Each year, it is the same feelings that never grow old.
That first boil, the sap added to the pan, the anticipation grows. What kind of syrup will result? Will it be champagne light or dark and robust? More sap is added and we watch for color development. Drawing in the sweet maple steam and know, that for that moment, this is heaven.
Boiling early morning or late night the shack is quiet. The backyard is still. Who knew quiet exists in a city wanna be town; with its big city problems and marathon pace. The glow of the shack stretches out the door but not far. The yard is dark and still. Just about making out the sentinels with their buckets I silently promised I'd visit them today. To check their yields and to be thankful. Every year, every boil, it is the same.
Every boil is a birth. For every boil results in a slightly different batch of syrup. Expecting the usual first champagne syrup, we were surprised when a darkness, normally reserved for later in the season, filled our pan. Was it the warmer temperatures? Who knows?
Our yield was almost 3 quarts; a solid first boil.