Dear Curiosity Journal,
I woke up to a luminous sliver of moonlight with maples on my mind. Before Rufus had his bearings in waking consciousness, I was asking him if he had charged the drill batteries for tapping. He hadn’t. We made that early morning shift from rest to responsibility with Mother Nature calling us to clock in based on sunlight and weather, the familiar cyclical procession of the farmer. The season has begun, and maple syrup is our first crop. I boiled coffee, packed a lunch, and made the commute with my coworker to our wooded office. A bald eagle flew overhead as we tapped our first tree and we counted it a good omen. We worked the lines up and down steep terrain until our legs were wobbly, strengthened by frequent sucks of sap straight from the source – the pure joy of tapping a tree at the perfect time, sweet nectar gushing down the bark. I have no problem putting my lips on a tree trunk and nursing like a newborn. Rufus and I joke that this dose of maple plasma is our annual spring inoculation. At sunset, there’s a pure pool of liquid sugar filling the bulk tank and a steady flow still pouring in. Darkness pushed us from our post, but early morning will call us back. Happy Sapping Season to all of you Maple Syrup Makers!