April is maple sugar month in the north. Our sugarbush grows
about two kilometres south of our little log cabin in the
woods.
I'm up early, just as the first rays of the sun begin to
touch the tips of the trees.  A glass of juice, pack a
lunch, prep skis, and dress in layers of clothes to keep warm
in the morning, and peel away as the day warms.
Ski up the hill, through the woods, beyond the red oaks,
then down the hill past the big white pines, through the
valley, and up another hill.  Just about everywhere, a
half-meter of snow or more lays thick upon the land.  Only
a few bare patches of earth peek through from where the rain
washed it away last week.
Almost there - suddenly I remember - matches!  I forgot
to pick up matches!  Will I have to go back?
In the sugarbush I ski down the slope through the open maple
forest.  The buckets are mostly half full - indicative of
a slow sap run the day before.  When I get to the fire
place, I put my hand in the ashes that remain from our last
boil two days ago.  Yes!  There's heat!  I shred
some birch bark and stir down through the remains of the
ashes.  Blowing gently, I find a few glowing coals. 
Who needs matches!
I fill the pans with sap from the storage drum, then feed
the growing flames.  While the first sap begins to boil, I
take the collecting buckets back out to the trees.
A little ice formed in the buckets overnight.  I pour
the sap and shake the ice into my buckets.  I can carry up
to 10 litres in each - heavily - back to the fire.  Top up
the pans, feed the fire, strain the ice out of the new sap!
It takes nearly an hour to carry all the sap back to the
boiling place - with time between trips to feed the fire, fill
the pans, strain out the ice.  I keep the ice in a
separate bucket.  The first water that drains off brings
any residual sugar with it, so that goes into the boiling
process.  The ice crystals that remain are pure
water.  Ten litres of ice means 30 minutes less boiling
time!
As I pour the last of the sap into the collecting bucket,
the first drops of fresh new sap of the day begin to drop from
the spiles. There is a wonderful drumbeat of sap echoing in the
now empty jugs, like the heartbeat of the Earth.
By 9 am the heavy chores are done. I can sit back by the fire.
