Well, here it is, nearing the end of September. Summer’s almost over — at least on the calendar. And I’ve yet to bite into more than one decent watermelon.
Same for cantaloupe. As for tomatoes, that’s hasn’t happened since my neighbor down the street shared some from her garden a couple of summers ago.
What passes for tomatoes these days in the supermarket are beautiful to look at, tasteless to consume. According to Treehugger.com, “Most supermarket tomatoes sold in North America share a genetic mutation that makes them all round, smooth, and deep scarlet red when ripe. The only problem is that this widely embraced mutation deactivates a gene that produces the sugars and aromas that are essential for a flavorful tomato.”
Wasn’t always that way. I can remember years ago reaching into my grandmother’s refrigerator for a store-bought tomato, sprinkling it with salt, and devouring the whole thing in one setting, juice and seeds dribbling down my chin.
Back on her farm in Oklahoma, Granny had her own garden full of nature’s bounty. Not so in Tucson, where she moved in the mid-1940s. Even so, my grandmother knew how to pick her produce.
To this day, I remember her tips on how to pick a good lemon — buy one with a slick rind. She must have also known how to pick a watermelon, for I never remember one that was either unripe or had gone to mush at her house.
Alas, when it comes to watermelon picking, all I remember her saying was to give it a good thump. Sure, I try that today, straining to hear just the right sound of hollowness over the chatter of the produce clerks, and James Taylor crooning through the loudspeakers.
So far this summer, I’ve found one perfect watermelon. Another was so mushy at first slice that I wound up throwing the whole thing away — and it was labeled “organic.” The last two have been borderline, forcing me to cut half of each slice away. Remember when our mothers had the store plug a watermelon before they’d buy it? Tell me who still does that.
Cantaloupes are even worse. Used to be, I could pick out just about any one of them from the pile, let it set on the counter for a few days, then enjoy. As I write this, my current cantaloupe purchase has been resting on the counter a dozen days — the last five in a paper bag. And it is no way ripe enough to slice — not unless I’m wanting to introduce plenty of chewy fiber into my diet.
Sure, there are plenty of directives on picking the perfect cantaloupe, beginning with finding one that’s yellow, not green. Good luck with that. Most seem to come in various shades of chartreuse.
Yes, I know the answer is to haunt the local farmers’ markets. Trouble is, melons don’t grow locally in the mountains. What does grow here, given enough time and attention, are apples. Right now, my husband can point to seven of them growing on his two apple trees. I figure each one is worth about $75.
He’s also planted blueberry, raspberry and blackberry vines. Among them, he’s harvested maybe a dozen berries — worth about $7 each, I’d say.
While I’m on a tear about supermarket deficiencies, why don’t they carry canned pumpkin in the summer? I realize there was a shortage of the stuff last fall, though the stores finally came through. But try buying a can of it in July, as I needed to do to make the pumpkin bread I bake all year round.
I scoured every store shelf in the White Mountains and in Tucson. No luck. So I turned to the internet. Trouble was, I didn’t want to buy a pack of 24 cans for 80 bucks on eBay. Thank heavens, I found another site where I could buy just one can for less than $4, no shipping fee.
Today, four loaves of pumpkin bread rest in my freezer, ready for company breakfast. As for that cantaloupe, it’s still resting on my counter. I’ll let you know if it ever ripens.
