(May 2023)
Tim Spitzack
Editor
It’s Saturday, Mar. 25 and I’ve just come inside from tapping four large maple trees in my backyard.
“Well?” asks my wife before I’ve even kicked off my slushy boots.
“The sap is running,” I happily exclaim.
“Really?” she replies, as if she doesn’t believe me. After a long winter that has dumped about 90 inches of snow, she, like many others, has reason to believe that spring might never arrive. Indeed, it has taken its own sweet time. Normally, I tap the trees in early March and boil down the sap into delicious maple syrup around the first day of spring: March 20. I’m a good 10 days behind schedule. In years like these, an old John Denver lyric inevitably comes to mind: “Springtime is rolling ’round slowly. Grey skies are bringing me down.”
As difficult as it is to wait for pleasant spring weather, it’s equally amazing what happens when the sun finally chases away those grey skies. Its nourishing effect brightens our spirits and warms even the coldest of hearts.
With the sap running, I know it won’t be long till the leaf buds get the nutrients they need to pop forth, and then April showers will usher in May flowers. Dutchman’s breeches, jeweled shooting star and spring forget-me-not are early bloomers in the woodlands and meadows. In our yards, crocus, tulips and daffodils are the first to brighten our landscapes. And what a joy it is to see them return.
A hike along the Mississippi on tree-tapping day gave me more reason for hope. As I stood silently at the river’s edge, the sights and sounds of nature surrounded me and stirred my senses. Songbirds chirped, ducks and geese flew overheard, and in the distance was a flock of gulls. At once, a thousand rose and quickly broke into two groups that simultaneously swirled outside to in, then landed again. I was amazed they could fly in such a frenetic pattern without hitting each other. The river was open and the sound of its waves lapping against the shoreline was music to my ears. Just two weeks earlier I had cross-country skied down the bluff and made tracks along this then-frozen section of river.
Maple syruping
I took up maple syruping three years ago and have been working to perfect the craft ever since. For me, it has become my true harbinger of spring. It’s a time when I’m able to spend an entire day outdoors – and a full day it is. Over my backyard firepit I’ve built a temporary oven using concrete blocks. On it I place a boiling pan, the remnant of a slow-cook roaster that fizzled out a few years ago. I light the fire at 6 a.m., sit down on a wooden bench and begin to feed split oak into the small flames. The morning air is chilly, making the warmth of the hungry fire especially inviting. In the east, the rising sun splashes ever-changing hues of pink and red on the clouds. Soon, the cheerful melodies of songbirds drown out the soft crackle of the fire.
Once I get a good bed of coals, I pour a few gallons of sap into the pan – another 10 gallons await nearby in white plastic buckets. Throughout the day, I never venture far from the make-shift oven. I may do a few chores, but mostly I enjoy my time by the fire. As the sap boils, steam rises from the pan and I must wave it away to see the progress. Every hour or so I feed the fire more wood and pour in more sap. While 12 gallons of sap may sound a lot, it will only produce about one quart of syrup.
The best part of the day is when my kids and grandkids arrive. Now there is conversation and laughter and constant movement between the house and firepit. I have willing partners to throw a log or two on the fire and pour sap into the pan. They know they’ll receive a bottle of the golden sweet syrup in return for their efforts.
After an evening meal together, everyone filters off to their own homes. For me, there is more work to do. Around 10 p.m., I “finish” the sap inside on the stovetop and use a hydrometer to make sure it’s at the proper temperature. Once done, I put cheesecloth over a pitcher for one final straining of the now-gooey syrup. Finally, I pour the syrup into 8-ounce bottles waiting on the counter, and with delight lick the drips that hit my fingers and the side of the pitcher. The rich maple flavor is wildly delicious and sweet as candy. With the bottles filled, I hold them up to the light and marvel at the natural golden goodness, and in them I see the stack of blueberry pancakes that awaits me in the morning.
Weather conditions dictate when tapping can begin. For sap to run, it must be above freezing during the day, and is best when it dips below freezing at night. Some people use a metal spike to hold a plastic collection bag. Others use a plastic tap attached to a hose leading to a covered bucket. That’s the technique I learned from my mentor in maple syruping: Bud Trost, a former chief of police in West St. Paul. Bud was in his sunset years when I first met him, yet spry and active. He’d shuffle into my office a few times a year with his ever-present walking stick to give me information he wanted published on the local VFW and American Legion groups in which he was involved. Years later he began attending my church, and it was then I learned that he and his family were maple syrupers. One day I visited his home and he graciously shared tips and techniques that would make my first tapping successful. He gave me four buckets, taps and lines, which I still use today. Sadly, Bud passed away the following year, but his memory lives on. Now, each spring when I pull the equipment from the shelf in my garage, I still see the bright twinkle in his eye and the half-smile that always graced his face. I recall his kindness and generosity and remember that maple syruping is not only a great a way to celebrate spring, but also an opportunity to share with others.
