Maple Syrup Time

The snow still lies deep on the ground, deep enough to need snowshoes to avoid where the depressions in the ground are hidden, and one leg can suddenly disappear to the hip, throwing you off balance, and making you rejoice in your wealth of Anglo-Saxon vernacular. But it is that time when the tops of the trees feel the strengthening sun, and draw up the sap they have stored in their roots since the fall.
I rummage around in my shed and find the tin in which I keep my spiles and then retrieve the plastic jugs I have been saving since the fall from under the house. I prefer cider jugs, as milk jugs, no matter how diligently you wash them, manage to retain a certain essence of sour dairy product. Next I take my snowshoes down from their hook in the garage, and throw them in the back of the truck, along with a claw hammer, brace and bit. The spiles, from which the sap will flow, go into my jacket pocket. I run a string trough the jug handles so I can drag them behind me, throw these in the truck, and I am ready.
In the past two years, I have learned that slogging through snow is hard on a body that in the time of my childhood would have been considered old. So, I drive to a location where I can get into the deepest woods with minimal walking. This will also be true once the sap runs heavy. Multi-trips through snowy woods while carrying a full five gallon can will work up a decent sweat on the coldest day.
In my layered, checkered Maine guide shirts, I look like my grandfather, or so my cousins all tell me.
The naked trees creak as I draw into the woods as if they were talking to one another. I think they are telling each other that the fool is back and that he’s no threat. Other than the wind in the branches overhead, there is no sound but the biting of the drill bit into the tree. Sap oozes out immediately, and as I hammer the spile home, there is an instant spurt. I slip a jug over the spile, and as I trudge away, I hear the soft drip, drip as the sap is beginning to collect.
With only the tools to carry, I now realize how stiff my hips and back are. Snowshoeing is not a normal walking position. Tomorrow I will retrieve today’s run, and set the rest of the spiles.

PS: Tomorrow is here. It is well below freezing, so there will not be a sap run. A foot of snow is on the way for tomorrow. March is a winter month in Maine.