I first met Earl in mid-November 1998. We were engaged by Thanksgiving. Dairy farmers, it turns out, have no problem with commitment and aren't exactly having their doors broken down by hoards of young women wanting to wake up really early and never go on vacation. There were a lot of good reasons to get married in May, but I suspect the big one was to put a ring on my finger before hay season. Haying is hard on a spouse; there are the long hours, the trips to the John Deere dealer for tractor parts, the trips to the New Holland dealer for baler parts, the trips to get more baling twine, to run truck shuttles, to haul hay wagons, and to bring lunch or iced tea to the field. And then there's the milkings to cover so Earl can keep baling until the dew comes down. (Or in Earl-language, until the dude shows up and says it's time to go home.) And all that is before you even get on a tractor or throw a bale of hay. And then there's the emotional roller-coaster of hay being perfect, or rained on while the baler gets fixed, or being stemmy because we went to my friend's wedding on the only good day to mow last week. Earl can't help it; hay is really important. No hay, no food for cows, no milk, no money. Still, Earl's level of absorption makes Ahab's interest in Moby Dick look mild by comparison.
Sugaring, at least the way we do it, is another matter. It's lots of work, but all the stuff is old and paid for, so any money we make is just gravy. The sap either runs or it doesn't and the time to boil can be a little flexible. We're outside, working hard enough to maybe strip down to a t-shirt when the breeze starts to blow warm for the first time since September. We put the sugarhouse radio on the dorkiest country station and sing along at full volume. People stop by. We drink beer. It's good times.
The last time we sugared was when Jackson was a baby, so that would be five years ago. That year, the sap was slow to run and we hadn't made much syrup at first and then, in early April, we had a killer run, with overflowing buckets and a full storage tank and cool weather overnight so we could get a good night's sleep and boil in the morning. And then Toad hurt his back in the creamery and Earl had to go run the pasteurizer. While 300 gallons worth of sap spoiled in the tank. There was nothing for it; no one else knew how to operate the pasteurizer and I couldn't boil with a three-year-old and a three-month-old baby.
We were still heartachy the next year and decided not to tap. It turned out to be a good idea when late snows buried our neighbors taps and made sugaring season a wash even for folks who were into it. And then we were out of the habit and we had all these little kids who were too little to help and who couldn't be trusted to stay away from the arch when it was hot. We built a house for employee housing two summers ago and one of the hopes was that having another family on the farm would let us get back into sugaring. The families-working-together thing hasn't played out, though. So we've been thinking we'd tap again when the older boys could help collect sap and Oliver could hang out with me in the tractor and drive the storage tank around (our big tractor has a passenger seat that holds a carseat). Maybe next year, or the year after that.
And then Jackson and Harley's preschool had Sugaring Week. The director is a dairy farmer's wife and she runs a great program. They turn the classroom into a beach, a pirate ship, a pajama party, and this week, a sugar bush, complete with cardboard box sugarhouse. When I dropped them off on Friday, Jackson and Harley made a bee-line to the buckets on the wall and started collecting. They hauled imaginary sap to the box, called to each other about needing more taps, stoked the fire, and poured off gallons and gallons of Very Very Sweet Maple Syrup For Pancakes and Waffles. And then Earl picked them up and they told him all about it. By the time they got home, a plan had been hatched--fifty taps (we used to do 350), slab wood from the sawmill, and one or two good boils.
I was not so sure about this. I laid out my reasons, pointed out that it wasn't like we were short of worthy activities to occupy our time, and said maybe we could go visit some friends who sugar. And Earl said I was right, we didn't need to. It was too much. And then he didn't say anything. And I probably should have pretended I didn't hear anything but agreement, but I asked, "Are you okay with that?" And he wasn't. The boys had really wanted to sugar. And Cliffy said, "Pleeease?" and Jackson said, "I was a baby the last time we sugared and I didn't even get to help and the only way I know anything about sugaring IS FROM BOOKS!"
What do you say to that? Nothing. You get your boots on.
So they're out tapping right now. I'm not entirely sure how this is going to work, but we'll figure it out.
Sugaring, at least the way we do it, is another matter. It's lots of work, but all the stuff is old and paid for, so any money we make is just gravy. The sap either runs or it doesn't and the time to boil can be a little flexible. We're outside, working hard enough to maybe strip down to a t-shirt when the breeze starts to blow warm for the first time since September. We put the sugarhouse radio on the dorkiest country station and sing along at full volume. People stop by. We drink beer. It's good times.
The last time we sugared was when Jackson was a baby, so that would be five years ago. That year, the sap was slow to run and we hadn't made much syrup at first and then, in early April, we had a killer run, with overflowing buckets and a full storage tank and cool weather overnight so we could get a good night's sleep and boil in the morning. And then Toad hurt his back in the creamery and Earl had to go run the pasteurizer. While 300 gallons worth of sap spoiled in the tank. There was nothing for it; no one else knew how to operate the pasteurizer and I couldn't boil with a three-year-old and a three-month-old baby.
We were still heartachy the next year and decided not to tap. It turned out to be a good idea when late snows buried our neighbors taps and made sugaring season a wash even for folks who were into it. And then we were out of the habit and we had all these little kids who were too little to help and who couldn't be trusted to stay away from the arch when it was hot. We built a house for employee housing two summers ago and one of the hopes was that having another family on the farm would let us get back into sugaring. The families-working-together thing hasn't played out, though. So we've been thinking we'd tap again when the older boys could help collect sap and Oliver could hang out with me in the tractor and drive the storage tank around (our big tractor has a passenger seat that holds a carseat). Maybe next year, or the year after that.
And then Jackson and Harley's preschool had Sugaring Week. The director is a dairy farmer's wife and she runs a great program. They turn the classroom into a beach, a pirate ship, a pajama party, and this week, a sugar bush, complete with cardboard box sugarhouse. When I dropped them off on Friday, Jackson and Harley made a bee-line to the buckets on the wall and started collecting. They hauled imaginary sap to the box, called to each other about needing more taps, stoked the fire, and poured off gallons and gallons of Very Very Sweet Maple Syrup For Pancakes and Waffles. And then Earl picked them up and they told him all about it. By the time they got home, a plan had been hatched--fifty taps (we used to do 350), slab wood from the sawmill, and one or two good boils.
I was not so sure about this. I laid out my reasons, pointed out that it wasn't like we were short of worthy activities to occupy our time, and said maybe we could go visit some friends who sugar. And Earl said I was right, we didn't need to. It was too much. And then he didn't say anything. And I probably should have pretended I didn't hear anything but agreement, but I asked, "Are you okay with that?" And he wasn't. The boys had really wanted to sugar. And Cliffy said, "Pleeease?" and Jackson said, "I was a baby the last time we sugared and I didn't even get to help and the only way I know anything about sugaring IS FROM BOOKS!"
What do you say to that? Nothing. You get your boots on.
So they're out tapping right now. I'm not entirely sure how this is going to work, but we'll figure it out.
That's Jax in the bottom picture.. He was thirsty and took a drink of sap right from the tree.
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