My coworker and friend asked if I had ever tasted “these” as she pointed to a package of scuppernongs at the farmer’s market.
I didn’t recognize the look nor the name so I answered no — until she said the name aloud. Once I heard it pronounced I knew exactly what it was and realized how long it had been since I had seen, tasted or even thought about a scuppernong.
We had scuppernongs in our backyard when I was growing up and mom and dad would let my brother and me taste them from the vine.
That memory flooded back to me the minute I heard the name but I couldn’t remember what they tasted like so I bought some the next day.
And the same thing happened — as soon as I tasted one of these muscadine grapes I was right back there in our backyard with mom or dad pulling scuppernongs off one at a time, hoping the sweet flavor wouldn’t vanish as quickly as it always did.
The same thing happens to me with figs. Memories of the fig tree we could see out Papa and Granny McCaig’s kitchen window becomes front and center in my mind when I taste a raw fig.
We always had our fill of figs when the tree was producing — and Granny spent hours making a winter’s worth of fig preserves.
She loved that fig tree and because of that I always think of her whenever I’m around anything related to figs.
Our senses help us hold on to special memories. Let’s all be known for something endearing in our sensory legacies.
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