1st Cantaloupe

I harvested the first cantaloupe of the season midweek. Perfectly sized. Perfectly ripe. Or so I decided while standing in the garden harvesting tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers for dinner and crispy husked ground cherries for dessert.

But the next morning, I decided this first Cantaloupe (Cucumis melo var. cantalupensis) wasn’t quite ready. It was mottled and well textured, but green still shown through the yellowing outer rind. Pressing my thumb against the stem and blossom ends, it didn’t give quite as much as I wanted. And a quick thump with my knuckles resulted in a sound more hollow than ripe.

So I waited a day. And then another. Yesterday, Saturday, several houseguests joined us for breakfast, and I decided that our first cantaloupe was ready. The ripe-at-last rind yielded to my knife which say smoothly through the flesh, splitting the melon into colorful semi spheres. So far so good…

But, I noted, the melon’s lacked the sweet perfume that I associate with the properly ripened cantaloupe. Sure enough, my first bite, confirmed my suspicion. It looked ripe. It felt ripe, but it was still a day or two premature. Tasty. But not transcendent. I’ll try to time the 2nd cantaloupe better.

Prior Cantaloupe

From what I’ve discerned reviewing old notes and photographs, I believe that I first grew cantaloupe (and watermelons) in the summer of 2010 (photos above). Though I don’t seem to have taken any photographs the following summer, in June 9, 2011 I did mention growing cantaloupes.

As Lake Champlain‘s devastating flood of 2011 begins to subside, I shift my attention to… what’s been planted in the garden…

[…]

There are the melons: Fastbreak Cantaloupe, Petite Treat Watermelon and Ruby Watermelon. (Source: Rosslyn Gardens: Heirloom Tomatoes and More)

How did they grow? How did they taste? No memory. No record. And then on July 15, 2012 another mention (but no photos).

Although I keep expecting the watermelons and cantaloupes to explode, they’ve been sluggish. Bizarre. Many years our seasons are too short for them, and yet when we blast them with dry heat day after day, they get logy. Why? (Source: Rosslyn Gardens: Mid-July Veggies)

Incidentally, the observation that our North Country seasons are generally too short for melons is a bias I no longer hold. Growing up in the Adirondacks, that was generally held to be true. But more recently melons germinate, mature, and ripen reliably, season after season. 

In August 15, 2013 I previewed what would prove to be one of our first truly successful cantaloupe seasons. 

During the first couple of summers, the garden was still too small to accommodate a corn patch. And my gardening hours were too rationed to undertake more than the essentials: tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchini, lettuce, spinach, carrots, and radishes (French Breakfast Radishes!) But each summer the garden grew and the variety of vegetables we planted increased. Sweet peppers and hot peppers. Eggplant. Peas. Green beans. Watermelons. Cantaloupe. Brussels sprouts. Leeks. Onions. Cabbage. Artichokes. Beets. Kale. Swiss chard.

But no corn. Not until last summer. (Source: Learning to Live: Sweet Corn and Raccoons)

On September 14, 2013 I shared good news.

It’s been getting considerably cooler at night lately, and feeling fall-like much earlier than the last few years. We’ve already had two nights that broke forty degrees! But still no killing frost.

The vegetable garden is still thick with produce. We’ve been eating cantaloupes and musk melons just as quickly as we can. (Source: Autumn Vegetable Garden Update)

That summer 12 years ago proved to be a remarkable garden-to-table season, but on November 2, 2013 I reflected on its inevitable denouement.

I’ve been asked if it isn’t bittersweet ripping out limp, frosted tomato plants and tilling under the rotting stems of zucchini and cantaloupe.

And you know, it really isn’t bittersweet. It’s a celebration of another bountiful summer, eating delicious, fresh produce harvested from a small plot of dirt a short walk from my kitchen. And it’s a celebration of the bounty yet to come. I know that sounds sort of “woo-woo” Pollyanna-ish, but I genuinely mean it. Putting this summer’s garden to bed is actually a way of starting on next summer’s vegetable garden. (Source: Veggie Patch Lullaby)

The summer of 2014 has vanished from the Rosslyn cantaloupe history, though I suspect we probably did grow melons despite their inadvertent absence from the record. And then, the following year, the sweet flesh fruit reappears in the timeline.

And fast forwarding a decade balance has become a reliable and regular part of our holistic gardening practice. From first cantaloupe, muskmelon, and watermelon to last, these healthy homegrown treats offer a tasty transition between berries and apples, pears, and grapes. And while Susan sadly has little taste for cantaloupe, she loves watermelon. Soon, I hope to offer pip-spitting followup for her.