Watermelon Margarita

The garden is in. Twelfth spring. Twelfth planting. Twelfth time kneeling in the dirt with seeds in my hand and faith in the soil and the knowledge that what I plant will grow because it has always grown and the earth does not read the newspaper and does not care about my age and does not give up on the woman who has been putting seeds in it for twelve years.

Cherokee Purples, twelfth season. Sapelo peppers, ninth generation — nine years of saved seeds, nine years of fire, nine years of the pepper line continuing because a woman saved seeds in envelopes and labeled them and planted them and talked to them. The pepper line is almost a decade old. The pepper line is older than Pearl. The pepper line is older than Michael. The pepper line will be here after I am not. That is the contract. The contract is the seeds.

Watermelon, fourth generation. Planted in the sunny corner. Talked to. "Watermelon," I said, "you are fourth generation. Your great-grandmother was the first watermelon I ever grew after seven years of failure. You come from a line of stubborn fruit grown by a stubborn woman. Grow." Michael was there. He said, "Grow." He repeated me. "Grow." He is two and a half years old and he is talking to the watermelon and the watermelon is being talked to by a boy whose great-grandmother taught him that talking to plants is not crazy, it's gardening, and gardening is the closest thing to prayer that doesn't require a church.

Pearl was in the carrier on my chest. Five months old. Watching the dirt. Watching Michael dig. Watching me plant. She is always watching. She is the watcher. She takes in the world through her eyes the way Michael takes it in through his mouth (everything still goes in Michael's mouth — dirt, bugs, crayons, the occasional piece of food). Pearl watches. She is cataloging. She is storing. She is Hattie Pearl, watching from a new body, learning from the beginning what it took me a lifetime to understand: the garden is the kitchen is the family is the love.

Made garden soup tonight. The first-planting soup. The soup of hope and dirt and the beginning of another growing season. The soup doesn't have garden vegetables in it yet — the garden is seedlings and promises. But the soup is made from the same pantry, in the same kitchen, by the same hands, with the same faith. The soup is the waiting. The waiting is the gardening. The gardening is the love.

Now go on and feed somebody.

I don’t have garden tomatoes yet — I have seedlings and prayers and a two-and-a-half-year-old who tells the watermelon vine to grow. But that watermelon corner got talked to today, and something about fourth-generation fruit, about a line of stubborn melons grown by stubborn women, made me want to raise a glass to it come evening. A Watermelon Margarita felt exactly right: sweet and cold and just sharp enough to cut, like hope at the start of a season when everything is still possible and nothing has failed yet.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 10 minutes | Servings: 2

Ingredients

3 cups fresh watermelon, cubed and seeded
3 oz silver tequila
2 oz fresh lime juice (about 2 limes)
1 oz triple sec or Cointreau
1 tbsp agave nectar or simple syrup (adjust to taste)
1/4 tsp kosher salt, plus more for rimming glasses
1 cup ice, plus more for serving
Lime wedges and thin watermelon slices, for garnish

Instructions

Blend the watermelon. Add the cubed watermelon to a blender and blend on high until completely smooth, about 30 seconds. If you prefer a cleaner texture, pour the puree through a fine mesh strainer, pressing with a spoon to extract the juice. Discard the pulp or save it for smoothies.
Rim the glasses. Run a lime wedge around the rim of two rocks glasses or wide-mouth glasses. Pour a thin layer of kosher salt onto a small plate and press each glass rim into the salt to coat. Set aside.
Combine in blender. Add the watermelon juice, tequila, lime juice, triple sec, agave nectar, salt, and 1 cup of ice to the blender. Blend on high for 20–30 seconds until smooth and slushy, or shake with ice in a cocktail shaker for a more liquid margarita.
Taste and adjust. Give the mixture a taste. Add more agave if you want it sweeter, more lime if you want it tarter. The sweetness will vary depending on how ripe and sugary your watermelon is — trust the fruit.
Pour and garnish. Fill the salted glasses with fresh ice and pour the margarita mixture over the top. Garnish each glass with a lime wedge and a small triangle of fresh watermelon on the rim. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Watermelon Margarita — Fourth Generation, Grown and Raised