The Watermelon Hike

(Please click on the title for a reading aloud by the author.)

Of all the hikes Franz and I have shared over the years, the watermelon hike is in a class by itself.

The trail up Glorieta Baldy from the Baptist Conference center follows a ridge with a southern exposure. This makes it ideal for hiking in colder weather, but in the summer it is hot. Neither Franz or I had thought of this when we decided to hike the trail one July day, and it was one of those when the heat had a presence all it’s own by eight in the morning. From the parking area we walked the length of a lot set aside for folks to stay in their RV’s. There were eight or ten of them lined up, all with their AC units going. We crossed the boundary between the conference center and national forest, stepping carefully through the narrow stile in the barbed wire fence.

There on the forest side of the fence was a folding metal table set up with half a watermelon on it, a kitchen knife and a number of thick slices arranged on paper plates. This took us by surprise and it was tempting to take a slice to munch on. But we figured it had to do with a group, perhaps from the conference center which we were not a part of, so left it alone.

Immediately the trail follows a steep pitch up through stands of ponderosa pine and beautiful eroded rock formations. The forest wasn’t doing much to shield us from the sun and we were roasting. A mile up we encountered yet another installation of watermelon, this time a number of slices on a plank of wood. Gosh did it ever look good, and there was no one around… but it just didn’t seem right to help our selves. On we went.

Another mile along, in a little shady spot was another display of sliced watermelon. It was set at the base of yet another steep climb, this one in full sun. Heat radiated from the forest floor, the pine needles crunched under foot. We stopped. This was all too odd, and that watermelon was looking real good. “Franz, I don’t know what’s going on. But there’s that watermelon, and there’s nothing saying “for the Baptist hikers…” or whatever. I’m going to have a slice.” I reached down and helped myself.

“Are you sure it’s ok?” Asked Franz.

“No. But if someone comes along upset, I’ll find a way to make it up to them.” And I had my teeth sunk into that slice. Juice ran down my chin. Franz then took one. We two stood there like little kids, not quite sure this was ok, but wow, that watermelon hit the spot as only watermelon can do on a hot day. “I don’t know about you, but I’m having another slice.” I said. Franz shrugged his shoulders and grinned. He helped himself as well.

We continued up the mountain. We always have a lot to talk about, but the mysterious watermelon was the topic of the day. What was this all about? We came across yet another watermelon station and helped ourselves to another slice.

The final pitch to the summit is steep and fully exposed to the sun. We took our time, pausing for little breaks in spots of shade as they became available. Finally at the summit there was quite a crowd of people, ten or twelve who were in a group. We approached them and said hello. “Do any of you know what’s going on with the watermelon?” Franz asked. One particularly muscular fellow proceeded to pull a whole watermelon from his pack and got ready to slice it up.

“Welcome to the watermelon hike!” He said. “It’s such a hot day, it seemed like the thing to do. Help yourselves.” We did not hesitate to join the party. Everyone munched on the cool refreshing slices, photos were taken, we all chatted and laughed. Hugs were going around. It was delightful. Then they gathered up and left. With extra gladness we sat in some shade, ate our lunch and enjoyed the view.

Gordon Bunker