Scuppernongs! Kristen had an early tennis clinic this morning so after dropping her off I stopped by the local farmer’s market. Ya’ll cannot even imagine how excited I was to see a table loaded down with muscadines and scuppernongs!
If you’re not from the southeast you may be wondering what language I’m speaking right now. So for those of you not from my neck of the woods, muscadines and scuppernongs (silent g please, ya’ll) are a type of tough-skinned grape indigenous to the southern states.
They are so full of nostalgia for me; my granny used to grow both muscadines (the purple variety) and scuppernongs (those’d be the green and bronze ones) in her back yard. I can remember picking them and sucking the sweet, odd little pouch-like insides out of the leathery skins and spitting out the seeds…I remember her homemade muscadine jelly on hot biscuits…I have more than one memory of my family driving down dirt roads and happening upon a wild muscadine vine and pulling over to pick the little jewels, throwing as many as we could into a bag and eating more than a few right there on the spot. My daddy could always spot a muscadine vine on the side of the country roads. This particular little grape was a serious part of my growing-up and it has been years since I’ve laid eyes on any.
As I paid the little old man (who, btw, kind of hit on me and then proceded to offer me a free cucumber. You tell me, was that innuendo…? hah.) my six bucks for one pound of grapes, I was kinda’ giddy. I took them back to the courts and shared some with another mom as we sat in our fold-up chairs and watched the rest of the lesson, each of us abandoning all sense of delicacy as we ate them in what was most definitely not a lady-like fashion, and tossed the skins into a nearby shrub. Scuppernongs and ribs, man. You just have to give in to them and worry about cleanup later.
Now then. I have a sudden urge to call my granny in Tennessee and she what she’s doing today.