Not this year

The buckets stand in a corner of the barn.
The trees stand in the yard.

Any other year at this time, as the sap begins to flow, the preparations for making maple syrup begin.
On a bright, still, mild day, we rinse the cobwebs from the buckets, drill the holes in the Sugar Maples, and hammer in the spouts.
For the next few weeks, the buckets hang.
The sap flows.
And I recall my grandfather’s Vermont farm.

The arch is set up on the gravel drive--of concrete blocks 2 rows high, that support the evaporating pan and a stovepipe chimney. For just one day, we will boil the colorless, sugary liquid, from dawn till dark--everything we’ve collected and carefully stored. The clouds of steam billow from the surface, gradually revealing the prized amber remainder.
The following day, on the stove indoors, the syrup is finished--brought to the proper density and sealed in jars.
It is just enough for one year.

This year we’ve decided to let our trees rest. Although sugaring isn’t harmful to healthy trees, last year’s extreme drought and the unusually high temperatures in this southern region caused the few Sugar Maples remaining on this property to drop their leaves before fall.

The extreme weather, an annoyance to so many, touched every living thing--
burning and choking these sweet trees that have stood with the old house for so many years.
I hope they are strong.

And, as I tentatively watch each day for an indication of what’s in store for the coming months, my prayer is,
“Not this year.”

Last year sugaring