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on the back seat, and fastened the seat belts around them. They jiggled up and down over the bumps, but they didn’t roll around any more.
The watermelons were praised by most of our friends. They were eating large slices for days, and giving the extras away to their friends. Ah one house the melon was placed in the refrigerator (it took up a whole shelf), and was still good three weeks later. It was rated by that household as “The best we ever tasted.” The one that we ate ourselves lived up to all that was said in the catalogue, except that it had a few cracks inside owing to the fast rate of growth.
On the negative side, one watermelon was left with its sticker on the back doorstep too long, and was molested by an animal — a woodchuck, no doubt. One or two neighbors asked if the melons were really ripe, which surprised us because they thumped like a drum, and tasted so sweet. Apparently, they were puzzled by the white seeds, and thought that watermelons are ripe when the seeds go black. We had expected black seeds too.
Ah, well — there is always another year — what one doesn't do right in one season can be corrected in the next. Julia and I decided that it would be worth it to do the whole thing again, with improvements. Next time she would put in two seeds, not three, and we figured that there should be a watermelon recommended in one of the catalogues which was as good as the previous selection, but which would have the traditional black seeds when it ripened.
So it was “back to the catalogues for Julia,” and back to the soil mine forme.
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