Organic Watermelon

Into the Desert

When I was a student midwife, I went where the main midwife took me to assist her at births. So when we had to drive over an hour east of San Diego, a chaparral ecoregion covered in small shrubs and lots of desert sand inbetween, I sat back and enjoyed the view, talking about babies, breastfeeding and all things birthy. Another assistant was with us, too, so the three of us chattered during the drive.


When we got to the house, it was… not quite a mobile home, but more like a home built out of scrap materials. Well-made, but small and quite worn, probably by the wind and sand.

See the tiny house in the middle upper third of the picture? That is what it looked like driving to their house. That tiny dirt road was about 2 miles long.

The mom wanted to birth outside, so we set up the Fishy Pool for her.


We put more cold water in than hot because it was blazing outside. Flies and bees were everywhere, dive bombing us while we worked.

With Fishy Pools, unless someone had a washer and dryer hook-up, we had to carry pots, pans, coffee pots, etc. of hot water from the stove to add to the cold water going in from the brand new hose.


We set up the pool in the searing sun even though there was a Pepper Tree near. The tree housed a beehive, so a bit of a distance was good.

Howling Silence

The labor was lovely; the birth, magical.

The mom would have contractions that had her howling like a desert wolf, then inbetween, complete silence from all of us around her. If she moved, we would hear tiny splashes, but none of us spoke above a whisper, and even then only when necessary.

But from the Pepper Tree, the bees were not silent. In fact, they seemed to be amplified as our sounds faded. Buzz Buzz Buzzzzzzzing from the Pepper Tree. It was mesmerizing.

California Pepper Tree

In the short space between the end of labor and the beginning of pushing the baby into the world, some sort of surreal experience hit all of us at once. The Pepper Tree emitted a scent, intoxicating… the bees swirled around and buzzed… the flies vanished. I felt dizzy and wondered if my glucose was falling, but I saw the others were feeling something as well, our eyes gaping at each other, waggling eyebrows a bit to say a silent, “Yes! Me, too!”

It was as if time had paused for the mom to gather her strength and we were giving her ours as well.


Then the sensation vanished as quickly as it had begun, the world moving once again, moving with the baby who was born in the water soon after, sweetly and easily.

Once the placenta had been born, mom wanted to still sit outside for a bit and wanted under the buzzing Pepper Tree, so we laid out a couple of blankets with towels on them for her. She sat while we cleaned up quietly around her, not speaking unless in a whisper.


I took note the bees and flies kept their distance and respected the new life under their wings.

These moments, from right before the birth until we rose from under the tree were… I really have no other word for it… Holy.

Mom nursed the brand new baby as dad held her in his arms in front of him.

Eventually, the heat was oppressive and the baby was getting warm and needed a fan as much as the rest of us. (Babies are rarely fanned! Keeping them warm is much more the usual routine.)


Before we could move into the house, the housemates, who’d been out in the garden on the other side of the property during the birth, brought over some watermelons picked mere moments earlier.

Sitting on the small porch, we caught more of a breeze, so, comparatively, we cooled off.

The gardeners proudly held out the odd-looking watermelons (“they are organic!” I was scolded). I frowned that they were not cold, but was hungry so held out my hand for a big slice. The new family was settled on a cushioned (and covered) bench, already taking bites out of the red watermelon.

As I brought the watermelon to my mouth, I caught the scent and it was so powerful, I pulled it back and looked at it quizzically. When did watermelons smell like this? Never before in my lifetime. I then opened my mouth and bit into a hot chunk of melon. I am sure I swooned, newly in love with a food I thought I knew, but really was just meeting for the first time.

“Oh my GOD, this is GOOD!”

Someone smiled and said, “This is organic watermelon.”


I have tears in my eyes remembering the taste, the hot squishiness on my tongue, the juice oozing down my chin, hands, arms and elbows. I looked at the others, equally covered in red natural syrup and dreamily taking huge bites, consuming 2 watermelons in a half-hours’ time.

When we’d all finished, someone turned on the hose and we took turns splashing off the drippy stickiness with too-warm water.

Resting After Birth

I was given the hot and sweaty job of getting mom and baby into her bedroom, a small 8×8 room with a fan strung up high, blowing downward, the electric cord snaking from outside the room, through and back outside the window with holes in the screen. She and her partner, and now baby, had a mattress on the floor.

I got things laid out to protect the mattress, helped her to pee before getting down onto the mattress with the baby. I got her a big glass of water (no ice in the house) and plopped down with her.

But There Were Flies

I swear there were over 100 in that tiny room. Zizzing around, up, down, into the corner of the baby’s eyes, landing on anything they could find… our mouths, noses, heads, hands, arms, legs, feet… it was mercilessly hot and the flies were taking up space and air we needed.

I asked the new mom where the flyswatter was and she looked at me horrified.

“We do not kill things at this house! You can use a piece of newspaper to brush them out of the room and then outside.”

I looked to see if she was kidding.

She was not.

I went to find some newspaper, folded it in half and began shooshing the hordes of flies away from the new mother and baby and out of the room as best as I could.

It was a losing battle. (You knew that already, I know.)

Eventually, I just sat down, newspaper in hand, waving it gently around the nursing pair.

“This would be the most difficult part of my living out here… the flies.”

This newly postpartum woman began talking very softly and asked me to close the door.

“Are you sure?! It’s going to stop all the air flow!”

“Just for a minute.”

I crawled the couple of feet, leaned over and closed the door. The temperature climbed 15 degrees within seconds.

She called me to come closer. I could smell her musky sweaty newly postpartum scents. She crooked her finger to come closer, so I leaned my ear nearer her mouth.

Barely above a whisper, she confessed:

“When I am alone in the house, I use the vacuum cleaner hose to suck up the flies. I figure I am not directly killing them, right?”


Wanting to laugh really loud and hard, I swallowed my extreme amusement and soberly agreed that it was not directly killing them. I did not want her to feel one more second of guilt about getting rid of the nasty flies in her bedroom.

All These Years Later…

It’s been 20 years since this happened and I can still feel the heat, hear the bees, remember the Holy experience… and taste that amazing watermelon.


12 thoughts on “Organic Watermelon

  1. Great story! I remember you telling it before. Been thinking about you lately. Hope you are doing ok. Its been rough for me, I had a hysterectomy. No longer have that womb that was a tomb. That line will always stay with me. Hugs my friend, I miss you and your words. CS


    1. CRISTINA! You cannot know how my heart jumped seeing your name here! I had no idea you were reading. My face is beaming with joy. I am doing alright. Talking smut with men is going really well. Who knew I could be so raunchy?! *laughing* I am so happy you are FREE with your uterus gone! I still have mine, but I swear it hasn’t done so much as a twitch in 20, 30 years maybe. Insulin Resistance was good for those no period times! Menopause x10 years now. Just awesome.

      I miss you, too, my dear friend, but do need to say, I do NOT miss the drama that was midwifery. There is not one day that I wish I was doing birth again. I was satiated. Then was done.

      I love writing now. I write a LOT at work. And am trying to write more here. Meghann nudges me every day. *laughing*

      I love you, Cristina… email me ( and I will get you my phone number and we can text til our fingers fall off. Much love, dear birthy friend.


  2. Incredibly amazing watermelon and nasty flies and a new baby…there are probably poems out there that describe Earth as the place where Heaven and Hell meet…and I think this is a theme that is trying to emerge from your story–which you have written very well.

    Thank you for doing the life work and the writing work to give us this story. In return, I would like to point you to the story of the Samaritan woman at the well in the book of John, chapter 4, which seems to me to also have an unearthly sweetness to it.

    One thing I really like about your writing is the pacing…you don’t waste words, yet you still manage to keep them far enough apart that they can really flow. My writing tends to be either too dense or too wordy; almost indigestible either way.


    1. Oh, but Peggy… you write beautifully! Look at that awesome comment alone!

      When you spoke of earth being where Heaven and Hell meet, I thought that was a delicious description I have not heard before. Love it! Not having meant to write with alternative meanings, I think about Amy Tan (Joy Luck Club, etc .) saying that she just writes stories and people divine all sorts of meaning to her words and how they unfold. Does my writing have a message?



      Thank you so much for commenting, Peggy. You have given me things to consider.

      And your writing… really quite lovely.


      1. Thank you for your kind words!

        The idea that a creative work’s meaning might not appear until after it is “finished” and people experience it and interact with it a bit, came to me from Dorothy Sayers (The Mind of the Maker). She broke down the creative process into three phases: first the Idea, then the creator’s work in embodying that idea into some form, then the Power and meaning that the work takes on out in the world.

        She went on how describe how a creative work could be weak in one area or another–a so-so idea, or a poor execution of the idea, or a poor reception by others. Anyway, your story here is strong in all three!

        Liked by 1 person

    1. My CozaFriend! Do you know how I have missed you, too! Email me so we can exchange phone numbers and text our lives to each other. 🙂

      As with Cristina, it delights me no end that you can hear me telling this story. For all these years, I have shared my life stories orally. It is Meghann that insisted I start writing these things down… and she has high ideas she wants to get them published. I just write for my kids… and also for others who might find amusement in my life’s antics.

      I love you, Coza! Miss you awfully much.


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