Trailing in the shade of a tractor-pulled harvester, a small huddle of people in broad hats trawl the ochre rows of a green field. Every six or so feet, someone squats down and pulls into the morning sunlight a bright, spotted watermelon.

Walking a dozen yards behind this crew of pickers is their supervisor, Raul. He has done this for 21 years, since he was 18.

He, better than anybody, knows that perfectly ripe watermelons aren’t just pulled off the vine, they’re chosen. And the choosing still relies, as it ever has, on workers who are delicate with the fruit and severe with the choice. The job requires years of repetition: seeing the right melon, bending to heft it, cutting its root and placing it carefully on the harvester bed or a bag hanging off the back.

Rookies have trouble. They

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