Travel, History, and Seed Spitting in America's Dairyland

The Lost Art of Spitting

Fish Frys

On a hazy summer day in Pardeeville, Columbia County, time seems to stand still. Boys walk with fishing poles on their shoulders and bait buckets in hand. The buzz of the cicada rises and falls through willow trees. 

At Chandler Park, home of the fighting Bulldogs, folks are slicing watermelons on picnic tables. It’s been a good year for the melons, but it looks like the record for the biggest melon, 29 pounds, will survive for another year. 

Bill Ehlert is standing on the Chandler Park tennis court. Ehlert is the guy who brought the tape measure. That makes him the line judge. 

As Ehlert eyeballs the court of dreams, competitors begin to congregate in the corner, fidgety and anxious, like prizefighters waiting for the bell. 

Discreetly, I lean toward Ehlert. “So what’s the secret?” 

“There’s a head wind today,” he responds. 

This is the United States Watermelon Seed Spitting competition, an event held annually since 1968. Local lore tells of a fateful evening when members of the Pardeeville Businessmen’s Association struggled with ideas for putting the community on the map. The answer finally came during the post-meeting social hour, naturally, inspired with the help of a beer or two at the Long Branch tavern, obviously. 

In this homespun spirit the contest thrives today. 

Pardeeville is not alone. Fish Creek in Door County hosts cherry seed spitting contests to combat the winter doldrums. Pumpkin seeds fly in Ripon. And rumor has it that competitive cricket spitting can be found in certain towns if you know the right people.

Wollersheim Winery, Prairie du Sac, holds an annual grape-spitting contest as part of its fall harvest festival. Like Pardeeville, the atmosphere is dreamy, is this case a hillside vineyard on an autumn day. The Wollersheim event is well attended and lively, a likely result of the highly regarded products made and sold here. Competitors are known to practice grape spitting throughout the year whenever the Prairie Fume is uncorked. (A tip for potential competitors: the Wollersheim contest is based on distance and accuracy.) 

The ’88 watermelon seed spitting contest in Pardeeville stands out. Mary Jo Wisniewski of Stoughton set the women’s record at 39 feet and Pardeeville’s very own Clark Hodgson let fly with a men’s record setter of 61 feet, 3 inches. Categories include senior men and women, juniors, and mixed doubles. 

There’s also a watermelon speed-eating contest. (Bring a change of clothes.) 

Back on the tennis court I ask Ehlert if it’s true that small seeds travel best. The jury is out on that, he says. Some competitors swear, er, spit, by it, others prefer the big seeds for the aerodynamics. 

By the way, what happens if it rains?

Like any great sport, the game is played rain or shine. “It’s harder to find the seeds when it’s wet,” according to Ehlert. “You have to listen for where they drop.” 

Injuries are rare, but the event carries some risk – more so for the line judge than the competitors. 

“You kind of know when somebody is going to let loose with a big one,” says Ehlert. “I had to duck last year.”

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