Been following the trail up through Bald Knob and Batesville these past several years to head to Cave City, home of the world’s sweetest watermelons. We leave home first thing in the morning and make the two hour drive up there, me and Hunter, just to spend the day in the middle of the city park, relaxing to gospel and folk music and enjoying the 4pm free watermelon feast. It’s a nice, small festival, one I’ve fallen in love with, and we will eventually be back.
Hope melons are different from Cave City melons. They tend to be more watery and less sweet, but what they lack in intensity they make up for in sheer size. I often see trailer loads of Hope melons alongside busy thoroughfares, the trailers usually packed with longer, pale green melons with dark stripes. Some folks swear by a Hope melon, and I should too, considering where I come from and what I do.
Thing is, I could purchase either sort of melon any day of the week from a variety of places. It might require a small drive but certainly wouldn’t require me to get out my tennis shoes and sunscreen. So why do I go?
Growing up in the city is an experience all its own. I had my opportunity; I’m a full on strong hearted Little Rock woman and will always feel this is my hometown. But I also recall the time spent around my roots in southwest Arkansas and on trips into the Ozarks. I learned more about our state from the back of a car and every roadside stop as a kid than I did throughout my 20s. Some things stick with you.
So we’re going. I’ve already started planning what I’m going to pack for us to take -- sunscreen, bug spray, Thermos of water, cooler with sandwiches, all that. We’ll watch the lawnmower races and the watermelon eating contest, the arm wrestling competition and the seed spitting contest. She may be too young to teach how to properly spit seeds, but I will buy a slice of cold watermelon and share it with her. And somewhere I’m going to find a big melon and take her photo with it.
Hunter’s just 20 months old. She may not remember every detail of what we do, but I’m hoping she’ll be able to look back when she’s my age and remember that her mother was never afraid to drive her a couple hours out from home just to eat a piece of watermelon.
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