Rock-A-Bye Baby Punch

The watermelon. Second generation. Ready. I knew before I knocked on it — knew from the weight and the yellow spot and the way the vine had started to dry where it connected to the fruit, which is the plant's way of saying "I'm done. Take it. I did my part." I picked it up — both hands, both knees cooperating, the titanium and the original working in concert for the common cause of watermelon — and I carried it to the kitchen.

This time I didn't call anyone. I cut it alone. Just me and the knife and the watermelon and the kitchen at eight in the morning on a Wednesday, because some victories are private. Some victories are between you and the thing you grew. I split it open and the red was there — deep, sweet, second-generation red. I ate a slice standing at the counter and the juice ran down my chin and I was ten years old in the shotgun house eating watermelon on the porch with Willie James, and I was forty-three in the Thunderbolt yard eating watermelon with Earl, and I was seventy in Denise's kitchen eating watermelon alone, and all three of me were the same woman, and the watermelon was the same watermelon, and the taste was the taste of every summer I have ever lived.

I saved the seeds. Second generation saved. The envelope says: "2026. Second generation. Just as good." Next year, third generation. The watermelon line is established. It took seven years of failure and two years of success and a conversation with a plant and the advice of an eighty-five-year-old woman at church and the stubbornness of a Henderson. The watermelon line is real. It will outlast me. It will outlast the garden. Someone will plant these seeds after I'm gone and the watermelon will grow and it will taste like July in Savannah and it will taste like Granny Dot, and that is a kind of immortality that no headstone can offer.

Brought Michael a taste on Saturday. He is eight and a half months old. He tasted watermelon for the first time. His face went through all nine expressions and then invented a tenth: pure, unfiltered, sticky-faced joy. The watermelon line has a new member.

Now go on and feed somebody.

Saturday, when Michael made that tenth face — the one nobody has a name for yet — I knew the watermelon line had a proper new member, and that called for something celebratory beyond just passing around slices at the counter. This Rock-A-Bye Baby Punch is what I’ll make the day we formally introduce Michael to the garden, sweet and sparkling and pink as July, the kind of drink you pour into the good glasses and hand around to everybody who helped you get to a moment worth toasting.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 10 minutes | Servings: 20

Ingredients

1 gallon raspberry sherbet, softened
2 liters ginger ale, chilled
2 liters lemon-lime soda, chilled
1 can (46 oz) pineapple juice, chilled
1 can (12 oz) frozen pink lemonade concentrate, thawed
1 cup fresh or frozen raspberries (for garnish)
Ice ring or decorative ice block (optional)

Instructions

Soften the sherbet. Remove the raspberry sherbet from the freezer about 15–20 minutes before serving and allow it to soften at room temperature until it is scoopable but not fully melted.
Combine the juices. In a large punch bowl, stir together the pineapple juice and the thawed pink lemonade concentrate until fully blended.
Add the sherbet. Scoop the softened sherbet into the punch bowl in large spoonfuls. Do not stir fully — leaving soft scoops floating gives the punch a beautiful, frothy look.
Pour in the sodas. Gently pour the chilled ginger ale and lemon-lime soda down the side of the bowl to preserve the carbonation. Give one slow, gentle stir to combine.
Add ice and garnish. Place an ice ring or ice block in the center of the punch bowl if desired. Scatter fresh or frozen raspberries across the surface for color.
Serve immediately. Ladle into punch cups and serve right away while the punch is cold and bubbly. Refill with equal parts soda and juice as the bowl empties to keep the flavor balanced.

Nutrition (per serving)

Rock-A-Bye Baby Punch — The Sweetness That Welcomes a New Member to the Watermelon Line