July 11, 2003

The Thrill of Victory

We've known each other long enough now that maybe you will not think me overly haughty when I, after a year of self-revelation and soul-spilling, tell you this morning with no small degree of pride about a distinction that I am pleased to recollect from some long years ago. It still makes me stand a little straighter, confident in my southern heritage and thankful to have grown up in the omnipresence of the National Fruit of Dixie, the Wallamellon.

Yes, dear hearts, back in the year my youngest was abornin', I won first place in the Mt. Lake Biological Station Summer Seed-Spitting Contest. One of the proudest moments in my long life. Yessir, I remember it plain as day. How could I forget after long weeks of preparation and the incredible discipline I had in those days. As I stand on the porch in the cool morning air this morning, I can remember the long hours off away from the station in a private place with my practice seeds every morning in the cool foggy air before the breakfast bell. I would sit for a hour before sunrise in lotus position, first clearing my mind of all distractions, then visualizing each nuance of the 'put' as we call it in the sport. I will not spend 2000 words in the details but rather tell you that I used the approach to the line that you may be familiar with if you have watched a shot-putter starting low, facing away from the line, then bursting into his 'put', turning toward his mark, arching his body full into the motion to push every ounce of strength into the heavy shot. And so it was in my seed-putting form, an art more than a sport, and I can still feel the warmth of the admiring "OOOOhs" and the congratulations in the winner's circle.

But here's the sad part of the story. They just don't make'em like they use ta. That melon we had last night is typical of what passes for the Fruit of Dixie these days... with small, roundish, thin seeds that are more aerodynamically designed for swallowing than spitting. Even with the rolled tongue method (again some details are proprietary) and my very best form (limited of course by the bad knee, stiff back, and several other orthopedic impediments) I could barely clear the front of my shirt with those sorry little pips. I dunno. Maybe I've lived long enough.

Posted by fred1st at July 11, 2003 06:37 AM | TrackBack
Comments

wallamellon...never took you for the seed spittin' type

Posted by: meg at July 11, 2003 02:12 PM

Congratulations on your achievements. Alas, modern science denies you the chance to defend your record. I once found my three young sons competing to set a similar record but with different materials!
Shalom,
Jan

Posted by: Jan at July 11, 2003 02:13 PM

Sounds like a feeble attempt to disguise age related drooling. *G*

I agree that wallamellins ain't what they was. We had two foot long rattlesnake striped jobbies that weighed 15-20 lbs a piece...those babies were all heart...monster black seeds you could spit ten feet or more.

Oh my, the flavor...fresh split in the field with a trusty Boy Scout pocketknife...the underside cool, the topside warm...the whole thing smelling of earth and sugar...diggin' out the heart with our fingers...spittin' seeds and juice at each other until we was covered in red sticky goo...we'd run for the canal and plop in the cool rushing water.

Then do it again...until the melon patch owner arrived toting a 12 guage loaded with rock salt...man-o-man that stuff stings.

summer as it once was...not so long ago.

Posted by: feste at July 11, 2003 07:02 PM

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