As far back as I can remember, Pecos cantaloupe was a family affair.Growing up, my siblings and I spent part of the summer with our grandparents in El Paso. The halcyon desert days would end when we piled in the car for the ten-hour drive home to Fort Worth. As we made our way eastward, we’d detour off the interstate in Pecos, my grandfather’s hometown. After driving around streets as bare as the surrounding Permian Basin, we’d manage to find a grower selling cantaloupe out of the bed of his truck. For a few minutes, my grandfather would get out of the car, talk to the grower, and deposit a box of the region’s fruit in the trunk. When we got home, my siblings and…
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