Mark Twain must have stolen a few watermelons when he was a boy. That is why he once said, “The true Southern watermelon is a boon apart, not to be mentioned with commoner things. It is king by the grace of God over all the fruits of the earth. When one has tasted it, he knows what angels eat. It was not a Southern watermelon that Eve took. We know it because she repented.”
I couldn’t agree more. Nothing tastes better than sweet, juicy watermelon. It’s good store bought, better home grown, best stolen.
“You won’t believe the watermelon patch we found hidden in a bend of Deer Creek,” my pal Clyde said one Saturday morning. “Let’s rob it tonight.”
Later that day, I asked Jaybird, my boyhood best friend and mentor, if he’d ever stolen anything.
“When folks gits hungry ’nough, dey’ll steal — hit don’t make no diffunce how righteous dey is when dey ain’t hungry,” the old black man said. “Dat don’t make stealin’ right, but I ’madgin hit’s less sinful to steal when you is starvin’ dan fuh udder reasons. Back in de Great Depression, dey wuz times I stole to eat.”
“Me and my pals are robbing a watermelon patch tonight,” I boasted.
“Whar de patch?” he asked.
“Clyde said it’s hidden in a bend of Deer Creek.”
After staring at me for a moment, he said, “Yep, dat’s whar dey grows best — in good sandy soil lak on a creek bank. If I wuz gonna grow some melons, dat’s whar I’d have a patch. Just remember what I said: When starvin’ folks steal to eat hit’s bad enough, but hit’s sho’nuff agin’ de Ten Commandments to steal when dey gittin’ plenty to eat lak you do.”
Still, the temptation was too great, and I went against Jaybird’s advice. The moon was out when we arrived at the watermelon patch, and we had no trouble finding two huge melons that would qualify for the king and queen over all the fruits of the earth.
Snickering, Earl said, “Let’s cut ’em open right here. Since they are way more than we can eat, we’ll leave behind what’s left over. That will made the owner mighty angry.”
We had barely chomped down on the first juicy bite when a familiar voice thundered, “Hit sho as hell will.” We were in Jaybird’s watermelon patch! Before we could move, he was towering over us, blinding us with his huge flashlight.
“Y’all got two choices — ride wit me to town and ’fess up to de sheriff, or sit rat dar and eat evuh bite o’ dose two melons.”
We chose the latter. Soon our bellies were bloated, but every time we stopped eating, Jaybird threatened to take us to town. When nothing was left but rinds, he looked down with a justifiable smirk on a bunch of miserable boys, turned, and disappeared into the night.
Once again, the wise old man taught me an unforgettable life lesson. I never stole again.
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
