Early this spring, my cousin posted on my Facebook page about making maple syrup, “The first hour goes great, the second is more tiring, the third I’m very sore, and after that it’s all a blur of pain and staggering through the woods trying not to fall down on the rocky ground.”
But, there’s something special about all this work. He ends his post by saying, “But it’s unique and fun, not to mention the family history connection.”
Sixty-five years ago, my grandfather bought several hundred acres of maple trees deep in the Adirondacks at the far northern corner of New York state. Grandpa used to say, if you go much farther north you fall off the edge of the world. What he meant was that you would fall into the St Lawrence Seaway.
Grandpa Elmer started making syrup that same year. In the 1960’s, my uncle Gilbert took over. Today, his daughter (my cousin) Kathy and her family start every March tapping those same maple trees. They first drill 2250 tap holes. Then they drive in the spouts and hang 1150 buckets. For the next four weeks, every bucket must be emptied every day. Grandpa did it with a horse drawn sled. My cousins use a tractor.
