Bear Grease - Ep. 125: THIS COUNTRY LIFE - Watermelons

Episode Date: July 7, 2023

Watermelons? Yep, watermelons. Today on the show, Brent pontificates on the finer points of summer's favorite fruit. Where do they come from? How the heck can you have a seedless watermelon? How do you pick the very best of the bunch? Stick around and Brent is gonna spell it out for you. In the words of self-described watermelon aficionado Clay Newcomb (not a joke), you're not gonna want to miss this one.   Connect with Brent and MeatEater MeatEater on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and Youtube Shop Bear Grease MerchSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

First Lights fieldwear collection is made for the work that happens long before opening day and continues when the season ends. Products built for early mornings, full days in real use. Hard wearing where they need to be versatile where it matters. No shortcuts. Just gear designed for the work that earns the season. Built to perform, built to last. Check out. First Light's new fieldwear gear at firstlight.com.

Welcome to This Country Life. I'm your host Brent Reeves. From Coon Hunting to Trotlining and just general country living, I want you to stay a while as I share my stories and country skills that will help you beat the system. This Country Life is proudly presented as part of Meat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcast the Airways have to offer. All right, friends, pull you up a chair or drop that tailgate. I think I got a thing or two to teach you.

Watermelons. It's watermelon time and I live in watermelon country. Judging by a little research that I did, a whole bunch of us do. Now where I live, you can't chunk a yard darting air this time of year and not have it come down and stab a watermelon or somebody eating one. So this week, as we continue to celebrate the 247th year of our nation telling England to kiss our behind, we're going to talk about three different varieties. How to pick a ripe one, Salt or no salt, why is that even a question? And seedless watermelons, what kind of witchcraft is that? Hang on to the end and you're going to get some bonus footage.

But first, I'm going to tell you a story. I think about some things and I ponder about others. The difference in my thinking and pondering is when I think about algebra, which is seldom. I'm forced to ponder about who decided that fractions weren't hard enough without adding letters to them. Adding letters together is called spelling, not math. Now, what in the world does algebra have to do with watermelons? Not one thing.

It's the issue of pondering. So in the grand scheme of things, is stealing a watermelon a crime? Well, the answer is an obvious yes. Of course it is. But to a couple of high school boys that looked a whole lot like me and one of my lifelong best friends, Greg Hayes, we decided the risk was worth the reward. I believe the mere thought of the sweet nectar of the watermelon is the catalyst that enticed two young boys to demonstrate lawlessness and mayhem.

I admit it. I'm a watermelon addict and I always have been. There was a local farmer not far from town that grew some of the best watermelons in the county. No different were these melons than the ones that we grew on our farm. So why would I be stealing watermelons when we had them at home, you ask? Well, that's a good question. and it brings me back to that pondering thing. Regardless, this man raised a lot of tomatoes, peas, corn, beans, and cows, just like we did.

He was a very nice man, and he could have killed me and Greg one night, and we're both glad he didn't. The second night of the watermelon pillaging started out all right. The farmer's watermelon patch had provided a couple of sweet offerings on the previous night to a couple of boys that were hanging around with their friends uptown with nothing better to do. It seemed only prudent that we should return for another sampling. Me and Greg had just rolled a couple of mediums up to the fence next to the road where he said, look at that watermelon up yonder under that nightlight. Sweet Mother, it was huge. It was a perfect specimen of a watermelon. It looked like it weighed 50 pounds. It was one of the biggest black diamond watermelons I'd ever seen in my life. I'm not sure that that light shining

opponent wasn't coming from heaven instead of the nightlight and what of this night light and huge watermelon that lay beneath it how could something that is so blatantly obvious now not look like the huge rat trap that it was then now i can see me and gregg rolling back up to the cool side of the sonic driving in with this monster where we would gather folks up and share our sweet ill-gotten game it was ten o'clock and the farmer was no doubt in bed none the wiser to the hooliganism that was taken place a quarter mile from his house next to his barn under that big nightlight we eased up to the watermelon that all future watermelons would come to be judged and gently caressed its cool dark skin my mind was racing my heart was racing and all of a sudden Greg was racing Greg was racing

where in the world's he going I was confused so I'm not sure if I was wondering or pondering at this point. I stood there and I watched him cover the 150 yards of watermelon patch in what seemed like five seconds. Now Greg was built for speed and he held the state record high jump for quite a while and with one fluid motion he jumped the five-strand bobwire fence that we had crawled under just a few minutes before. I heard him when he hit the gravel road on the other side. The sound of his shoes on that gravel sounded like an antique stopwatch as he and the racket his feet were making faded into the dark night, out of sight and out of hearing.

Then just as that nightlight had bathed that black diamond and glow and glory, I had an epiphany. Maybe something was wrong. Maybe Greg was running because he was scared of something. While I looked around on the ground, maybe it was a snake. Maybe it was a dog I didn't see. Maybe it was that man standing in the hall of that bar and holding the shotgun. Yep, that's probably it.

I commenced to putting as much distance between myself and the business end of that shotgun as I could as the good Lord allowed me to do. I got to that fence and successfully hurtled four of the five strands. The fifth one tore the left leg almost completely out of my overall. I had never run that fast in my life and up to that point I'd never had to. And when the nice old farmer uncorked a couple of shots that I assumed were directly at me, but I'm sure now they weren't. I found a hidden gear that I didn't know I had, and I could really use it crossing that fence. Anyway, I bet that farmer told that story many times, and I would have loved to have watched it from his perspective. He taught me a lesson.

If it looks too good to be true, you better believe it is. But at least we'd gotten away without being identified, no harm, no foul, lesson learned. Greg and I worked at the co-op, the local farm store together, after school and in the summertime. And prior to the incident, we had always loaded that farmer's feed and stuff when he came as fast as we could and would stop what we were doing to do it because we thought so much of him. A few days after that incident, the store manager called Greg and I to his office saying, someone didn't left us something. We went up front and there set that watermelon that we'd tried to steal a few nights before.

We didn't know what to say. We just stood there staring, expecting the police to show up to fingerprint us and haul us off to prison. Store manager called the farmer by name and said, he said to tell you boys, thank you for always taking care of him. And anytime you wanted a watermelon, just come by and get one. He usually goes to bed about 10.30. Hmm. Now I knew he wanted us to know that he caught us.

He knew who we were. we were good boys and he wasn't mad. And the lesson we'd learned a few nights before was cemented with that revelation. Like I said, he was a real nice man. And that's just how that happened. What do Rush Springs, Oklahoma, Weatherford, Texas, Green River, Utah, Beards Town, Illinois, Naples, Texas, Cordell, Georgia, and Hope Arkansas all have in common. They each call themselves the watermelon capital of the world.

Now, instead of us laying these places out all side by side and comparing the measurables of each claim of qualifications and getting folks stirred up enough to start duking it out, we're just going to cut through that waste of time and declare hope as the real champion. Hope is located in the natural state of Arkansas, and it's only a coincidence that that's where I'm from and live. This was an unbiased culmination of thought and research based on its a shorter drive for something. someone from Hope to catch me out somewhere and invite me to join them in some pugilistic endeavor. Remember, kids, discretion is the better part of valor. Now, y'all know I'm kidding, not really, and I seriously doubt that I could tell the difference, yes, I could, between a watermelon growing in Hope as compared to one in Beards Town.

And I'd hate for the folks to send me free watermelons, no I wouldn't, from those places for me to try. But what kind of watermelon? Did y'all know there are over 300 types of watermelons? That's right, 300. Now, in my mind, there's only two kinds of watermelon. Those I have it and those I'm fixing to. To me, they're all good, but just like a lot of things,

some are just better than others. We raised Charleston grays, which are very sweet, and the outside is a light green color. The Jubilee variety were another type that we grew and are probably what a lot of folks identify as, a watermelon looks like with the light and the dark green stripes. They're all sweet, but my favorite has always been the black diamond. Just a few minutes ago, I related how my black diamond watermelon session nearly sent me and my buddy Greg on a lifelong crime spree that could

have started that very night had we not been shocked back into reality by a bobwire fence and a double-barrel shotgun. Now my mama was partial to yellow-meaded watermelon. My mama was partial to yellow-meaded watermelons. It's been said that they're even sweeter and can have a hint of a honey flavor. I've had them both, and I really couldn't testify to that, but man, they're good. Yellow or red, watermelons originated on the dark continent and have been around for 5,000 years. That makes me kind of sad, thinking about all the ones I missed. Instead of diving into all 300-plus different varieties, let's talk briefly about the three I mentioned. They seem to be the most popular in my vast personal experience that I've had eaten them

and the minimal amount of research I did in preparation for this episode. Now, I don't mean that I was slacking off, but these three are like the biscuits of the watermelon world to me, and the rest, well, they're just the gravy. Developed by the U.S. Department of Agriculture in you guessed at Charleston, South Carolina, a coastal city where a reported smallpox outbreak erupted in 1698, followed by an earthquake in 1699. Those folks couldn't catch a break, but they held on until the late 1940s when Gray came along,

and it was love at first bite. I would like to point out the fact that while we were fresh from taking Germany and Japan out behind the woodshed and teaching them how to play well with others, and instead of setting on our collective behinds and taking a break, we got busy making watermelons. The goal in creating the Charleston Gray was to make a more disease-resistant variety, and by the 1950s it had become the most popular grown watermelon both commercially and in families garden in the nation. Mission accomplished. Did I mention that watermelon is good for you? Check this out. Watermelons are one of the healthiest fruits you can eat. They're low calorie and a great source of vitamins A, B6, and C,

which helps strengthen your immune system and your brain function, and that ain't never hurt nobody. They're also made up of more than 90% water, so they'll help keep you hydrogen, and refreshed during the hot summertime. I recommend stretching after eating a big bait of them, especially if it's just before retiring for the evening. If you stretch your legs good, you're not as liable to pull the muscle jumping up in the middle of the night to hit the litter box before you wet the bed. They don't call them peat chunks for nothing.

Then there's Leesburg, Florida. It was 1963, and those boys just down the road at Cape Canaveral were snatching up all the good press because all the talk was about going to the moon. Meanwhile, the good folks at the Florida Agricultural Experiment Station were celebrating the development of the Jubilee Watermelon. Described as deliciously sweet and bumping the scales at 40 pounds, the Jubilee would take your taste buds out of this world, and you never had to leave the planet.

This brings us to my favorite, and I'm ashamed to say that when I sat down to gather up the information for this episode, and I listed my three favorite varieties. The first two in no particular order, but I knew I would end the list with this one that I was totally unaware that a fella by the name of Melville Dillon developed a black diamond watermelon

in the great state of Arkansas. I kid you not, I had no clue. The thing about them is they can get to 100 pounds and be just as sweet and good as one way in 15. I'm sure that, and the relationship of us growing them is what makes them my favorite because I honestly doubt I could tell the difference in a blindfold taste test between the three of them. Now, Clay Newcomb and I were on a recent trip down to Mississippi, and on the way home, we got to talking about this episode, and Clay told me, and I quote,

It is my goal during watermelon season to eat one every day. I felt this. I told them about a five-day period last summer that Alexis and I ate four whole ones by ourselves. It was what we did every day when we got home from work, go to the back patio, cut the fan on, and bust the watermelon. Last spring, Clay Newcomb and I collaborated with Jason Phelps at Phelps game calls in building each of our own favorite turkey diaphragms called prime cuts. Now, I'm going to tell you, I love mine because it's easy to use.

I'm not going to go, I'm not going to win a turkey calling contest. It's just not going to happen. But when I run this call, I get the sounds that gobblers are looking for. have a great turkey hunting track record. If you go listen to real turkeys out in the woods, they're not going to win calling contests, right? That's who I listen to. I can make those sounds on my cut.

I also hunt with Phelps's cut, and I hunt with Clay's cut because they're all three great cuts. Check out Prime Cuts at Phelpsgamecalls.com. I think you'll be glad you did, and you'll find out that the Steve Ronella cut is an easy-to-use cut for beginning callers. who just want to start making good turkey noises and getting action. At an earlier point of Claybow's existence,

and before he became the Bear Grease guru, he told me about working in the produce section of Walmart, and he claims to be a connoisseur of watermelons. He says he can identify and differentiate the sound of a ripe watermelon as good or better than anyone else. I like to think that I can do that too, but it was his passionate dissertation on the subtle, nuances of that sounds that they make when thumped that he made me realize that my brother of the

bear was playing on a different level than the rest of us. He is without a doubt, a tier one watermelon thumper. So what's the best way to tell one's ripe? Do the old thump test, but you need to know what you're listening for. The best way I can describe what Clay said is to listen for a deep, resonating sound when you thump it. If it's a dull thud with no resonance, that joker's probably too right and that means mealy. And when they get mealy, you take a bite of it and it's like having a mouthful, a semi-sweet, fine ground cornmeal.

It is not pleasurable. If the sound is more high-pitched, then it's not ready yet. If you're absolutely doing this on your own, it might take you a few to get the hang of it, but you will. If the thumping doesn't do it for you, then you find the field spot

of where it was setting on the ground, on the bottom is part of the watermelon that was in the dirt. A ripe one will have a butter, colored yellow feel spot. One that's not ready yet will be much lighter in color or even white. The skin should be firm and not the least bit mushy or soft. That watermelon is ready for the compost.

We talked about all of that on our ride the other day. And I sat in awe of his tales of watermelon knowledge until he told me he put salt on it. And me, I'm not bold enough to tell the folks from Charleston, South Carolina, Leesburg, Florida, or most especially, our very own Arcanzen brother, Melville, Dillon, that what they made wasn't good enough. But I could fix it by simply adding salt. No, sir, not me.

So why do people do it? Well, people say sprinkling watermelon with salt is traditionally a southern thing, like we ain't getting blamed for enough stuff already. Supposedly, the opposing flavor brings out the sweetness of a fresh watermelon and somehow it makes it taste even sweeter. I'm going to have to ponder on that, but some folks like it that way, and that's cool. Just don't salt the whole thing before we start eating. That could cause some consequences and repercussions. Just share it and let everyone have it

the way they want it. But man, if there was ever a food that was meant to be shared, it's a watermelon. I went coon hunting a few nights ago on the 4th of July with my friend Michael Roseman and Noel Goodwin. Just an unplanned Arkansas summer Coon Hunt when we caught the nighttime temperature below 90 degrees, loaded the dogs and an hour later, we were standing in the White River bottom, sweating, spraying scooter dope on one another,

and wishing it was fall. The dogs were struggling to find the track because the banditos don't stir much when it's hot either, and we were all rethinking our decision to go hunting. Then I pulled out a medium-sized watermelon and I brought in the drink cooler that I didn't tell them about, and it was all smiles. Michael said, I don't care if these dogs do tree. We fend to eat this watermelon.

And we did. And it was cold and it was good and it was seedless. So where in the world did that come from? Well, I'll tell you. The trick is they cross two watermelons that are genetically different enough that the resulting hybrid seed is sterile. So the seeds created by the cross or real seeds, but they grow into plants that cannot produce their own seed. Does that sound familiar? Well, if you're a bare grease follower of any measure, it ought to. What these folks are doing are making watermelon mules. Now I know I don't went from the garden to the barn, but stay with me.

Mules don't make mules. A cross between a female horse and a male donkey makes a mule. Mules can do lots of things, but they can't make more mules. So by crossing a horse and a donkey, two separate sets of jeans, that are similar enough to be compatible, but not actually the same, we get an animal whose reproductive parts are sterile. Seedless grapes made the same way. Different species of grapes across to create a mule grape, which has no seeds, but seedless grapes are easy to reproduce because once you have one plant, you can just take the cuttings off of it to plant and make

some more. Watermelons? Not so fast, my friend. They ain't as easy because you, you're you have to produce new hybrid seeds every year, and there's only one species of watermelon to use for the crosses. To get two kinds of watermelons that are nearly but not quite genetically compatible, the trick is to change the number of chromosomes in one of them. And because I know that there's some folks right now that want to hear how it's done, I'm going to tell you, the rest of y'all just hang on just a little bit longer. You're going to learn something to impress your friends and intimidate your enemies.

Since 1937, plant scientists have been able to double the number of chromosomes in a plant by treating them during cell division with a chemical called colchicine. Colchicine is a natural extract from the autumn crocus flower, which has been used as a natural medicine for gout for thousands of years. Normal watermelons have two copies of their chromosomes in each cell. They're called diploid. The Colchicine treatment doubles that from 22 to 44, and that's called tetraploid. Almost done. Y'all don't fail me now. Here's the trick.

When the tetraploid watermelon flour is pollinated with the diploid watermelon flower, a triploid watermelon is created that has three chromosomes in each cell. This watermelon will have seeds that will grow to be seedless mule watermelons. Now that made my head hurt, but now I know and you do too. You don't see folks gather enough to eat tomatoes unless there's bacon and bread close. Strawberries, they're great, but again, pull one of them out and cut it in half and it's doubtful you get a second look. But try that with a watermelon and just see how long it takes for the folks to gather up and socialize. It could also just make you want to invite folks in to share.

and I'm going to share a special memory of mine as a reward for those you that live through that seedless watermelon explanation. One summer day, my dad and I were headed home from his work. We'd been all over Southeast Arkansas that day visiting commercial chicken farms. Now, his title for the job that he did for Valmac, the company that would eventually be acquired by a couple of different corporations before finally becoming Tyson Foods was serviceman. It was his job to drive to all the contract chicken farms in his assigned area and helped the farmers produce the best chickens they could. If they needed to update equipment, a batch of medicated feed, or anything related to raising good chickens,

it was his job to communicate that to the farmer. Now, I didn't know that I didn't work for him too because in the summer, I was right there in a truck with him. Somewhere along the way on our visits to one of the many farms, somebody had given him. us a watermelon. It was a black diamond, our favorite, a big, dark, emerald green, giant of a watermelon, and I couldn't wait to get home so we could bust it wide open. Now, less than two miles from our house, we passed a home of Mr. Julius Robinson. Mr. Julius was retired and had been for as long as I could remember. He was retired from what I assume, because I don't know what had been a lifetime of farm work, or in the logwoods, or in one of the timber mills, which is what the majority of

folks did in that area. Small truck farms and anything related to the hard labor end of the timber industry was the biggest employer. It was hard work, but people were happy. They seemed to make it all right. They raised crops, youngans, went to church and visited with one another. He was born in 1902 when Teddy Roosevelt was president, and nine years before the Chevrolet brothers got together in Detroit, Michigan, to start

start the company that would eventually build the truck that he was sitting on. And on this day, when we passed Mr. Julia's house, he was sitting there where I'd seen him sitting a million times before. His old blue truck sat under the carport with the end gate down and nine times out of ten when you drove by, there sat Mr. Julius, gently swinging his feet and waving at folks when they passed. He always wore overalls and long-sleeved shirts, buttoned to the neck, regardless of the weather. We had the windows rolled down, and I guess me hanging out of it waving caught my dad's attention.

He said, what are you doing? I said, I'm waving at Mr. Julius. Well, no sooner than I said that, the dad slowed down, and as he was turning around in the road, he said, let's go share this watermelting with him. We pulled up in the shade of a huge red oak that's been gone now for years, and I ran and I hopped up on the tailgate beside him. He was smiling ear to ear. We always saw him there, but we rarely saw him with anyone. He patted me on the knee and said, What you fellas doing?

But dad came around behind the truck and said, Julius, you want some of this? And he said, I sure do, buddy. And we sat there, and I listened to them talk about that country, old times and our people, and we ate watermelon. They both talked to me and included me in the conversation. Mr. Julius knew my grandfather, a man that my dad hadn't really known.

He'd been killed in a work-related accident. in 1943 after going to California to build Navy ships in support of the war effort. And my dad was only six years old. We spent most of the afternoon there just talking long after that watermelon was gone. We stopped by a few more times until Mr. Julius didn't live there anymore. He passed away 23 years ago and his wife, Nancy, 32 years before that. And because of my dad's random idea, of wanting to share a watermelon with a lonely neighbor.

I got to have a wonderful memory and another connection to my family's past. It didn't matter that we weren't related or that we didn't look alike. All that mattered was the connection of three generations that country folks shared that afternoon in the shade of that oak tree. It seems like there ain't near enough of watermelon sharing going on these days, but I bet it's more than we figure. So your challenge is this. Go to the farmer's market, roadside stand, or a grocery store, and get two watermelon.

Take one home and enjoy it with your family and friends. The other one, put it in your truck and start driving. One thing's for sure. You'll never see your Mr. Julius until you start looking for it. I sure enjoy telling you all these stories. If you enjoy them, please share them with your friends. And if you get a chance, leave this country live a live review. I don't know the math that goes in.

into that, but it definitely helps spread the work. I'm sure it's number of fractions and revenue. Hey, keep the salt away from the watermelon. This is Brent Reeve, signing off. Y'all be careful. First Lights Fieldwear collection is made for the work that happens long before opening day and continues when the season ends. Products built for early mornings, full days in real use.

Hard wearing where they need to be versatile where it matters. No shortcuts. Just gear designed for the work that earns the season. Built to perform, built to last. Check out. First Light's new fieldware gear at firstlight.