I have had watermelon on the mind recently. Yesterday, Jess dissected the watermelon field, which to me ends summer and opens the fields to fall. Our last watermelon harvest left us with over 200 watermelons.

Elise tossing to Jess tossing to me tossing to Tshediso tossing to Michael. Elise leading us into dense part of the field. Jess yelling, “I’m the weakest link,” as a watermelon slip out of hands. Tshediso, with a big smile, saying, “Wheeewww,” each time there is a near miss. And Michael scampering fast back and forth between Tshediso and the end of the field, sweat pouring down his face. And in the middle of it all, it is hard to forget the hundreds of bees desperately burrowing into the sugary flesh of each split melon—their butts wagging with the effort.

The last of our yellow doll watermelons went to the Red Cross who were expecting 1000 folks from New Orleans the next day. And the very last of our big red watermelons sat waiting expectantly in the red truck for the spectacular new D.I.R.T crew. At the end of their first Saturday, each D.I.R.T. youth left carrying a honking huge watermelon. What would people on the train think of this? Watermelons on the train, on the bus, on the T, and eventually right into the mouths of happy people.