Boiling it Down

It’s maple season, and with it come all the joys and frustrations of making the tasty, sweet maple nectar. As I cope with a broken reverse osmosis machine and wait for my maple lines to thaw, I’m reminded of prescient advice.

When I first thought about making maple syrup, nearly fifteen years ago, I visited all the maple producers I could find. They were incredibly helpful, answered my questions, and gave me both solicited and unsolicited advice. Of the latter the most interesting was from an older gentleman from near Norwood (I say older, he was probably younger than I am now). He told me, “You’re going to find making maple syrup an extremely social experience.”

I was puzzled by that message. I made the decision to try making syrup for a variety of reasons but providing me with a social experience was not among them. In fact, almost the opposite was the case. I had lost my son in a car accident and burying myself in making syrup seemed like an appropriate escape.

Little did I know how right that old timer was. It first started when taking some maple workshops from Mike Farrell formerly of the Uihlein Sugar Maple Field Station of Cornell University. He wasn’t just a teacher—he was a walking encyclopedia with a knack for turning knowledge into something you could both use and enjoy.

It was there that I hooked up with old acquaintances Leo Demong, and Laura Couture. Leo had a couple of years of sap boiling experience on me and shared it. Along with Ed Hixson, Laura came and helped me install my maple lines. The Holmlund clan helped tap trees the first year and Tony Corwin of South Meadow Farms provided sage advice.

Phyliss and Eric Holmlund

When I finally started boiling, Addison Bickford of Rainbow Lake stopped by and made some critical corrections to my boiling technique. Like, “You don’t want to fill the 10-inch-deep finishing pan with sap, you only want about one and a half inches in it.” If I had left it 10 inches deep it would never have turned into syrup.

Once I started making syrup and participated in my first Maple Weekend, all sorts of people stopped by. There was a guy named Bruce from New Hampshire who worked at the federal prison and made syrup as a kid. He loved to drop in and help haul wood from my wood pile to keep the sap boiling. There was a Native from the reservation who told me how his grandfather hung a piece of bacon above the evaporator, so the fat dripped into the boiling sap, keeping it from foaming too much.

Fast forward a decade and friends both old and new have come for the social experience, but also to help. My good friend Jan Hesbon always lent a hand. A couple of years ago Sam Churco came to my rescue when a giant hemlock tree came down on my line. I wasn’t getting any sap down to the shack. Once he cut up the behemoth, the sap started flowing.

My longtime friend Duane Gould has helped me for years during tapping season, as has Kate Glenn. This year Dave Vossler and Duane snowshoed a trail throughout the sugarbush located on the side of Dewey Mountain. The idea was to pack the trail to make it easier for me to get around since the deep snow and steep hillside made for tough traveling.

As appropriate at the Mark Twain Mapleworks I feel a bit like Tom Sawyer getting his fence painted when getting help from people like Peter Clark and his buddy Rich from Rochester a few years back.

This year two new folks joined the party. Tim Burpoe and Dan Spada joined me in tapping trees and when necessary, hauling firewood. “Forget Mark Twain Mapleworks,” Dan said, “After hiking all day up and down Dewey Mountain, you should call it Mountain Goat Mapleworks.”

Help from a granddaughter

And then there are the granddaughters. Both the local two and the Vermont two join Phyliss in helping whenever they can.

Everyone who knows me well knows I’m not a big drinker, but maple season is an exception. I tell folks I probably drink more hard liquor during maple season than I do the other ten months of the year combined. Sam Churco or Walt Linck bring a bottle of something, Phyliss provides orange slices, and we mix in a bit of almost finished syrup. We toast to the maple gods and thank the trees for their sap.

Toasting the maple gods

There are many others that have stopped by to help. Apologies for not remembering them all.

It looks as if the year's syrup yield will be considerably below average.  But that’s okay. What I didn’t get in syrup was made up for with camaraderie.

I’m not sure how many more seasons I’ve got left as a syrup maker, but I can say this—the old-timer knew exactly what he was talking about. Sure, the syrup’s been a hit with locals and visitors looking for something sweet and organic (and let’s be honest, a little brag-worthy on their pancakes). But the real payoff? It’s not in the bottles—it’s in the people.

The secret ingredient isn’t maple at all. It’s the friends and family who show up, stick around, and make the whole sticky, slightly chaotic process every bit as sweet as it is.