Raise your hand if you know that July 4, 1776, is the date the Declaration of Independence was signed. Those powdered-wigged dudes somehow managed to endure the pointy shoes and stiff, wool threads in an un-air-conditioned room to birth a nation. And to this day we celebrate their mettle with fireworks — up until this year, that is — barbecues and watermelon.
Oh, I’m sorry. You in the back. Not raising your hand? You don’t agree with everyone else? What’s that you say? They didn’t sign the Declaration of Independence on Independence Day?
Oh, that’s right. The delegates to the Second Continental Congress adopted the document on that fine day. It took another month for everyone to get their act together and put their John Hancocks on that revered piece of parchment on Aug. 2.
Well done, there in the back row. Seeded watermelon for everyone else. You get seedless!
After fireworks and cookouts, watermelon is about as solid a sign of July 4 as anything. The hamburgers, hot dogs, Tofu-pups and potato salad are all simply precursors to the generally accepted sign of summer — watermelon.
There’s just nothing like it.
Watermelon is a member of the family Cucurbitaceae — the same family as cucumbers, gourds, pumpkins, squash and a bunch of other hard-shelled fruits. The species hails from North Africa where watermelon seeds have been found in King Tut’s tomb. Seems even the boy Pharaoh spat seeds at his mother — who was also his aunt. Whatever.
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Citrullus lanatus — the modern watermelon — produces vines about 10-feet long (although there are “bush” types) with both male and female flowers on the same vine. The first dozen or so blooms are all male so don’t worry if they don’t produce any fruit. Female flowers will show up eventually. The fruit itself is actually a modified berry called a pepo — hard rind, watery flesh with no divisions and plenty of individual seeds.
The cultivation of a watermelon plant is pretty straightforward. First, they need space, lots of space. Most people find it best to plant two vines close together and let them grow together. That way if the many problematic stem/vine borers get one of the vines, the other can fill the space.
They also need sun, lots of sun. And they need water. But contrary to what you might think, they don’t need any more water than the typical veggie garden crop. Being essentially desert species, they are tremendously adept at accumulating water from even the driest of soils. The watermelon fruit is actually a water storage organ by design. Overwatering can cause overinflated fruits with much-diluted flavor.
There are hundreds of varieties out there with flesh-colored red, orange, yellow and white. The smallest mature at about 1 pound and the largest can top out at 150-200 pounds. There are solid, dark greens, speckled (Moon and Stars is a favorite) and striped varieties.
What there are not, are boy and girl watermelons. I have no idea where this myth originated but watermelon fruits do not have gender. In fact, no fruits express gender. Sure, there are male and female flowers, but that’s where it stops. You can put that one to rest.
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Because they are more than 90% water, watermelons are great for re-hydrating — especially after a long, hot, summer run or bike ride. They are a source of potassium, vitamins A, B6, and C plus a few other things. Watermelon also contains the amino acid citrulline that dilates blood vessels and, according to some, acts as a sort of natural Viagra.
No word on whether or not watermelon turns your vision blue!
But now to the most important part t the seeds. Squirting watermelon seeds at your siblings is one of those vanishing summer images that sits right up there with playing kick the can, capture the flag and flashlight tag. The culprit, of course, is the seedless watermelon. Sure, it makes for easier eating, but at what societal cost? And at such a cost, we really need to look into the details of this phenomenon.
The typical, seeded watermelon has 22 chromosomes that are typically held in 11 pairs (we have 46 and there is one Australian ant species that has only one!) When they produce egg and pollen cells, that chromosome complement splits so each ends up with 11. With pollination/fertilization, they recombine to form a full, 22 chromosome complement once again and a seed that can reproduce the plant again. We call that a diploid genome.
But that’s with typical watermelons. There are some varieties out there that have doubled their chromosome count so they have 44 chromosomes (tetraploid) rather than 22. They still reproduce normally as long as they are pollinated by another tetraploid watermelon plant.
But when you pollinate a diploid plant with pollen from a tetraploid plant, things get a little out of whack. Very often you get a sterile triploid plant with no seeds or with non-viable seeds.
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With triploid plants (33 chromosomes) the chromosomes can’t divide into two, evenly numbered sets during pollen/egg formation and that goofs up the works. Seeds may start to form but they abort early in the process. That’s what leads to the small, white, seedy-looking things in seedless watermelons.
But here’s the cool part. Seedless watermelons are grown from seed, but where does the seed come from?
A sterile, triploid seed is produced by hand crossing a diploid with a tetraploid. The resultant seeds are viable but produce sterile plants — they’re mules. And the pollen they produce is also non-viable. But oddly, the triploid plant grown from those mule seeds needs to be pollinated with viable pollen in order for it to produce its seedless fruit. So farmers plant sterile triploid plants along with diploid plants. The triploids can’t self-pollinate (because their pollen is not viable) but bees can carry the viable diploid pollen to the triploid flowers to complete fertilization.
Plants are so cool —and occasionally quite confusing. Ever wonder why seedless watermelons are more expensive?
So Happy Independence Day, whenever you celebrate!
Yew Dell Botanical Gardens, 6220 Old Lagrange Road, yewdellgardens.org.
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An ode to watermelon. Why it's the best summer fruit. And if you don't agree, you're wrong - Courier Journal
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