I've got my boots, hat, gloves, and jacket on; my boots have cow spots on them but you
can't really see them through the thick coat of mud.
"Peanut," my Dad calls, "The tractors about to leave." We're going to the sugar house in
the woods like we do every year around this time, but first we've got to go collect sweet water
from the maple trees. My Dad says it's called sap.
"First stop!” my Mémère yells over the sound of the tractor’s motor as she hits the
brakes. We all get off and grab big white pails; I follow my Dad as we approach a big tree. He
takes the sap bucket off where it hangs on the maple tree and pours the sap into the pail. I walk
up behind him and stick my tongue out underneath the spout, catching the sap on my tongue. It's
sweet and refreshing, but it's not as good as what it's going to become.
An hour later, it is warm in the sugar house; my Pépère has been here since this morning
with some of my uncles. My Pépère is the only one who usually boils the sap, except when he
has to go back to the barn and do chores.
“Can I boil too?” I ask.
“No, you’re too young,” he says, so I stop asking. He lets me watch though, answering
all my questions. As the last of the sap boils, my dad cradles me in the rocking chair by the
evaporator. I tell him I'm not sleepy, but my eyes betray me as my sugar rush from the maple
syrup I've drank wears off. It's so warm and cozy in here, and my tummy is full of Mémères
goulash and aunt Angie's maple dumplings. It won't take me long to fall asleep, as the lasting
sweet smell of maple syrup lingers in my nose, the familiar smell that Vermonters dream of this
time of the year. The smell that feels like home...
I wake groggily to the noise of my alarm and get out of bed, pulling on warm clothes. I
head downstairs to hurry up and make breakfast. Dad and my stepmom Shantel are already up
and ready; my younger sister and brother are awake but not fully as Shantel tries to get their
clothes on with little help from them. As we pull up to Mémères and Pépères house, the tractor is
already out along with the ATV. Everyone who is going to go collect the sap piles onto the
tractor and the ones who are not get onto the ATV to go to the sugar house. Mémère hands me
the keys and I climb into the driver's seat. My aunts climb in, bringing with them all the dishes
and ingredients they'll need for making the best lunches and desserts. As we get closer to the
sugar house, the smell of mud, decaying leaves, and bark fill my nose, intermingling with a scent
of sweetness. I am home.
Back at the sugar house my Pépère stands over the evaporator. As he leaves for his last
set of chores in the barn, he says, “Be right back,” leaving me to stand watch at the sugar house.
While he is gone, I run the evaporator, something very few people get to do. All those questions
years ago have finally paid off. I'm confident that I won't mess up; I'm old enough now; I can
handle this. After Pépère returns, he pats me on the back. “Good job, now I have someone who
can help me out when I'm not here.”
The last night of boiling, I lay my head down on my pillow, dreaming of next year and
what it will bring with the lasting smell of maple syrup.