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The Magic Of Making Maple Syrup

My sap is running. And, oh, it feels glorious.

Out my window I see my Norway Maples dressed in blue synthetic skirts. Those blue skirts hang from half-inch spiles, and these spiles drill into the sapwood of the maples, delivering the goodness drip by drip into the blue receptacles.

Why is my sap running? Here’s what I know. The nights must frost and the sun must melt the frost. Bluebirds must be spotted in neighboring grasslands, chickadees must change their tune, and the forgotten-about sandhill cranes must sound their prehistoric yawp overheard. Miss any of these ingredients, and the sap will remain bottled in the maple trunks. The blue bags will hang empty, and you won’t feel good about it, believe me.

Is the sap sweet? Just perceptibly. It is two percent sweet and the rest is water. The first black flies can taste the sweetness. And the night moths collect under the spiles to catch the spills on their tongues. In two days, all insects will have heard the news.

But isn’t it too much work? Yes, too much. Days of boiling. Wasted hours loitering outside, sniffing a perfumed mist. Squandered time. You have better things to do. Whoever dreamt this recipe had time on her hands, and an imagination to be reckoned with. Curse the first boiler of sap. Bless her.

But is the syrup worth it? You bet ...  Earthy, sweet, and smoked. Grade A Wisconsin Amber.

Iris dreams about it on her pancakes. Mike keeps his own bottle stashed at the Beloit Family Restaurant. Tonight I’ll dribble some into my whiskey.

Sweet mercy. My sap is running.

I’m Chris Fink, and that’s my Perspective

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