Sugaring

The roads leading from the village soften into muddy ruts.  The dog’s belly sponges up gravel as we walk. In the river, chunks of ice crash into each other on their journey downstream, spinning and twisting, like glistening bumper cars.

Roger’s place is shuttered, the tractor still, the road to the sugarhouse muddy and wet. One needs a pair of secured waders to cross that divide.

Jeff’s dog barks as we pass. He hustles out of the sugarhouse to quiet him and waves. Steam rises from the roof opening indicating that boiling is happening.

 

A gallon of maple syrup is the result of boiling 40 gallons of sap until it becomes the thick and amber colored. The practice has changed from galvanized buckets to plastic pipelines and evaporator pans fueled by wood slabs to high tech reverse osmosis processes.

For me, sugaring is redemption -  from a long cold winter, hunkering down, shoulder to the grindstone to expansion, hope, and opening of the heart.  I love the feel of the steam on my face, the smell of the mud, the sun’s warmth on my back, the trickling of the snowmelt along the roadside.

Sugaring Party at my grandparents'. My mother is in 2nd row with plaid coat.

The rituals of gathering and boiling and of coming together for sugar-on-snow parties, complete with raised doughnuts and tart pickles, underscore transition and hope for new life.

We’ll be gardening soon.