Maple Syrup Magic: A Sweet Reminder Of Impending Spring
Skunk cabbage and crocuses poking through the snow; almost two extra hours of daylight, a robin’s chirp; the arrival of pitchers and catchers at baseball training camps – unmistakable signs of the approaching season abound, but as far as I’m concerned the first harbinger of spring takes place when I drill a 5/8-inch paddle bit into the trunk of a maple tree, pound in a metal tap and wait for the magic.
Sometimes it takes a day or two; on other occasions, as was the case last week, the reward was instantaneous: a steady flow of clear sap dripping into a plastic jug.
The real bounty, of course, will take place in a week or so when I boil the sap into dark, sweet syrup, especially sumptuous when served hot with pancakes cooked on a cast iron skillet over a campfire. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Loyal readers will recall past chronicles and a video of my modest, old-school maple syrup operation, but through trial and mostly error I’ve refined the process over the years, so I’ll now focus on some innovations.
First of all, the most significant advance is totally weather-dependent, and fortunately this year Mother Nature came through.
The flow of sap requires cold nights and warm days. I use baling wire to tie collection jugs to the taps, empty each one every day into a bucket, and then make several trips to pour the sap from the bucket into a pair of clean, 35-gallon garbage cans.
A problem, though, has been that if you don’t boil the sap right away it tends to ferment, especially when daytime temperatures rise, rendering the syrup unpalatable.
Anyway, last winter, as you doubtless remember was epic, and I packed giant mounds of snow around each can that turned them into natural refrigerators. Not only did the sap not spoil it also partially froze. Each frigid morning I removed icy crust, just as Native Americans did centuries ago when they first produced maple syrup.
This effectively removes water and concentrates the sugar content, thereby shortening the amount of time the sap must boil. When I first starting making syrup a decade or so ago it required about 12 hours of cooking and almost a cord of firewood. Last year friends and I gorged on pancakes by early afternoon.
I therefore took advantage of last week’s snowstorms to produce makeshift refrigerators, so I’m hoping they will do the trick as effectively as last year.
Near the stone fire pit I also stockpiled brush and seasoned tree limbs that are too long for my woods toves but just right for tossing on an open flame.
For the first few years I had to filter soot and ash before serving the final product, but after a few futile attempts to cover the pots with old window screens year I invested in stainless steel mesh splatter guards that proved extremely effective.
In addition, I found that 5-gallon aluminum pots some people use to cook lobster are perfect for maple syrup production, particularly when the flame is hot enough to generate a rolling boil.
I know some maple syrup makers rely on flat, shallow pans to expedite evaporation, but I like having the higher sides of a tall pot to keep stray ashes from drifting in if the splatter guards shift.
Of course, modern, commercial producers rely on sophisticated technology, including reverse osmosis, to make syrup, but I enjoy the simplicity and social appeal of an outdoor fire, particularly in the company of friends and family.
It takes about 40 gallons of sap to produce one gallon of syrup, and I’ve never figured out why some trees are productive one year and barren the next.
Among the 20 or so trees I tap some are large enough to install two spiles, or spigots, and the other morning when I walked my collection route I discovered that a jug on one hearty maple was overflowing, while another, only a few inches away, was empty. Go figure.
Speaking of collection, this year I’ve been able to make my rounds wearing winter hiking boots, since the snow has only topped out at about 8 inches. Last year, when the ground lay buried under 2 feet of powder, I had to strap on snowshoes.
I have no idea how the syrup will turn out this year and hope the ridiculously warm start of winter hasn’t prompted a premature production of bud sap, which contains less sugar.
This El Niño winter has wreaked all sorts of havoc – in mid-January I was stunned to discover garlic shoots, which normally don’t appear until April, popping up in the garden. I’m pretty sure they’ll survive, even after last week’s sub-zero snap.
I wonder how they’ll taste with fresh maple syrup. I’ll keep you posted.
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