Spring Snows and Maple Syrup

We haven’t been able to get to the farmhouse for a month. But after 12 straight days of work, and with hopes that the aurora borealis would repeat itself, we made a snap decision, loaded the pups in the car, and scooted up Friday evening.

If you haven’t heard, one of the most spectacular auroras in a long time lit up the northern half of Michigan Thursday night, March 23. The photo below is from good friend Devan McNabb, an interpreter at Mackinac State Historic Parks. Apparently, the aurora isn’t quite as bright to the naked eye, but the photo doesn’t do justice to its flame-like movements. But we did not get a repeat performance last night. Brenda and I are still waiting for our first direct sighting. We had a lovely sunset, though.

Around 4 am I heard a noise like a distant jet plane, exactly the same sound that a strong, steady wind makes through the branches of pine trees. We don’t get low-flying jets around here, but the farmhouse is surrounded by plenty of tall pine trees. By daybreak there was a coating of snow on the ground, and now, at mid-day, we’ve taken on about 5 inches. Our March 25 snowstorm, right on schedule. Plans for the day are changing rapidly to include a lot of hunkering down by the fire, and of course some farmhouse cooking. It was a perfect morning for pancakes and maple syrup.

I didn’t have an appreciation for maple syrup until I moved to Michigan. There are different grades, and if your first taste is of a darker, late syrup run, there is a slight sour tang that may put you off. The best of the best, though, is amazingly delicious, and once you’ve tasted it it’s hard to accept anything else.

Scientifically, I can tell you it is time to tap sugar maples when the temperature rises enough to thaw the tree’s interior, which has spent the winter charging itself with sap and is now at a considerable positive pressure to the outside world. Having said that, it is an art to figure out exactly when that day arrives. Four mature trees can produce up to 40 gallons of sap per season, enough for one whole gallon of finished syrup. So it doesn’t take a forest of trees to produce a decent amount for one’s self and friends. With a few more trees you can make enough to sell: maple syrup remains a popular small farm family business in Michigan. Larger operations will connect their trees with a fragile looking web of plastic pipes to funnel sap from each tree down to the sugar shack for boiling. Again, scientifically, the sap is ready to be called syrup when it reaches 66% sugar content, which is easy to measure with some simple tools. I am told, though, that experienced syrup makers know when the syrup is ready by sense and intuition, and don’t need no stinking tools.

Traditionally, a stand of sugar maples was known as a sugar bush. The term often continues to be used to describe the entire collection and boiling operation, especially a family operation.

Alas, we do not have any sugar maple trees around the farmhouse, and I doubt I have the 40 years or so necessary to establish my own stand. My plan for today initially included a trip to BrixStone Farms, about 10 miles north of here, to lay in a stock of newly-finished maple syrup for the coming year. Now even that will have to wait until next weekend, I suppose. In the meantime, I’ll watch it snow, and oh gosh, hope I don’t get stuck here for an extra day or two before I can get back to work!