Maple Syrup Heaven

When I was eleven, I went on a trip with a group of girls around the first weekend in April to an island known for its substantial maple trees. There was still a lot of snow on the ground, and when we got to the rustic lodge, I could smell wood smoke from the big fire pits surrounding the area and from the central fireplace inside the housing. Large plumes rose to meet the low-lying clouds.

When we got off the bus, we were shown where to put our sleeping bags, a dormitory room with rickety cots that had seen better times for the twelve of us. Our chaperones, two schoolteachers, were in the opposite room. No sooner had I unpacked my small bag and put on another layer to acclimate to outdoor conditions when I heard a bell.

The teacher with graying hair worn in a tight bun at the base of her neck shouted. “Listen up, everyone. Let’s meet in the main room. We’re going out, so please dress appropriately.”

I grabbed my mitts, scarf, and wool hat and walked behind several girls to receive further instruction. Before long, we followed a dirty, snow-packed trail leading into the forest of maple trees. Each tree had an attached bucket with a spout about three feet high off the trunk. There was a sweet, enticing smell in the air.

We passed three large steel vats suspended over firepits. I could hear hissing and popping noises as we walked near them, and before we formed a semi-circle around a man with a red beard.

“Hello there, ladies,” he said in a baritone voice.

A few of us put our hands over our mouths and giggled at being called ladies.

“Welcome to our sugarbush, where we make maple syrup. We collect the sap, pour it into those big cauldrons you see over there,” he pointed to the vats, “and then boil it down for about twelve hours.”

That seemed like a long time. What would we do in the meantime? After the owner showed us around, we returned to the lodge to eat the sandwiches we had each packed from home. Later, we sat outside around a fire circle, toasting marshmallows, drinking hot chocolate, and singing songs.

We got up early for a quick breakfast the following day and witnessed workers pouring the full sap buckets into the cauldrons. The man with the red beard told us we’d get a special treat in the afternoon. Excited, we sat around the fire circle, playing games and chatting about what it might be.

Snow began to fall, and I stuck out my tongue to catch a few snowflakes, looking at the sky and thinking how nice it was to be away from my little town with a group of classmates. I snuggled deeper into my coat and waited and waited. Finally, just before dusk, our teacher motioned us to follow her to a clearing beside one of the more enormous vats. One of the workers poured the hot syrup onto a fresh mound of snow. When the maple syrup hit the snow, it sizzled and seemed to harden in place.

“Okay, girls, pick up a piece and try it.” The teacher’s eyes sparkled.

I gingerly picked up one of the longer strands. I was amazed at how it felt, like a crisp chip. When I let it rest on my tongue, a mmmmm sound came out of my mouth. It was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted! I turned to the girl next to me. “Wow! That’s so good.” I grabbed another piece and another until I was stuffed and floating in maple syrup heaven. It still is one of the best gastronomical treats I’ve had the privilege of eating.

Maybe it was because I was young, extra hungry, outside, or the quality of the sap that year. I don’t know, but I do know it is one of my fondest April memories.

“Find ecstasy in life; the mere sense of living is joy enough.” Emily Dickinson

Enjoy the Passage of Time.

Sharon

© 2025. Sharon Kreider. All Rights Reserved.