Summertime Edification

The wisdom of a learned man cometh by opportunity of leisure: and he that hath little business shall become wise.

Ecclesiastes 38:25

"Nothing? Ah, that's a shame," Kirk commiserated, heaving it up onto the kitchen counter. "They're a summertime standard around here. They grow well in the heat."

"In Terran climes. I doubt Vulcan heat would be beneficial to their growth." Spock flinched ever so slightly as Kirk gleefully wielded a large knife, cutting the large, green-and-white striped fruit in half and laying bare the bright, red flesh inside. An immodest amount of reddish juice gushed forth from the exposed flesh. "Also, no fruit on Vulcan holds such a large quantity of water. Our ground has little to spare."

"Well, that's true enough. I bet imports of this would go like hotcakes." The knife kept flashing as Kirk segmented the fruit into smaller units, creating plate-sized circles of fruit which he then cut in half.

"Hotcakes?" Spock helpfully stacked the cut pieces into a waiting bowl. The scent of the fruit was sweet and strong on his fingers.

"A saying meaning they'd be in high demand. Here," Kirk laid the knife in the sink and washed off his sticky hands. "We need to take it outside."

Spock blinked. "Why? Is there some significance or ritual connected with it?"

Kirk grinned. "Uh...well, other than mom having a conniption if we ate it in the kitchen, sort of. Come along and I'll show you."

Wondering what a conniption was, Spock followed as Kirk led the way out of the kitchen to the large, covered back porch. The sun hung very low on the horizon in the west, a huge ball of molten orange in a hazy, blue sky. The air had been dense with high levels of humidity all day; Spock could feel it against his skin and breathed it in with each thick breath. It felt as if he were swimming through a heavy atmosphere, making every move seem more enervating. Despite his years on Earth while at the Academy, he had never become fully acclimated to humid Terran weather.

The vegetation surrounding the Kirk home appeared lush, each tree dark green and full, the grass plush and thick in every direction. Spock never ceased to be amazed at how *wet* and ripe this world was, when compared to his father's homeworld. Such excessive amounts of water in every aspect of their lives, even in their native foods. He thought of Vulcan's most favored native fruit, *khaf-savas*, bloodfruit, so named because of its verdant color. It might as well be named sandfruit when compared to earth's watermelon, because of its grainy texture and extremely low amount of intrinsic water.

Every aspect of difference between the two worlds fascinated Spock. Earth was his world, also, despite his appalling lack of familiarity with it. Joining Starfleet had been a logical attempt to assuage his curiosity about the other half of his heritage, but after sixteen years either on earth or surrounded by his mother's culture on Enterprise, Spock realized that his curiosity about his mother's people might never be fully sated, and might require life-long study. The thought gave him an odd sense of pleasure.

"Here, Spock. Pull up a stair." Kirk gestured to the wooden risers where he had seated himself.

Gamely, Spock seated himself likewise, forgoing his urge to first sweep away with his hand any dirt on the step. The captain had explained to him that denim jeans "were made to get dirty, especially on a farm", and over the past few days had proceeded to prove his pronouncement. Spock did not have any problem with becoming dirty if unavoidable in the course of work, but dirty for laziness' sake had been a new concept.

However, he was doing his best to adjust. It was very important to convey his pleasure and thanks to his new captain for the honor of being invited to the Kirk family's Iowa farm for the week. Other than his few Terran relatives years ago, it was his first time on Earth staying in a private home. Taking in and mentally cataloging all the idiosyncrasies of their lifestyle kept Spock busy and very content.

"So...have a piece." Kirk held out the bowl, and Spock chose a large, wet piece of fruit. He held it gingerly between his fingers, wondering what came next.

Seizing his own piece, Kirk put the bowl down on the highest step behind them, then gestured with the dripping fruit in his hand. "Go ahead, take a bite." He proceeded to demonstrate, chuckling closed-mouth as red juice oozed down over his chin. "Oh, Spock, is it ever *sweet*," he mumbled around the mouthful. "Eat!" he insisted, eyes flashing, obviously oblivious to the steady drip of juice onto his jeans and the occasional drop that splattered his tee-shirt.

Hesitantly, Spock brought the piece to his mouth, aware of every drop that landed on his clothing as he did so, and bit into the soft, wet flesh. Fruit sugar exploded on his tongue, much sweeter than anything he'd ever tasted before. The distinctive flavor of the fruit was strong and clean. Chewing, the flesh melted in his mouth into a puddle of juice and mashed fiber, with the inclusion of a few solid bits: the dark, mottled brown seeds that dotted the fruit's red interior. He swallowed, and took a second bite.

"Wait, this time, Spock, don't swallow the seeds. You'll look a little odd with watermelons growing in your belly."

"I--" Spock blinked and stared at Kirk. "But that is...." His voice trailed off as Kirk's eyes slid sideways and connected with his own gaze, letting Spock see the amusement contained therein. "Ah. You are being facetious." Spock felt Kirk's warm regard as a heat in the pit of his stomach.

"Umm," Kirk acknowledged, his mouth full. Swallowing, he gestured with the empty curve of rind. "Maybe. It's what my father told me when I was little, and then he taught me how to spit out the seeds. So pay attention." Pursing his mouth and facing toward the growth in front of the porch, Kirk blew hard out of his mouth, and dark seeds came forth in an arc, landing in the grass. "See? All there is to it. Problem solved."

Spock's eyebrow went up as he contemplated the procedure. "So these are the reasons why the watermelon is ritually eaten outside the house...because the fruit's water content, and also its seeds, would prove deleterious to the home's interior cleanliness."

Grinning, Kirk leaned over and nudged Spock familiarly with his left shoulder and arm as he continued to munch. "That's one way of putting it."

The nerves in Spock's right arm prickled where their flesh had touched. It disconcerted Spock. His previous captain, Pike, had never touched him casually. He'd only placed his hand on Spock if it were necessary, such as landing party duty sometimes necessitated when it became essential to help each other traverse difficult geography, or in the event of illness or injury. His current situation fit none of the usual criteria for required touching, and he quite honestly had no idea how best to deal with it. Obviously, he would have to meditate upon it later.

Refocusing on the issue at hand, Spock pushed aside the surge of strong emotion that emanated from Kirk. "Are you not concerned that the seeds you discard may take root and grow where they are not wanted?"

"Spock...." Kirk gestured with his head toward Spock's side of the stairs. "I'll have you know Kirks have spit and grown watermelon vines here for generations. It's a Kirk family tradition. Plus, it makes it damned easy to pick dessert."

There, just to the front of the porch and to the left of the stairs, grew a large tangle of green vine, upon which Spock counted at least five more pieces of growing fruit. "I am honored that you want me to participate in an old family tradition, Captain."

Changeable hazel eyes gleamed at him, crinkling with humor. "Eat, spit. Enjoy, Mr. Spock. It doesn't get much better than this in the summer around here."

Spock thought that the ritual and the setting were indeed very agreeable.

"Unless we go swimming in the stream out back," Kirk added. "On a real hot day, there's nothing's better."

The Academy had forced Spock to learn to swim for safety reasons, but at least that had been in a tolerably clean, heated pool. But in a stream.... Spock stiffened, thinking of having to actually submerge himself in a natural body of no doubt *cold* water.

"But we'll save that for tomorrow," Kirk continued, and grateful for the reprieve, Spock relaxed and took a large bite of fruit, wondering how he could decline the honor and joys of swimming in the Kirk stream.

The taste was excellent, Spock decided, storing the seeds in the side of his mouth as he ate his way through one slice. Unable to avoid it now, he pursed his mouth as Kirk had done, and spit. One lone seed sputtered out and fell into his lap.

"That won't work."

Spock felt cool, slightly sticky fingers grasp his jaw line. "Purse up and blow, don't spit the seeds out. As if you were using a blowgun. Hard."

A *blowgun*? Spock hesitated, then blew. Hard. Seeds went flying out into the grass in as elegant an arc as Kirk's.

"Excellent!" Kirk clasped his shoulder briefly. "Welcome to the brotherhood of the watermelon, Mr. Spock. It's significant in the hearts of many a young person."

Spock gazed at the supremely pleased expression on his captain's face. It wasn't logical, but something about it seemed to instill in Spock a desire to offer his loyalty to this human, in spite of Kirk's many illogical actions and his tendency to high emotions. "Does that include your own heart, Captain?"

Grinning, Kirk looked away, his eyes searching in the distance over the rolling green landscape. Spock wondered what he saw, what memories were evoked by such a sight. He discovered an intense yearning within himself to know, to have access to this human's inner thoughts and processes, something he had never before experienced to such a degree.

"Most of all including myself, Mr. Spock, most of all."

The alien-yellow sun had angled down nearly to the horizon and slanted rays of amber light sharply across the land, gilding Kirk's hair and skin, and turning his eyes to a deep gold. A statue, Spock thought suddenly, the human was as pleasing to look upon as a life-sized bronze statue he had once seen in a museum.

The golden eyes turned to him. "I've still got a fair amount of little boy tucked away inside somewhere, Mr. Spock, and I need to bring him out every now and then. I hope I can trust you to...understand, and to let me play." The human gave a small sigh and looked up to the sky. "She's a big ship, isn't she, Mr. Spock? A beautiful lady. And a big seat to fill. I've wanted nothing more since I was a young boy."

For the first time, Spock began to understand, at least in some small way, the previously incomprehensible being who now commanded his days. It certainly wasn't a logical process; he couldn't have described how he had arrived at his knowledge if asked. But he knew, and somewhere inside a distinct yearning began to ease.

"I believe the Enterprise's center seat to be the exact fit for you, Captain. And we do have recreational decks to encourage the crew to...play. *All* of the crew," he added significantly. "Such is important for the health and well-being of the ship."

The grin Kirk aimed at him rivaled the setting sun in radiance. "I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Spock. Perhaps I can persuade you to come and play with me on occasion."

Spock thought immediately of the two of them engaged mentally over a chess board. Perhaps he had found a worthy partner in this unpredictable human. "As long as you agree to forego any watermelon rituals on the ship, I would be amenable to such a suggestion."

Kirk laughed, and reached for another slice of fruit. "Then we'll leave the watermelon for shore leave only, Mr. Spock, our special little ritual. It's good to have special things, don't you think? They help create ties and make relations stronger between people." Kirk bit into the fruit. Once more, the juice ran down his chin. "It's good," he said.

Spock didn't know if he referred to the fruit or the idea of rituals binding people together. No matter. Both were excellent.

"Yes, it is good," he agreed, and helped himself to another slice of earth's summer bounty.