Columnists
Remembering watermelons and the homeplace
By Charlotte A. Watson
Jul 31, 2018
Print this page
Email this article

When I was a kid, my grandmother's "homeplace" was in the Danner Community, a little northeast of town. Across the melted asphalt road, was a watermelon patch next to the home of Roy and Rene Taylor. I can still feel that soft, gooey tar in the road oozing warmly between my toes. Nothing tasted better on a summer day than slipping in and busting open one of those ripe melons right on the vine and scooping out the juicy, sweet red fruit. I spent many an afternoon sitting under the big ol' tree at the Taylor's, shucking corn and snapping Kentucky Wonders.

photo by Casie Partridge

Of an (every) evening, they would put the TV out on the front porch. We would sit out there in lawn chairs like we were at the drive-in. I was always in awe of Brenda, who was in high school. She would leave out in what seemed like a big hoop-skirted, swing dress held out with layers of crinoline petticoats. I don't remember, but I bet she was wearing Bobby Socks. 

My grandmother, Beulah G. Johnson, was a hairdresser by day at Beulah’s Beauty Shoppe on Center Street and a cattlewoman by night.  She colored my life with experiences and stories like these. Those were the days! Would love to be transported back.