Yesterday afternoon I drove across town to a friend's house to pick some muscadine grapes, an old southern variety my friend's husband called Cowart, and I believe him. I definitely knew the look of the grape but the true proof was when I popped one into my mouth tasting the intense sweetness of the juicy flesh as it was released from the tough skin of the grape. I knew that delicious sweet taste from memories of my childhood. So...under the grape arbor I ventured sticking a ripe grape into my mouth every once in a while as I picked, only being slightly unnerved by the insects zooming by my head. Home to the washing and throwing away bits of dried leaves and bad grapes that were dispersed throughout the grapes.
Jelly making time has now begun.
