There are few foods that evoke such intense memories – the warm days of early autumn, climbing under the vines to find the ripe fruit, feeling as much as tasting the sweet juice and ripe pulp.
My Grandmother Ellenberg had huge scuppernong vines growing on her farm. I can just barely remember them, but I do remember that to a small boy there was an entirely new world underneath those vines. The scuppernongs themselves were just an added bonus to a universe of play and discovery.
Tonight Glynda brought by some scuppernongs that my mom had brought from our own homeplace in Gray Court. Over dinner I learned that the vines at our house were grown from cuttings taken from those original vines down at my grandmother’s long-gone home. That made the eating of them that much more special.