Summer Repair, One Watermelon Seed at a Time

showing up for our neighbors with the gifts we have & the resources we can share

I want you to know how I got through the month of June.

June, with its endless barrage of heartbreaking news and stifling heat, left me longing for a reprieve.

What I kept coming back to—almost obsessively—was a longing for a “watermelon moment.”

One of my most vivid childhood memories is sitting on the back porch as my dad handed me a thick slice of watermelon. I held it with both hands and bit straight into the sweetness, juice dripping down my chin.

In that moment, all I knew was that moment: my bare feet on warm cement, the shade keeping me cool, my big sister’s leg pressed against mine as we shared the top step.

But in June of 2025, having a watermelon moment felt not only impossible, but almost irresponsible, given how much human suffering there is.

Still, I’ve done this work long enough to know that kind of thinking only feeds despair.
So I turned to two simple, powerful directives I’ve carried with me.

The first is a poem from Heart Talk by activist and author Cleo Wade:

The second is from award-winning educator and best-selling author Sharon McMahon:

“In moments like this, do for one person what you wish you could do for everyone.”

Those two directives shrank the world’s enormity of pain into a seed-sized truth:
Easing the world’s suffering begins with whatever hurt is right in front of us.

Here are 3 watermelon moments that came in June from living with that mindset:

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🍉 Watermelon Moment 1

I brought fresh farmer’s market tomatoes to a friend who lives with her aging mom, now 95. These particular summer tomatoes are her favorite food in the world, stirring up fond memories for her in a single bite.

My friend and I stood in the heat exchanging a bag of tomatoes and peaches, but also our fears. Our losses. Our hopelessness.

She told me that when her father died eleven years ago, she knew what her purpose would be: to care for her mom. And over time, she’s gotten good at it—making food soft enough, giving meds, finding things to laugh about, and bringing her comfort.

In her small universe, my friend is making life better.

When I got back into my car, I cried. It wasn’t watermelon juice dripping down my face, but still—it was a sweet reprieve.

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🍉 Watermelon Moment 2

At the animal shelter where I walk dogs, a 10-year-old Cocker Spaniel was surrendered by the very family he thought he’d grow old with. Watching Beau search for them broke me.

I signed up to walk him immediately, planning to take his photo and share his story on my personal Facebook page. Dozens of people responded with support and offers to spread the word.

Then one friend messaged me:

“I live too far away to adopt, but can I donate and offset his adoption costs?”

A special note was added to his shelter bio—and within three days, Beau was adopted by one of the foster volunteers.

Shelters across the country are at capacity. My friend could’ve easily thought, There’s nothing I can do. But her small gesture created a ripple — a bit of good energy that helped Beau find a safe, loving home for his golden years.

In her small universe, my friend is making life better.

When I got the news of his adoption, I cried. Not watermelon juice, but another sweet reprieve from the stifling hopelessness.

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🍉 Watermelon Moment 3

For weeks, I’d been yelling at “Spicy,” the gray squirrel who raids my bird feeder. The birdseed is laced with a hot spice meant to deter squirrels. Not Spicy! He apparently loves it.

My shouting only made him sneakier, waiting until I left before he helped himself.

But with Cleo Wade’s words echoing in my head, I realized: Yelling at a squirrel is not repairing my universe. It’s damaging it.

So I stood quietly when he approached and watched instead.

I saw Spicy pull off an impressive acrobatic maneuver to reach the feeder. But instead of hoarding, he chipped loose seeds that fell to a couple of birds waiting below.

Every few seconds, Spicy would glance down at them as if to say, You got some? Everybody got some?

He wasn’t a thief.
He was a helper.

In his small corner of the universe, Spicy is making things better.

As tears welled up, I thought: This is a watermelon moment.
And I gave thanks for the sweet reprieve.

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A few days after I delivered the produce, my friend texted me a new word she had just learned: Meliorism — the belief that the world can be made better by human effort.

She wrote:

“I just want you to know how very much your gestures of kindness mean and how significant each one is in the greater scheme of things. I’ve thought of our conversation repeatedly this past week, and while there’s so much distress, I’ll continue to believe the best way to counter the ugly is with the beautiful, the dark with the light. Actions speak louder than words. Thank you for remembering us so thoughtfully with the farmers market favorites and your sweet note.”

Now I have a third directive to add to my hopeful collection.

May we be driven by meliorism, believing the world can be made better through our efforts.

May we believe progress is still within reach.

May we trust that watermelon moments aren’t relics of the past, but things we can create for a better future – simply by focusing on what we can do to help one beating heart keep beating.

My hand in yours,
Rachel

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P.S. — A Note for My Readers

My friends, while June was filled with heartbreak, it also brought a moment of deep personal clarity. With the help of my body and some hard-earned listening, I made one of the most self-honoring choices of my life.

Last weekend, I shared that vulnerable story during a Live Treehouse Teaching—alongside key principles of somatic decision-making and a mindfulness practice to help others navigate their own tough decisions. Since then, I’ve received messages from many of you who found the session grounding, enlightening, and deeply hopeful.

These live teachings in the treehouse are becoming one of the most meaningful ways I connect with my beloved community. If you missed that session—or any of the previous ones—they’re all available in the archives. Understanding and guidance delivered in my soothing voice, all for the cost of a monthly coffee ($5/month or $3.75/month if paid annually).

If this kind of support feels like something you need, I’d love for you to join us as a paid subscriber.

In addition to the June teaching on Self-Honoring Decisions, here are a few of the most popular Treehouse Teaching recordings available now:

⭐️ Using Active Love to Navigate Relational Pain

🍃 Holding Space for Grief When Life Looks Different Than You Hoped

🦋 Gifting Peace to Your Inner World + Helping Your Kids Trust Themselves

🩷 Thank you for your support — it quite literally keeps me going.