Cantaloupe? Honey Dew

Saturday morning in bed. Handsome Hubby turned to me with that warm, brown-eyed, loving look that usually signals one of two things—he wants to get frisky, or he’s hot for hotcakes and bacon. But not this weekend. The man, a constant source of surprises, said, “Baby, it’s happening in Fallon. Cantaloupe! Big time. Cantaloupe. Let’s get moving.”

Cantaloupe. Honey Dew

And with that, my man flung off the covers, and he/we hot-footed it, well, drove 62.6 miles to Fallon, Nevada, for the annual Cantaloupe Festival and Country Fair!

Yea-ha!

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Me, a self-described chic, cultured, well-coiffed, refined, Broadway Baby, spent the afternoon, a loonnngg hot afternoon, tapping melons in Fallon, Nevada, population: 9,570.

Now, a little background: I may love theater, but Handsome Hubby is a man with an obsession. He has a mania for melons, and I am not using the term as a euphemism for breasts. The man is a melon monster.

His preference is watermelon, but give him a melon of most any kind, and he is a merry, mellow man. He scouts out melons relentlessly in supermarkets, mini-marts, and outdoor farmers’ markets across Reno, tapping and talking with produce people NON-STOP during prime summer season. He comes home from these shopping venues carrying melons under both arms, grunting from the exertion like he carried hefty babies in multi-mile-long relay races.

Our garbage cans bulge and drip with sticky rind and pulp. Even the trash collectors complain about the excess weight and stench of our summer trash!

A Melon Man Does What a Melon Man Must Do

Daily, we, HH’s devoted “audience,” must watch as he slices and dices, slurps and moans either in ecstasy or disappointment in self-critiques of his latest melon purchases.

If a melon meets his exacting standards, he carries it to the dinner table like it is primo pricy chateaubriand. He stands above us, hands on hips, and watches as we sample his latest acquisition. We must “ooh” and “ahh” multiple times and clasp our sticky hands to our hearts! It is exhausting.

Each year, I cannot wait for summer fruit season to end. I am watermelon weary. Seed-spitting sated!

But anyway, brat that I am, I still must admit, the Fallon Cantaloupe Festival was fun.

There were farmers and cowboys everywhere. Dusty denim as far as the eye could see. There was cantaloupe jam, cantaloupe margaritas, cantaloupe daiquiris, sunflower cookies, and of course, sweet-smelling cantaloupe of varieties unimaginable.

Cantaloupe. No Honey Dew. But Quilts Galore

We (well, he, not me) shucked corn on an old-timey rusted corn shucking device, and we saw a magnificent exhibit of quilts by the local quilting society. If I could have run fast enough, I would have happily nabbed a few of the stunning quilts. Alas, weighted down by Handsome Hubby’s purchase of three watermelons, four cantaloupes, jams, pies, and cantaloupe jalapeno salsa, I couldn’t.

Anyway, while it was no day at the theater, it was an adventure.

Wait! There’s More!

And as if my heart couldn’t bear more excitement, there’s more on the horizon …

Because, drum roll please … This week heralds the event Handsome Hubby lives for each year, the Best in the West Nugget Rib Cook Off, which attracts b-b-que aficionados by the thousands from around the world!

I’ve written about this “do” before. You can read my take on that event here, but my personal summary is this: each time HH drags me to this pork extravaganza, all I think about is a line Barbra Streisand sings from the Broadway musical Funny Girl, “Would a convent take a Jewish Girl?”

Ah, life in the “Biggest Little City in the World” with the best husband in the world… and that last part is no exaggeration, no joke!

🍉 🍉 🍉

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