Watermelon, watermelon.

I had the cutest, little round, sweet-faced grandmother of all time.  She was iconic in her ways and her appearance.  So absolutely precious, and almost as wide as tall, she raised chickens and sold watermelons by the side of the road.   She had a nickname that summed her up, cast upon her by her first grandchild, Bannie.

My Bannie was a southern grandmother.  She was not the fully-gowned, coifed and bejeweled southern grandmother of novels and movies.  She was hardworking in her little farm and kitchen, with a sweet almost gravely voice and a way of playing the piano, and the accordion, that entertained and ministered at the same time ~ a cross between ragtime and gospel, Bannie banged out self-taught songs and hymns with passion and pleasure.  I miss her terribly at times as I know I will never run across another individual like my Bannie.  Gosh, I wish you ALL could have known my grandmother. 

I use to love to walk among the watermelons, which lay in her shady front yard.  They were sweet, they were cool and they were plentiful.  They had them brought in by the truckload, not grown on their property, but they took up residence until a customer came to test Bannie’s crop.  My grandfather, Boppa, settled in near the shed as Bannie worked her magic and picked out just the right melon for you.  Oh, he would work the customers, too, but I remember Bannie the most, bending her squat roundness, much like the melon itself, and "thumping" the melon, pluck it from the rows upon rows on the ground, hold it over her shoulder in one hand, smile her sweet smile and declare the melon ripe. If you questioned it, why, take it to my grandfather and have him plug it.  He would cut a triangle deep into the melon’s flesh to pull out a sweet, juicy portion.  If you needed to have your melon cold, say, on your way to a family get together or picnic, well, that was accomplished easily as well as melons were plunged in ice water in a large cooler to float and twirl and chill.  It was heaven there.

Bannie loved.  She loved us deeply and forgivingly and we could do no wrong in Bannie’s eyes.  When we visited, she would find little items to give to us among her treasures.  Bannie never had a lot, but she gave to us every time.  As she got older, and we got wiser, we learned to take it when Bannie offered you something.  If you were reluctant, perhaps thinking she wasn’t thinking clearly or might still need it, she was going to give it to someone else when they visited.

Sweet memories of my Bannie came flooding back to me last week as I seasoned a cast iron skillet she gave me on one of my last visits, before she got sick.  I was reluctant to take it as thought she might still use it as she fried up a mean chicken, let me tell you.  I thought about her telling me it belonged to a great aunt and had been in the family for a long time. Did she really mean for me to have it?

I accepted the pan, thrilled to have a family heirloom.  I have used it for years and it is truly fantastic.  I think of my Bannie every time I pull that heavy pan out of the cabinet, and maybe that was her intent. I have also heard from a few relatives over the years that Bannie gave them an old cast iron skillet.  I heard they didn’t take it at the time and have heard they have the “family heirloom”, a skillet that belonged to a great aunt. I laugh to myself as I realize Bannie gave my skillet away 10 times over or more, and had more than one skillet to give,  but I am so glad to have it and the memories it brings, every time.