… totally unlike the Muscadine grape we used to find in the wilds of deepest, darkest Georgia, as we were scampering around in our pre-pre-pubescent, half-wild state.

Playing Cowboys and Indians, or army, or sometimes even attempting to emulate superheroes, as we tore around the countryside on bicycles built more like Sherman tanks, than todays version of ultra-lite, would collapse under a reproachful glance versions.

They had to be, given the abuse we put them through.

We called the almost but not quite totally unlike the above pictured grapes Muscadines, or more usually Scuppernong’s…

We pronounced it scupper-nahwn, by the way…

I suspect the name “scuppernong” had a more pleasing sound to the semi-literate aural palate of those mythic denizens of the woods across the street from where I grew up.

All day long we’d fly around upon our God-given Kryptonian ability, or swinging from a web that I swear I could almost see.

Saturday morning television was also fertile feeding grounds for imaginary exploits…

“Mightor…”

Alas, the above picture is not from that far away remembered time, hidden in the shrouded mists of a sylvan childhood.

But to this day I still would rather find myself in the woods somewhere, than most any other place… which is where I found the picture.

It was taken in Connecticut… almost to Massachusetts…
And I believe Muscadines are native only to the southeast US.
Certainly no further north than Delaware, Google now informs me.

So the question remains…

What were they…?

 

I think that no cosmic significance will be attached to my personal decision in this matter.

At least, I hope it won’t.

I think that the universe, should I decide poorly, which just shake its head in weary incredulity…
As it usually does, whenever I make such decisions…

 

So I think I’ll pronounce them scuppernong’s…
YMMV…

 

It’s just a theory…

 

I could be wrong…