Watermelons, watermelons everywhere

I leap and lunge on tiptoe, zigzagging through the watermelon patch maze, trying not to step on any of the sprawling vines or shading leaves. The sun has set, but light reflecting from the clouds lets my brother Henry and his kids and me continue picking watermelons, which have suddenly ripened all at once. We load them into five-gallon buckets, then carry the heavy buckets to the truck to sort and pack the melons into crates before taking them to the shed, and ultimately to our farmers market and Community Sup­ported Agri­culture customers.

We are in the dog days of August, named after the Dog Star, Sirius, the brightest star in the sky, which now rises in the east just before dawn. The temperature is manageable for a few hours after Sirius fades to white, but soon the heat and humidity begin to beat us down.

By mid-afternoon, a deathly stillness descends into the sheltered bottomland field—no breeze, no birdsong, no motion except for trickling sweat as we harvest tomatoes and peppers, eggplant and okra, green beans and summer squashes, and so much more.