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Watermelon—The Essense of Summertime
Plants & Gardens News Volume 16, Number 2 | Summer 2001
by Alison Dorfman
Watermelon is the essence of summertime rolled up in a big green ball. The new season doesn't really get underway until the fruit is ripe, rotund, and ready to eat. I formed this opinion when I was five years old, sitting on a splintery bench in the backyard gobbling an enormous wedge of watermelon. Its refreshing, sweet juice covered every inch of my face. Somehow, I was acutely aware it was summer—and summer meant that everything was good and right in the world.
Years later, during my heady college days, watermelon again heralded the arrival of the summer, but this time as a vodka-infused party drink. I would scoop bright-red, alcohol-soaked watermelon pulp into soggy paper cups and pass it around to an appreciative bevy of cucurbit enthusiasts. The weather was warm, classes were finished, and everything was good and right in the world.
Though a grown-up now, I still feel giddy when the first watermelons arrive on the produce stand. I pick up a hefty 25-pounder and give it the once over (see box for tips on how to choose a good watermelon). Instantly, I find myself transported to an arcadia of intense summer activity—picnics, barbecues, pool parties, vacations, and the 4th of July.
Mark Twain felt more or less the same way about watermelon as I do. In his book Pudd'nhead Wilson, he wrote: "It is chief of the world's luxuries, king by the grace of God over all the fruits of the earth. When one has tasted it, he knows what the angels eat."
Watermelon isn't just angelic; it's presidential, too. Thomas Jefferson grew it on his Monticello estate. And watermelon played a cupid-like role in the life of Bill Clinton. Apparently, when he and Hillary Rodham were at Yale Law School, she overheard him brag to a friend about his native Arkansas, "And not only that, we grow the biggest watermelons in the world there." (Presumably he meant the fruit.) Shortly after, she introduced herself.
But Americans were hardly the first to recognize the merits of the watermelon. Mass harvesting of the fruit took place in Egypt at least 5,000 years ago, as depicted in hieroglyphics on the walls of ancient buildings. The early Egyptians valued watermelon so highly they placed it in the tombs of pharaohs to help them on their journey to the afterlife.
Native to Central Africa, the watermelon, Citrullus lanatas, is a member of the Gourd Family. It served as a vital source of water (deserving of the name, watermelons are 92% water) and nutrients for people living in arid regions like the Kalahari Desert. All parts of the watermelon were consumed, including the seeds, which are rich in oils and protein. From Africa, the watermelon spread through much of the world via trade routes, ultimately making it to the United States with European colonists and African slaves. Sure, honeydew and cantaloupe are succulent melons, but they pale (literally) in comparison to watermelon, which is the most-consumed melon in the United States, with 44 states producing over 50 varieties. Watermelon is low in sodium and fairly high in Vitamin C. It is also a good source of lycopene, the same healthful antioxidant found in red tomatoes.
There are watermelon recipes for every meal of the day. You can make watermelon muffins, watermelon couscous, watermelon-vinaigrette dressing, chicken-watermelon curry, watermelon sorbet—the list goes on. But nothing beats chomping down on a triangle of watermelon in all its dripping glory.
Some folks like to eat the seeds. Others like to spit 'em out (the world record is 68 feet, 9 1/8 inches). Still others prefer their watermelon with hardly any seed at all—the recent triploid introductions. But one thing unites them in their diversity: love of watermelon. What a potent symbol for our age! Or at least for summertime, when everything seems good and right in the world.
"I love buying my first watermelon of the season," says Alison Dorfman. "But it's not exactly a simple business anymore. I live in a tiny studio apartment in Manhattan, and every year I buy the big fruit, I have to rearrange all my furniture." Alison is the web site manager at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.