Sweet dreams
HCP columnist
I thought that the weather would be perfect, but I was quite wrong. Rather than days of warm sunshine followed by below freezing nights, the week had been made up of gray days with the temperature hovering just barely above, or a bit below, freezing.
The sap had not moved in the maple trees down by the creek. There was no flow up from the roots by day and then back down from the branches at night. My jugs had hung empty on the taps.
I did manage, however, to gather 24 gallons of clear sap early in the week, but I had definitely hoped for far more. Still, 24 gallons was more than nothing, so we set up the old 55-gallon drum evaporator and got ready for a day of boiling down the sap.
Now you might think of a work day as being eight or maybe 10 hours long, but our boil-down day turned out to be 13 hours of sitting by the evaporator pan, watching the sap boil down and the steam rise, as the hours stood still and hovered over our heads.
The day was gray and cold, but it was warm by the fire. We fell into the rhythm of adding logs to the fire and sap to the pan, as we skimmed bubbles off the boiling surface.
By mid-afternoon, we had poured 10 gallons of sap into the stainless steel evaporator gallon pan, and the three and a half gallons boiling liquid had begun to turn a light brown. Wafts of maple scent began to rise with the steam.[[In-content Ad]]
Several friends stopped by. We talked as we stood by the evaporator drum, eyes on the boiling surface, glancing over at line of jugs, filled with clear sap, still patiently waiting to be added to the evaporator.
Although the day was cold, but the fire and friendship were warm.
One friend left just before dark. The others lingered, and drew closer to the fire as darkness fell.
We would turn and reposition ourselves as we stood close to the drum. It did not take long for the fire side of our bodies to grow too hot, we stood so close.
The hours passed and then, with four gallons still to add to the pan, we waved good-bye as our friends' headlights backed out to the road and headed up the creek.
I looked across the evaporator, through the steam, at Greg. He held the flashlight on the pan as I skimmed bubbles off the top of the boiling sap. I then held the light as Greg opened the drum's door for the last time and added more logs to the fire.
I was struck by the image of the red glow from the flames lighting up his features against the dark night just behind him. When he closed the iron door, the cold dark of the starless night returned. I could not have loved him more. Fat snowflakes fell from the sky joining the occasional flakes of ash from the evaporator chimney.
Finally, the last of the sap dripped from the pre-warming bucket into the pan. We sat and skimmed for another hour as the level in the pan dropped down until I figured that the 24 gallons of condensed sap would easily fit into my five-gallon stainless steel kitchen pot.
I carefully ladled the not-quite syrup into the pot, letting it strain through a thick felt filter. The pot was three quarters full.
Greg carried the pot up the hill to the cabin. I held the flashlight. I knew that I would finish the syrup off in the morning. I would let it boil down the last bit on the kitchen stove. I would let it boil until it dripped off the end of a stainless steel spatula in a sheet.
Then it would be finished syrup, but for now, it was time to sleep. We were both ever-so tired.
Thirteen hours later, with wood smoke and maple steam in our hair, it was time for sweet dreams of maple syrup, and my love for my husband.
Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.