Cabin Life – #76

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I don’t usually think about snakes, but I’ve had a few run-ins in the last The Wounded Snakecouple of days, and I haven’t really had a choice but to think about them.  Now, I’m not one of those people who screams like a little girl when he sees a snake (anymore), and when I do happen to think about them, it’s usually because a garter snake is slithering away out in the driveway or curled up on one of the rocks out in the yard.

The other morning, I stepped out of the front door and was handed a small garter snake.  My friend had picked the ten inch snake up right outside the door.  We each let him run through our hands and then dropped him back into the grass.  Now, I know it’s bad to handle wild animals, but it’s nice to feel the soft motion of the snake on your hands.  It’s also a reminder that these guys aren’t out to do us any harm, and just want to eat the bugs around the garden.

Later that day, I was testing out the weed eater.  The recoil spring had come out of its housing, so after twenty minutes and an extremely cramped hand, I got the thing running and went to test it on some tall grass.  The weed eater worked fine, but as the grass fell to the ground, I noticed another snake slithering away pretty quickly.  He only went a few feet and as the weed eater ground to a halt, I checked the snake.  I was afraid I had hit him with the string and I was right.

There was blood coming from a small cut on his back, and the tip of the tail was bleeding as well.  I felt bad and considered grabbing him and putting a couple band-aids on, but that just didn’t seem right.  I hate to hurt animals, although I’m not opposed to eating venison and wild turkey.  But this snake, which was much larger, almost two feet long, wasn’t going to be dinner.  Luckily, the wounds hardly seemed fatal.   He slid under a board that was on the ground, and stayed there for a few hours.  I would see his head poke out every once in a while as I walked by, and just hoped that he wasn’t hurting too much.

I checked under the board the next morning, and he was gone.  I felt good that he hadn’t just died right there, even though I knew he could be dead ten feet away.  I worked all day and then in the evening walked over to the fire pit.  I thought I saw something on one of the rocks, and upon closer inspection, it was the same snake.  I could see the scabbed-over wounds, and he didn’t look any worse for the wear.  He hung out for a few minutes, and even let me take some pictures.  I was glad he was alive and appeared to be doing well.  And there’s not a doubt in my mind, that even though I hurt this snake, he’ll still stick around to eat the bugs and help me out.  And that is one very clear example of true forgiveness.

Be sure to like Middle of the Trail on Facebook for more pictures and daily updates and follow @JustinALevine for whatever it is I do on Twitter.

Cabin Life – #75

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Well, I woke up to pouring rain this morning.  It’s really coming down, to the Apple Blossomspoint where my alarm didn’t wake me up, the pounding of the rain on the tin shed roof did.  All the windows are even closed due to the cold temperatures, and the rain was still loud enough to break my slumber.  But at least it wasn’t snow coming down like this.  The forecast has called for a chance of snow for the next few days, and while it wouldn’t be a major inconvenience to get some snow, it would be a little depressing.  Plus, I’m worried about the apple trees.

Last spring when the warmth came early and was followed by a month of cold, all my apple blossoms were killed.  In October, I found a whopping grand total of seven or eight apples.  These meager offerings were spread out amongst almost twenty trees, and not a single one was edible.  I only found one apple that wasn’t obviously bad, but when I bit into it, there was no sweetness or crunch.  Just mush and blandness.

Last week, the apple trees really started to go crazy.  After some unseasonably hot and dry conditions, spring sort of normalled out for a few weeks and gave us warm days, cool nights, and plenty of rain.  Actually, up until the snow storm warnings, it’s been nice weather, and the plants are definitely noticing it.  I got no apples, blueberries or raspberries last year due to the drought.  The apple trees are white with flowers and the light green blossoms of the blueberry bushes are starting to emerge.

But now I’m worried about losing the entire apple crop yet again.  I’ve only been able to taste a few of the apples out here, but a lot of these trees bear very different fruit than you find in the supermarket.  Some were dull pink on the inside and others were bitter but smelled magnificent.  I’m looking forward to seeing the whole range of non-homogenized fruit that they’ll produce.

But if we get more stupid snow tonight, I’m afraid the blossoms will go un-pollinated or freeze altogether, and I’ll be left with a weak and pathetic harvest.  There are a few trees that haven’t bloomed yet, and I’m beginning to feel like those might be my safety backup supply.  Hopefully they won’t be the only ones I get.

When I moved in to the cabin a couple of falls ago, the apples were a little too far gone to be of much use, and I had a lot of other things to accomplish that were more important that eating apples.  I was excited with the variety but not prepared to take advantage of it.  Now it just seems like a cruel hoax.  I got that sweet first taste, and then they were taken from me without permission.  I hope that last year was payment enough for them to come through this year.

Be sure to like Middle of the Trail on Facebook for more pictures and daily updates and follow @JustinALevine for whatever it is I do on Twitter.

Cabin Life – #74

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Despite the half inch of snow we got earlier this week, spring is rolling The Water Barrel Spiggotalong.  I jerry-rigged a rain barrel, and I like not having to rely on small supply of drinking water to take care of the garden.  The thirty-five gallon barrel has a spigot on it and I set it up right next to the garden.  Unfortunately, I do not yet have the barrel set up properly.  I have a gutter that runs along the front porch, and a five gallon bucket that sits under the end of the gutter.  When we get rain and the bucket fills, I take the bucket a few feet to the barrel and dump the water in the top.  It’s not the best design, but it’s working well.

My tray of seedlings is doing ok, even though I forgot to pull them inside the other night during a frost.  Luckily all the seeds that had sprouted survived, but I have a few trays with nothing growing in them.  The carrots, spinach and tomatoes better get their acts together.

But the peas, lettuce and broccoli are doing well, and even though it would be nice to have a big garden full of food, I’m content to take what I can get.  Plus, my garden is pretty small, so I may have over done it on the seedlings.

In fact, I’m going to have to prep another area for a second garden.  The first garden is right next to the front porch, on the south side of the cabin, where it gets full sun all day long.  I figured it would be the perfect spot since animals are unlikely to bother it and I don’t have to walk to get to the garden.  I sometimes surprise myself with these little bouts of laziness that are only apparent when I write them down.  Having the garden right there seemed efficient to me, but now that I’m telling all of you my reason, it just seems lazy.

However, my laziness is not prevalent in my life and I know this because it took me almost four hours to get my two-foot by four-foot garden ready.  Amy had told me that the previous occupants had used this little section as an herb garden, and so I assumed, incorrectly, that I would be able to just weed the little area and then plant away.

I pulled a few inches of roots, grass, and other assorted weeds out of the bed and then grabbed a garden rake to start to loosen up the soil.  That didn’t work too well since it has been so long since this area has been used, and I moved up to a hoe.  With my first swing of the hoe, I heard that distinctive metal-on-rock sound.  I also heard that same sound with the next swing, and the next.

It soon became apparent that a hoe and rake were not going to be sufficient.  The soil that was in the garden was only a couple inches deep, and underneath was nothing but rocks.  Either the people who used this spot as a garden were full of it, or they only grew very small plants that did not need a lot dirt to work into.

I grabbed a shovel and rock bar and started to get to work.  For a little while, it went well, with me being able to pull out about twenty grapefruit-sized rocks.  Then I got to the big guy.  After removing as much dirt as I could, I grabbed the rock bar and started to find the edges.  This rock turned out to be big enough that if it had been closer to the foundation, I would not have removed it for fear of undermining my house.

When the rock was uncovered and I could see what I was dealing with, I knew that I still had a lot of work to do.  There was no way I was lifting this rock (technically I think it’s a boulder).  I dismantled a couple feet of stone wall and dug out the dirt.  Then using the rock bar and shovel, I was able to roll the big rock out through the whole I had made.  It rolled a couple feet down the little hill, and for now, that’s where it’s staying.  I figure it’s not doing any harm where it is, and that will be a little less grass I’ll have to mow this summer.  I admit, it’s lazy.  But that rock is one thing that I am more than happy to be lazy about.

Cabin Life – #73

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The first clouds we’ve seen in a while are rolling in, and there have even Apple Budsbeen a couple drops of rain that have fallen from the sky.  So instead of writing this while lying in the hammock, I’m sitting in the old rocking chair on the front porch.  I can see the four-wheeler, the wood pile, and the lawn chairs that I’ve been too lazy to put away.  The grass is turning green except for the area where I almost always park.  That grass is dead and carries the color of dried wheat.  Other than that, the colors are coming out, and the rain we’re about to (hopefully) get will only make them brighter.

A coworker commented to me that the colors of spring are just as nice as the colors of fall, but no one seems to care or notice.  Sitting here looking out over the upper field and on to the slopes of the hill out back, I can see his point.  Everyone comes to the Adirondacks to enjoy the fall foliage.  They don’t know exactly when it’ll be, so they watch the news and try to time it right to hit the peak color season in early October or so.

But right now there is a bounty of color that, when you take the time to notice it, is really pretty.  Beyond the grass of the yard, the apple trees are starting to show a dull lime green as the tiny leaves emerge.  The little poplars are glowing, and the maples are covered in deep red flowers.  The white birch bark stands out against the dark balsam needles and even the brown of the trees that aren’t blooming adds to the ambiance.

Right now, I can see the colors.  My eyes aren’t being bothered by allergies, as mornings are usually when I suffer the worst.  I’m hoping that we get this rain and it washes some of the pollen out of the air.  My car, which is normally a nice dark green is now a pale disgusting green with streaks down the sides from where the washer fluid flows when I cleaned my windshield.  It’s odd having to clean it of the dead bugs that are starting to splatter their yellow guts on my glass.

Just now, I heard the first few drops of rain on the tin roof of the porch.  We desperately need some rain, as it’s been almost two weeks since we got any precipitation.  In fact, the last time anything other than pollen fell from the sky, it was snow.  The little stream that runs behind my cabin is dry in most spots, and the seeds I started for the garden could use a little natural precipitation.

It’s amazing to me that after complaining about the amount of snow we got this year, I am now anxious for some rain.  The last two weeks have been nice but hot and dry.  There have been a few forest fires, and I hope that this summer is not a replay of last year.  But as it stands now, we’ve had a pleasant transition from winter to spring, and even though I got my first black fly bite of the year, I’m happy at the changing of the seasons.

There’s more birds around including lots of grouse and turkey.  I was woken up by a big tom turkey walking through the yard this morning.  He was calling loudly, looking for love.  I got up early and snuck out onto the porch to watch him walk through.  It’s turkey season, and if I was a hunter, I could have gotten this guy with no problem at all.  Lucky for him I’m not, but I did enjoy listening to him and watching him walk from the left trail through the lower field and down the driveway.  His bright red waddle was swinging side to side as he tramped around, and to me, it was just one more color to add to the palate of spring.

Be sure to like Middle of the Trail on Facebook for more pictures and daily updates and follow @JustinALevine for whatever it is I do on Twitter.

Cabin Life – #72

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The last week has been nothing but sunshine and warmth.  The change in Daffodils and Plowseasons was quick, and it seems like we went from zero to sixty in the temperature department, but it’s been good for the mind.  The trees are blooming and the daffodils are shining bright yellow in the hot sun.  It’s a good time of year even though my nose won’t stop running and my eyes are always itchy.

The last time I got an allergy test was a few years ago in Jacksonville.  The doctor pricked both of my forearms with different allergens.  On my right forearm were things like dust mites and pet dander.  On my left arm were all the different types of pollen.  After about five minutes, the nurse checked in on me and saw my left arm.  She left and came back with the doctor, who decided that the red, swollen flesh necessitated immediate action.  He cleaned up my arm and handed me a bright red inhaler that he recommended I carry with me at all times.

Last year, my allergies weren’t so bad.  With everything blooming early in March and then getting frozen in April, the pollen never really went that crazy.  But now that we’re done with winter, I’m not really looking forward to seeing a wave of yellow air coming towards me.  I can only hope that in the next few weeks we get some rain.  It’s really dry up here, but my reason for wishing for rain is selfish.  A few well placed days of rain during the pollen onslaught can mean the difference between a normal spring and a horrible spring for me.

Hopefully this spring isn’t too bad.  But even if the pollen is yellowing the air, at least there’s no snow on the ground anymore.  I don’t have to hike into the cabin and I don’t have to worry about the woodstove.  It’s amazing how much of my time is spent handling and thinking about the stove though.  Even now, I’m starting to haul logs out of the woods down to the yard to buck and split for next year’s supply.  It’s been in the seventies for a week and I’m still working on firewood.

Even though the weather has turned and I actually enjoy working outside running the chainsaw, it’s a bit draining to already be preparing for winter.  It’s only May, and I’m thinking ahead to October, wondering if when all is said and done if I’ll have enough wood set aside or if I’ll have to buy some.  Will I be able to build a new wood shed or empty out the old one and fill it to the brim?  What kind of new wood stove am I going to buy?  Should I go with stainless steel or black chimney pipe?  These are the questions I’ll be working on all summer.

I’m not sure how I feel about that.  Sitting here now, with the sun burning off the morning chill, do I really want to spend the few nice months a year we get up here working on winter projects?  I don’t really have much of a choice I guess.  I just hope I can remember to enjoy the warmth while I work on winter projects.  Because a winter without a summer is nothing to look forward to.

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Cabin Life – #71

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Spring has decided to show up fashionably late.  I woke up to snow the last St Regis Summitcouple of days, and even though it’s been melted by lunch time each day, it has been discouraging to say the least.  However, even with the new snow showers, it is clear that winter is gone, even if spring hasn’t set in completely yet.

Pico and I went hiking the other day up St. Regis Mountain.  It was a crisp morning, but with clear skies forecasted all day, it seemed like a great opportunity to hike one of my old favorites before the bugs are out in any sort of force.  We set off and wandered through the woods down behind Paul Smiths and up the mountain.

I remember this trail well, as I worked as the summit steward on St. Regis when I was in college.  I definitely needed more time to get to the top than I did ten years ago, but Pico and I were on the summit soaking in the sun by ten in the morning.  It was sunny and clear and windy, allowing us to see the views with no obstruction.  There was a slight haze in the air, but not enough to ruin the sights.

As I sat there eating a candy bar and letting Pico wander about, I wished I had brought a jacket to cut the wind.  Sure, it was sunny but there was still a chill to the morning wind that made me not want to linger too long on the open summit.  The sun was warm but the air was cold and I could clearly still see plenty of ice on the lakes and ponds stretched below me.  Pico drank some water from a puddle and we headed back down the trail.

By the time we got back to the car, it was almost hot out.  Almost.  You know, hot for spring.  It’s amazing how different sixty degrees can feel in the fall compared to the spring.  In the fall, I would have been bundled up in jeans and a flannel, but in the sixty degree spring, I was changing into shorts and flip-flops just for the drive back to the cabin.

When we got back out to the cabin, I sat in the sun and just enjoyed the spring-time “quiet.”  There are a ton of birds around the cabin now, including robins, juncos and one of the largest hawks I’ve ever seen.  There is a lot of chatter and various birds hanging out in the apple trees together.  The woodpeckers are pecking away, looking for both food and a mate and the black-capped chickadees are flitting about in the yard, largely ignoring the feeders.

Last year, I didn’t keep the feeders full in the summer.  There are bears and red squirrels out here, along with other animals that I really don’t feel like attracting to my cabin.  But I think this fall I’ll start filling the feeders a little earlier, so that I get some of these other birds to stick around.  It’s not that I blame them for heading south for the winter, but it would be nice to share the cold with a few more wild friends.  I just prefer the birds to the bears when it comes to my wild companions.

Be sure to like Middle of the Trail on Facebook for more pictures and daily updates and follow @JustinALevine for whatever it is I do on Twitter.

Cabin Life – #70

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I made my maple syrup yesterday, and it turned out really good.  I know Maple Syrupbecause I drank more than a couple shots of boiling sap and syrup during the process.  I did not mind the taste-testing.  Due to the incredibly windy conditions up here and the fact that there’s a residential burn-ban in effect, I decided to boil down the sap at Amy’s.  I ended up with about five and a half gallons of sap which boiled down nicely to about a pint and a half of syrup.  Not a ton, but enough to enjoy and even share.  Making and tasting the syrup was a much needed break after the events of the past week.  I think most of us needed a distraction or two this week.

For the last few days, I’ve felt like I was constantly fighting back tears.  The heartbreak in Boston affected me more than I expected.  I had no family or close friends anywhere near the scene of devastation.  I have never come close to feeling the type of fear and panic that those who were there must have felt.  I had no connection to the tragedy whatsoever, yet I’ve felt like crying for a full forty-eight hours.

I have always been an information junkie, and following the bombing I was once again unable to tear myself from the news.  I don’t watch TV news, but was plastered to the internet with a morbid curiosity that I would not be able to explain.  After a day of taking it all in, I wanted to not read about the tragedy anymore.  I was burnt out on the news and was starting to get to a point where I needed to read about other things.

I turned to an online running community that I belong to for a distraction, and found that there were quite a few of us in the same boat.  We were not marathoners or victims, just people who go running sometimes and were having difficulty processing the events.  Then I started to hear about the “anger runs.”  The more experienced and dedicated runners were going out for a run not because it was in their schedule, but because they were angry, and running was the only way they knew how to deal with it.

I took this advice and went for my own anger run.  I was angry that this had happened.  I was angry that so many runners didn’t get to finish their race.  I was angry that so many people were injured.  I was angry at the people who were already blaming whole religions and races.  I was just angry.

I went to the gym to go for a run in the hopes that I could watch a little TV and take my mind off it.  My usual program on the treadmill is to run for an hour and watch Sports Center.  But even they were talking about Boston.  It was a sporting event, after all.  About ten minutes in to the run I started to flip channels.  I found some old Fresh Prince of Bel-Air reruns and zoned out.

As I started to sweat and breathe hard I couldn’t help but feel a little better.  Burning off some pent up energy and getting exercise was doing me good.  I could start to think back on the events and my response to them with a little less emotion, and a little more insight.  I began to realize that it wasn’t the anger or sadness which had been bringing tears to my eyes.

The tears were being caused by a sad joy.  Amongst all the tragedy, I kept seeing pictures of people rushing in to help.  I saw all the posts about strangers being put up and fed by other strangers.  Pizza places handing out free food.  Restaurants opening their doors to charge a cell phone or use the Wi-Fi even if you didn’t have the money to buy anything.  These are the things that were bringing a tear to my eye.

I moved out to this cabin and drastically altered my lifestyle in an attempt to eliminate stress from my life.  It has not been entirely successful, but for the most part my simplified life is a pleasure to live.  However, it’s hard not to be affected when something of this magnitude occurs.  As Mr. Rogers said, we have to look for the helpers in times of tragedy.  Luckily, the people of Boston and all of us directly or indirectly affected will never have to look too far.  That’s what I’m taking comfort in, and I hope you can too.

Be sure to like Middle of the Trail on Facebook for more pictures and daily updates and follow @JustinALevine for whatever it is I do on Twitter.

Cabin Life – #69

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So far, spring has been a big let down.  There were two robins in the yard Frozen Cherry Logthis morning, hopefully representing a soon-to-be change in the weather.  Between the upper field and lower field, I’d say about two-thirds of the area is still covered in snow.  In the woods, I can post-hole my legs up to the calf when not wearing snowshoes.  Luckily, the freeze and thaw effect has left a fairly heavy crust on top of the snow, making it a little easier to walk around.

The little path that Pico and I have made to the sugar maples is a safe walk, and I have no problem doing it in sneakers.  I might break through three or four times, but the falls through the crust into the four or five inches of snow don’t seem to matter now.  The end is in sight.

I pulled one of the taps the other day.  Initially I had tapped three trees, and so far the production has not been bad.  I now have about five gallons of sap sitting in a bucket, waiting to be boiled and condensed into maple syrup.  It’s not much, but it’s not too bad for a trial run either.  I figure I might be able to get half a pint or even a little more syrup out of this big white bucket full of sap.

The largest tree I tapped didn’t produce much to begin with and after another week of only giving me a few ounces of sap, I decided to pull the tap and jug and just let that tree get on to the business of being a tree.  The other two trees I tapped are starting to dwindle in their production, and I am planning on pulling them out this week as well.  I’m going out of town for a couple days and decided to leave the taps and jugs in place until I get back.  I’m not worried about overflow or anything like that, and with the reduced sap flow the last couple of days, I don’t think that will be a problem anyway.

The very first drop of sap that came out of the tap was both exciting and disappointing.  It was exciting because it meant spring and sweetness and another project to take on.  It was disappointing due to the fact that it seemed so insignificant.  Literally just a drop in the bucket.  I tasted the first drop as it rolled off the blue plastic spile and onto my tongue.  It was nothing more than sugar water, with an ever-so-slight taste of maple to it.  It’s amazing to think that at some point in history, someone looked at the clear liquid coming out of a maple stump and decided to taste it.  That such a huge tradition and addition to our culinary culture could come from some dirty tree water is wonderful.

But now, two weeks later, when I sealed up the lid on the almost full five gallon pail, it’s amazing that in such a short time so much potential has been unleashed.  There’s no doubt in my mind that if I had taken the time to tap the fifteen or so trees in the area that I could have had a considerable amount of syrup when all was said and done.  I actually regret not doing more this year, but as with all things, it is what it is supposed to be.

I can drive into the cabin without four wheel drive now, and have had the time to scout out some downed trees to drag out for next winter’s fire wood.  I have to fix the two metal roof panels that blew off the porch of the Upper Camp before any more damage occurs to the porch.  I have to watch out for hungry bears and raccoons.  There’s plenty to do out here, and making maple syrup is only one of many chores to be accomplished.

It is nice to think about the syrup as a chore.  I like being able to enjoy my chores, and sitting by a fire all day making syrup is definitely a chore I can take pleasure in.  I have no desire to climb up on a roof to fix the metal sheets.  I will take no pleasure in wondering if the sounds I hear while sitting in the outhouse are those of a bear wandering by.  But I will enjoy the spring, even though it is being rude with its tardiness.

Be sure to like Middle of the Trail on Facebook for more pictures and daily updates and follow @JustinALevine for whatever it is I do on Twitter.

Cabin Life – #68

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We’re here in April, and there’s still quite a bit of snow on the ground.  The Spring Streamdays have been warm enough to start melting the snow, but the cold nights and occasional snow showers have hampered the quick onset of spring.  Pico and I went for a last ski down the railroad tracks near a friend’s house the other day, but now the snowshoes and skis are stashed, and unless something crazy happens with the weather, I think it’s time to call it a season.

A couple of weeks ago, it was so warm that we got our first taste of mud season.  Now, for those of you who don’t know, mud season in a semi-official time of year between winter and spring.  Mud season is not something that is well celebrated, but in some ways, it can be the best time of the year.

For me and the cabin, mud season is no picnic.  I live at the end of a one mile long dirt road with limited maintenance and no neighbors.  When there’s a couple of inches of snow on the road and it’s frozen solid, it’s a pretty nice drive.  But winter is the when the road is at its best, and mud season is when it’s at its worst.  Mud season is when the road gets wet, and it gets really wet.  There are several streams that cross the road at just a couple of locations.  These streams are all intermittent flows from springs up on the ridge.  I have two of these streams flowing through the property out here, but they join below my cabin and mark the end of the road.

The three or so drainages along the road however, can turn it into a sloppy mess.  Even with four wheel drive, I get tossed around and turned sideways in the two inch thick sludge.  This is a public road, and there’s always one guy with a huge truck that feels compelled to drive down the road at forty miles an hour, creating huge ruts which then freeze overnight and make my daily commute more than a little rough.

Luckily, the entire length of the road isn’t quite this bad.  During Hurricane Irene a couple years ago, the small streams turned into enormous torrents of white water.  Those small flows ripped out drainage pipes going under the road in two spots and created a large sinkhole up near my end of the road.  When the town fixed these issues, they did a good job and re-did whole sections with large crushed stone.  But, it’s the kind of sharp, angular stone that gives me a flat tire or two each year.  At least those sections aren’t muddy.  I’m really not sure how to feel about that.

The driveway is another matter.  After being forced to hike in for another couple of weeks, I can finally drive the car all the way up to the cabin.  It’s nice to be able to do that instead of stashing a sled at the bottom of the driveway and walking in dragging it behind.  There’s still quite a bit of snow and ice on the driveway because a big part of it doesn’t get much sun.  I think I should be all set to get in and out until next winter though.  It was a hassle parking at the bottom of the hill and hiking up to the cabin.  I just hope that mud season gets done in a hurry, otherwise I might have a much longer hike.

Be sure to like Middle of the Trail on Facebook for more pictures and daily updates and follow @JustinALevine for whatever it is I do on Twitter.

Cabin Life – #67

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I love my dog Pico.  But there are times when he can be extremely The First Spileannoying.  Like right now, he’s licking my elbow and won’t stop.  I lifted my arm up off the table but he just jumped up on me to keep on licking.  I don’t know why he is doing this or what I could have possibly gotten on my elbow to make him want to lick it so bad.  He’s just a little weird sometimes.

I noticed another oddity out here this week.  I tapped a few maple trees so I could make a little sap this year.  Last year, I was all primed to do the work, but then maple season came and went in a week in February, and I was caught off guard and left with no syrup.

This year is a test run.  I bought some taps and used a few old milk jugs as buckets.  Trying to do it on the quick and cheap, I’m really only expecting a couple servings of syrup.  I don’t have the equipment or the time right now to handle a big production, but now that I know what I’m getting into, I can make a bunch of syrup next spring.

Last winter I found a cluster of nice maples not too far from the cabin, and never touched them.  But this year I picked up a bag of spiles at the local hardware store and the proper size drill bit. A friend and I took Pico, the taps, jugs, and drill out to the trees.  The sun was shining and it was perfect weather for sap to run.  As soon as the drill bit broke through the bark, a big, fat drop of sap coursed down the rough exterior of the tree.  The drill then died.

My cordless drill, which I’ve had since college, made a hole about half an inch deep and just stopped turning.  I jammed a tap into the hole to see how bad it was, and the tap stuck out a ridiculous amount.  No way would it be able to keep a full jug from falling to the ground.  I pulled the battery out of the drill and locked the bit in place.  I used the body of the drill as a handle and finished the hole using my power drill as a hand drill.  This is why I only placed three taps this year.

The next couple of days were cold and I didn’t think the sap would run that much.  From the yard I could see the jugs on the trees and knew that they hadn’t fallen or gotten blown off.  When I went and checked the jugs after two days, I noticed the irregularity that I was not expecting.  The smallest tree had given me the most sap, and the biggest tree had given me basically no sap.

Now, there could be many factors for this discrepancy independent of the size of the tree.  I just found it odd that this was the case.  I figured bigger tree equals more sap.  But maybe I did something wrong drilling the hole.  Maybe I put the tap in at too much of an angle.  Maybe the stupid tree just doesn’t produce that much sap.

After three days, I had a gallon of sap.  At this rate, I might be able to put my own syrup on one pancake.  But that’s not really the point this year.  I just want to try something I’ve never done before and see how it comes out.  That’s what this whole experience has been about too.  To try something I’ve never done before and see what happens.  And maybe that’s why Pico was licking my elbow earlier.  He just forgot that he’s done it before and wanted to see what he might find.

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