“The cantaloupe melons are coming in, their flesh the color of mangoes, sweet and precious as these last days of summer. I harvested bushels and bushels of them this morning with Lindsay and Amy and Lindsay’s mom, Martha. Lindsay split one in half on the wagon with a harvest knife, and dug the seeds out with its tip. I ate a sun-warm slice and then another and wiped the juice from my face with my shirt.
To eat a perfect melon is one thing, but to eat a perfect melon in a field chock full of them, from a platter the size of a wagon, is altogether something else. The former is tinged with longing — a single melon is a finite thing. The later is the taste of glorious abundance, and one of those sweet rewards a farm life gives you, to balance out the inevitable hardships…” (Continue reading Kristin Kimball‘s Essex Farm Note)