Sugar Bush, Or, I'm a Poseur

Despite their lackluster appearance, these pictures are special.

In the line of my life, they're a joining point between the past and future. I suppose that simply living each day serves the same, but I'm usually too deep in details to notice.

I borrowed my dad's bit and brace, and the girls watched pulp fall to the ground with a mixture of fascination and envy. I smiled and watched them from the corners of sight, because I well remember the yearning. My dad used the same drill when he was a teenager, so the line of memory stretches yet further back. Use and years have polished the wood handle smooth, and I found it just as satisfying as I'd imagined.

(picture by Annika)


I did let the girls push in the spiles, which Mildred especially enjoyed.


One of the great pleasures is the first taste of sap as it drips off the spile onto the tongue. A metallic tang mingles with the cold sweetness of sap, and it's all mixed up with the fresh smell of the tree's heart.






I drilled 20 taps in 13 trees, and for the next week, our porch looked like this. I'd boil down 20 gallons and gather 20 more in the same day, only to begin again the next morning. For the last week and a half, I've only gathered sap once because the winter weather, but I don't mind.

It gave me a chance to catch up. (Edit: But now I'm behind again. I'm almost hoping the sap will run yellow soon so I can quell all the to-dos that gnaw on my heels.)

Genuine Sugar-Bushers with genuine equipment (you know who you are, nuevoshombres) can skip this next picture, if you haven't already left in disgust because of the plastic milk jugs hanging from some of the trees.



See our fancy holding tank? Note the specialized five-gallon detergent buckets, thoroughly sanitized by my thoroughly sanitary father, with handy warnings to prevent small children from drowning in sap.


Most of the trees I tapped grow on the front and back lawns, which is convenient, but I enjoy walking to the half dozen that are in the small woods.









(The previous two pictures taken by Annika.)




So far, I've canned about four gallons of syrup. If I don't drink it all* straight from the jars, it should definitely last the year. Maybe.




*To explain my gluttony, we've only had real maple syrup a few times since my parents stopped tapping trees about 10 years ago. Since then, we've coated breakfast with Lite (High Fructose Corn Syrup) Syrup, otherwise known as Death to the Second Power. I feel much better drinking serving this to my beloveds instead.