Somehow I turned into the perfect 19th century housewife today and spent all day washing dishes, canning watermelon pickles, and making chicken stock. (And, by the way, 19th century housewives always used serial commas. So that whole sentence was in character. I commit.) The chicken stock is now in plastic bags in the freezer (shout-out to Dana for the idea), and the watermelon pickles are in 26 jars.
My dad caught me on the phone and freaked out when he heard I was pickling watermelon rind -- apparently, this is a long-lost favorite of his. Despite his Fresno upbringing, I swear my dad proves himself to be southern day in and day out. He claims that one can buy watermelon pickles at Knott's Berry Farm and that I probably had some as a small child. Pshaw, I say.
Guys, these things are frickin' out of this WORLD delicious. They're like sweet bread and butter pickles, but with a more pungent spice flavor. They remind me of the Branson pickles in a Ploughman's.