My brother Jon brought a couple of watermelons by and got me out of trouble with Jen, who was a little upset that we passed through Hope on the way back from Branson without buying a melon. Some may remember the water melon stories I have posted on this blog; well, I was reminded of another one.
Two cousins, my two brothers, and I spent some Sunday afternoons walking the farms and woods. One afternoon we came across our watermelon patch, chose a melon, broke it open and ate it with our hands. We returned home by the roads and as we approached the house Dad came out on the front porch and yelled, "Come on, we are fixing to cut the watermelon." This was an every Sunday event during summer.
We looked at each other, and Mike, the oldest of us, yelled back, "That's great, I'm really hungry for some watermelon." I don't remember which melon was sweeter, the stolen one or the "legal" one.
Two cousins, my two brothers, and I spent some Sunday afternoons walking the farms and woods. One afternoon we came across our watermelon patch, chose a melon, broke it open and ate it with our hands. We returned home by the roads and as we approached the house Dad came out on the front porch and yelled, "Come on, we are fixing to cut the watermelon." This was an every Sunday event during summer.
We looked at each other, and Mike, the oldest of us, yelled back, "That's great, I'm really hungry for some watermelon." I don't remember which melon was sweeter, the stolen one or the "legal" one.
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