Henry grew a watermelon plant in our garden this year. I call it a garden, but really it's a gigantic pit in our backyard that is home to weeds and yard clippings and bunnies that Maggie torments. (Or perhaps they are tormenting her. At any rate, it's a tortured relationship.) The watermelon is the only thing we planted, and this is the only piece of fruit it produced.
But isn't it a beaut?
We're planning to slice into it tonight. It's so pretty on the outside; I hope we're not shocked and awed when we open it up.