I love temps right now in Mesa.. It brings back happy memories of crisp fall temps in MA. The change of season from summer to fall was so reinvigorating! However, it meant the onset of winter and only the Old Farmer's Almanac did a forecast of what was to come.
I only made one trip to a maple syrup restaurant restaurant. Traces of snow were on the ground and the temps were still crisp. There were cans on all the maple trees collecting the syrup. Inside the restaurant in the back was a large vat with the maple syrup was cooking..what a wonderful smell. The tables were made of rough wood and the chairs were tree stumps. The menu was limited to pancakes with fresh hot maple syrup and there was shaved ice covered with maple syrup. Oh the pancakes were ever so good:)
My memories today will not fade as the temps here in Mesa go up.
Hi Milt, You mentioned memories of spring and maple syrup. It brought back a vivid Nasson one for me. On April 4th, 1968, I was fortunate enough to be invited to Windsor Vermont, to Sam Morgan's beautiful family farm to help "sugar off". We (I think Cliff Goodband and two other guys who, sadly, I can't recall) spent most of the day gathering sap with Sam and filling the giant tank in the sugar house. In the evening, we began the process of boiling down the sap. I never thought I would have to use Boyle's Law again after high school chemistry, but we did, and I remember Sam explaining how the temperature and barometric pressure would determine when the syrup was ready. I was so impressed! He did the math and as I recall, when it hit 217 degrees, it would be ready. You're right about the smell. It was really wonderful. We boiled the sap for hours and hours and just before 3AM, Sam did some further calculations and said the syrup would soon be ready for canning. I headed along the dark path to the farmhouse kitchen, thinking how great it would be to have fresh syrup on hot pancakes. I whipped up a batter and began cooking. I was getting a bit impatient, and reached up and turned on the green plastic radio next to the stove. After a couple of songs, I heard the horrible news." Martin Luther King was shot and died in Memphis yesterday." I turned off the stove and threw the pancakes in trash and headed out to the sugar shack bearing such sadness. I don't recall everything, but I know none of us said very much. As I recall, Sam just turned off the gas and probably ruined the entire batch of syrup, but nothing seemed to matter. We left the humid warmth of the sugar shack and quietly climbed the high hill behind their farm. I remember observing how none of us sat near each other. There was enough moonlight so I could see the other guys in the cool mist, but no-one made a sound. We all just sat for the longest time, alone, on that granite Vermont summit staring out into the dark, saying nothing, trying to wrap our heads around what just happened. I have a very clear image of us sitting together separately. I think we all felt so alone- so confused. It's strange how I don't recall anything after that-coming down from the hill, the ride back to Nasson, but I'll never forget that night. Every year, I tap our own sugar maples, make a small amount of syrup, and while it's boiling down, I think about old friends. Please feel free to share this, Milt, and thanks for the memory and for keeping us together. Warren
I love temps right now in Mesa.. It brings back happy memories of
ReplyDeletecrisp fall temps in MA. The change of season from summer to fall was
so reinvigorating! However, it meant the onset of winter and only the
Old Farmer's Almanac did a forecast of what was to come.
I only made one trip to a maple syrup restaurant restaurant. Traces of
snow were on the ground and the temps were still crisp. There were
cans on all the maple trees collecting the syrup. Inside the
restaurant in the back was a large vat with the maple syrup was
cooking..what a wonderful smell. The tables were made of rough wood
and the chairs were tree stumps. The menu was limited to pancakes with
fresh hot maple syrup and there was shaved ice covered with maple
syrup. Oh the pancakes were ever so good:)
My memories today will not fade as the temps here in Mesa go up.
Have a wonderful day!
always,
milt..memories of maple syrup:)
From Warren Dahlin..with permission:
ReplyDeleteHi Milt,
You mentioned memories of spring and maple syrup. It brought back a vivid Nasson one for me. On April 4th, 1968, I was fortunate enough to be invited to Windsor Vermont, to Sam Morgan's beautiful family farm to help "sugar off". We (I think Cliff Goodband and two other guys who, sadly, I can't recall) spent most of the day gathering sap with Sam and filling the giant tank in the sugar house. In the evening, we began the process of boiling down the sap. I never thought I would have to use Boyle's Law again after high school chemistry, but we did, and I remember Sam explaining how the temperature and barometric pressure would determine when the syrup was ready. I was so impressed! He did the math and as I recall, when it hit 217 degrees, it would be ready. You're right about the smell. It was really wonderful. We boiled the sap for hours and hours and just before 3AM, Sam did some further calculations and said the syrup would soon be ready for canning.
I headed along the dark path to the farmhouse kitchen, thinking how great it would be to have fresh syrup on hot pancakes. I whipped up a batter and began cooking. I was getting a bit impatient, and reached up and turned on the green plastic radio next to the stove. After a couple of songs, I heard the horrible news." Martin Luther King was shot and died in Memphis yesterday." I turned off the stove and threw the pancakes in trash and headed out to the sugar shack bearing such sadness. I don't recall everything, but I know none of us said very much. As I recall, Sam just turned off the gas and probably ruined the entire batch of syrup, but nothing seemed to matter. We left the humid warmth of the sugar shack and quietly climbed the high hill behind their farm. I remember observing how none of us sat near each other. There was enough moonlight so I could see the other guys in the cool mist, but no-one made a sound. We all just sat for the longest time, alone, on that granite Vermont summit staring out into the dark, saying nothing, trying to wrap our heads around what just happened. I have a very clear image of us sitting together separately. I think we all felt so alone- so confused. It's strange how I don't recall anything after that-coming down from the hill, the ride back to Nasson, but I'll never forget that night.
Every year, I tap our own sugar maples, make a small amount of syrup, and while it's boiling down, I think about old friends.
Please feel free to share this, Milt, and thanks for the memory and for keeping us together.
Warren