One day the lion keeper noticed the lion was not his regal self. For instead of sitting up on his favorite sunny rock, mane puffed for maximum effect, his lordship was face down in the mud, tucked under the low lying branches of a particularly thorny bush.
"Strange," thought the keeper, "that's not like his lordship." Filled with concern the keeper entered the lion's den. And as he approached his dear charge the keeper spoke in soft tones. "Your lordship, what could be your problem. Your lordship, no worries, I'll fix everything for you. My whole life, is defined by my job, and my job is to care for you, your lordship."
Despite the soft words, the lion, not understanding the spoken word, grew fearful. The keeper was a gentle but looming man, and he was not a lion. And lions only trusted other lions. His lordship let out a low warning growl.
The keeper, hairs raised up along his neck, stopped dead in his tracks. Breath caught in his throat, he knew he was being invited to leave. But his most important charge was most obviously suffering, and in his heart of hearts, he knew he must help him.
So the lion keeper took what might be his last deep breath, closed his eyes, and crumpling to the ground; becoming a ball much smaller than the lion. Nose to the ground, legs tucked under his chest, arms bent up along his shins, the keeper emitted soft drawn out humming noises with each of his long, and maybe last exhalations. And each time he breathed in to replenish his air, he inched closer to the lion.
At first the lion was irritated. The man was still there; still annoying him. But he was smaller now and not so much of the threat, so the lion let out another warning growl, but not as fierce as the first, before lashing out with a swat at the keeper.
Eyes closed the keeper didn't see the large paw with its extended claws thrust out in his direction. Eyes closed he felt a gentle breeze that dried the nervous sweat erupting on his head and neck; and he stopped humming as he breathed a sigh of relief.
His lordship hearing the sigh assumed the little ball of flesh, having lost all its air, was of even lesser consequence, cupped his aching jaw within his huge killer paws, tucking in further into the cooling mud. Oh to be rid of this pain.
The silent keeper, realizing in his smallness and silence, the lion no longer viewed him as a threat, slowly, rubbing his shins, elbows, and nose on the ground, continued to inch forward. For he must make all things good again for the one he cared for so deeply.
From the cool repose of the mud, his lordship sensed the warmth of the approaching lump, but he also smelled the foul stench of man. Disgusted, he rolled over onto his side and with his back feet, so as to not release the gentle cupping on his jaw, kicked the smelly lump away. His senses relieved the lion rolled over to nap away his pain.
Scratched but not eaten, the keeper once again found himself holding his breath; for two reasons. One: relieved he was still alive. Two: the smell of a nearby pile of lion dung awashed in urine was so pungent his eyes and nose were watering. His thoughts were of death, for there was not a stench fouler and more vomitose.
The lion slept for the lump no longer impacted his senses. While the keeper, realizing his opportunity covered himself with the urine soaked dung before resuming his slow and steady trek towards his napping charge. His lordship's jaw still cupped between his deadly front paws.
Inches away from the lion, the silent, dung covered, keeper saw the swelling that was bulging out from his mouth. He also saw that the pained lion didn't pay attention to the mice and voles that seemed to infest his den. Some even brazenly scurried over the lion's mighty body. Running through his mane as if it were their private grassland savanna. The keeper, unfolded one arm, and with two fingers probed under the lion's fattened lip.
Still sleepy, the lion flinched, as the pain in his mouth seared. Without smelling any new intruders, and without opening his eyes, he assumed one of the crazy little animals, who make a tasty afternoon snack, had foolishly ventured too close to his lip. Thinking it would be nice to have a sleepy little bite to eat, he whipped his head sideways, while chomping down, hoping to catch the tasty treat. Only to catch nothing; next time thought the lion, as he drifted back to sleep.
Giving the lion time to dream, and his own heart time to reenter his chest, the keeper new this would be the one and only time he would be able to find out what was distressing his lordship. Taking in a low long deep breath, he slowly fingered his way past the bulbous lip, to find a sharp bone shard wedged between his beloved charge's back teeth. Joy filled his heart, as he knew it would all be better in a matter of seconds, and with one quick motion he grasped the shard and yanked it out; startling his lordship awake.
Shaken, for being so violently stirred awake by a pile of his own dung and urine, the lion grabbed the pile in his massive front paws and as he drew the annoyance close to his mouth, so he could chew it up and spit it out, he saw the bone shard tightly gripped in the keeper's hand. Unfolding, his camouflage cracked; the keeper looked into the lion's eyes, seeking forgiveness for his deception.
His lordship, shocked, and pain-free for the first time in all his memory, dropped the keeper, and without a growl, turned and padded out onto his rock in the sun. Mane puffed for maximum effect.
Come on down to St. George Parish, 74 School St., Framingham, MA April 1, 2011 -- 7 PM
Once again, a lesson from the backyard maple sugarmaking operation. This time it's economics.
Checking the long range forecast, night time temperatures are predicted to be above freezing after last night. It has been a very doable season. With the sap runs well spaced -- into 5 boils. And the resulting syrup -- a bountiful seasonal total of 4 gallons. The first two shipments will be in the mail today.
Signs of a busy night: Two sap buckets and an almost empty pot of coffee
Running Shoes
Somehow through this world wide web, we have found each other's sites and follow each other's seasons year after year. Check out the great seasons being had by other backyard maple sugarmakers.
Yesterday's post on the color and flavor of maple syrup got me thinking and wondering. Is it really the sap or it's storage that effects the color? Of course I had my hypothesis, and the information sited by Cornell and UVM, but could we somehow experiment to see it for ourselves?
A dear friend asked what does the color of maple syrup have to do with the flavor?
Maple Syrup Trifecta
Temperatures turned cold. The sap buckets have hung dry on the tree for two days now. No worries, after this morning's light snow, spring time temperatures will return and plumes of maple steam will rise again. I smell warmth in the air. I'm thinking a Friday night boil...
The other night the phone rang. It wasn't oh my god someone has died late. It was probably only 8:30... even so I was in bed. My eyes opened to my husband looking at the caller ID, announcing the name and handing me the receiver.
Reaching for, and obtaining goals are great. But earlier today, as I was finishing this piece, I couldn't get my head around what I am going to do next. That vision hasn't come to me... yet...
If you say Foreigner to me, I think of an 80s band. And in searching for a link to add to this blog, I realize that they are hot yet again. As I recognize some of the song titles that play on my daughters' ipods.
I'm amazed by our neighborhood turkeys. They wander from yard to yard. Never in a rush. Nibbling at the side of the road. Stopping traffic. No fear. Such self importance.
Know your worth.
Sugarmakers note: Third boil was yesterday. Somewhere is the vicinity of 24 gallons of sap... resulting in a heavy half gallon of syrup. Think of boiling a laundry hampers worth of sap and walking away with 2 quarts of maple syrup. What can I say: It's in my blood. I'm blessed.
Yesterday's post got me thinking. Who makes up your support network? Your elite group of individuals that see you through the thick and thin. People who care for you so much, they are painfully honest and hopefully supportive. Can you count them on one hand? Or two? Three... lucky you!
You can't be single-minded, not seeing the bigger picture, or have, what could be coined, tunnel vision...
Who watches the pan?
The quart on the right is from the first boil. The one of the left; freshly finished second round. The precipitate not settled, it's tough to tell the grade.
Never underestimate the power of holding hands. I still reach out for my 4th grader each day we walk to school. And gladly she obliges me. But truly, does she need me to hold her hand?
Is a journey. A time for giving. A time to reflect and to change, if need be. Forty days of quiet contemplation among the noise of everyday life. How lucky we are to set aside this time each year. With the hope of Easter so close at hand.
Tired Teddy is my personal code for needing a break. "I'm a tired teddy bear." Life's schedule goes along swimmingly until that one more meeting, or event, or appointment, or whatever gets stacked on top of everything else and the loft goes out of my sails.
Note the stuff at the bottom of the jar. It's maple salts.
Start Time: 9:30 AM
Thirty-six gallons plus the day's production into the pan over nine hours.
End: Over a gallon of Framingham's finest Grade A light.
Walking the line, as we call it, when we walk from tree to tree collecting the sap, I am amazed at the amount of snow. The above picture shows that I am over eye level with our six foot fence. The number one sap collector could easily step up onto our pop up camper... Our buckets are hung on the trees a foot higher that usual, due to the snow. In the picture below -- look for last year's tap hole under the bucket. (Ignore the sap leaking down the bark. ;-( ) And we generally tap waist high.
So when the snow melts, will we need a ladder to check the buckets? Good question...
Here are two images from yesterday when the temperatures kissed up against 40. The sap in bucket left (1) is from the shaded side of a tree, and the sap in bucket right (2) is from the full sun side. Note the differences in volume. Pretty exciting science right in our own back 0.58 acre.
Most people are surprised by the crystal clear water consistency of the maple sap. Some have even thought the sap would be more syrupy -- more like maple syrup. My bucket emptier, number one sap taste tester has reported the sap is sweet right from the tree. Still, I am sure we will be boiling down close to 50 gallons of sap to acquire one gallon of syrup.
But the one part of his act that caught my eye and camera was when he was spinning out a Diablo Chinese yoyo. Do you agree?
