes and watermelons as a part of their garden. Some locations; those with sandy loam soils, plentiful water, and good drainage, just produced better melons and those sites were known to all the teenage watermelon lovers in the community. Many a farmer discovered that his crop often diminished drastically overnight as visitors “sampled” a few of his products. My uncle Larry loved watermelon and was very proficient at purloining a few of Byron Trusty’s best melons. Observing a dramatic drop in melon production, Mr. Trusty determined the put a stop to some young men’s bad habits. Sitting his shotgun near the back door, he waited patiently until Larry and a couple other young thieves had their hands full of melons. In fact, Larry wasn’t content with just the melon he could carry, he inserted a small one into the front of his shirt. Stepping out the back door, Mr. Trusty let out a yell and began firing into the air. Three young men left the melons they carried and galloped across the garden and rolled under the fence. Forgetting the melon in his shirt, Larry rolled under the bottom strand only to discover a squishy softness and a red liquid dripping from his waist down. “I’m shot guys, he done shot me,” he screamed to his companions who burst into laughter as they realized his wound was the product of the five-pound melon tucked into his shirt.
There are a vast variety of melons, ranging from the small crimson sweet melons to the larger striped and Charleston Grey melons. Many in Arkansas prefer the dark skinned and red meat Black Diamond. A personal favorite is the yellow-meat watermelon gown on Sand-Ridge near Subiaco, Arkansas by Irban White. Mr. White grew hundreds of melons yearly, placing them for sale in front of his house. He left a price for each melon, a collection box for the customer to leave money in, and stated he never had a customer to cheat him or to take the money. Each year, everyone gathered at his house or at the local church for a watermelon party. The Arkansas Razorbacks did much the same in Fayetteville with a group bringing up a big load of melons from Hope and celebrating with the team during the hot, exhausting two-a-day practice sessions.
Arkansas has more than 200 commercial farms harvesting more than 1,500 acres of watermelons. The crops add more than 5 million dollars per year to the state economy. Many small farmers harvest roadside crops sold locally. One of the best known farmers in the River Valley is former Ozark school teacher Clinton King who sales hundreds of the best watermelons produced in the state. With his big straw hat and a pickup load of melons, he visits the county court houses throughout the valley and sales melons to those traveling through town. Now, his patch is somewhere just off the road near the river, not too distant from my home. A good moonless night, my four-wheeler. Hummmmm!
