“What are you doing, Uncle Bob?”
“Well now, could be just something to make little girls ask questions! S’posing you tell me what you think I’m doin’.”
The girls looked at the sticks Uncle Bob was whittling and Naomi asked, “Are you making whistles? And what will you do with so many? You must have almost a hundred of them.”
“Did you ever hear of spiles? An’ do you know how we get the maple sap out of the trees? Well, this is a spile an’ it’s this a way.” Uncle Bob held up one spile from the pile he had finished. “First we’ll have to drill holes into the maple trees, and then, see how I’ve whittled the bark and a little more off, starting almost at the middle of the spile an’ to the end? That’s the part we pound into the hole we’ve drilled into the maple tree.
“Now see here,” he continued, pointing to a hole drilled through the length of the center of the spile. “This is where the sap will come out of the tree, jest like a spigot, and into a pail hangin’ from this notch I’ve carved for it halfway t’ the end.”
“Does it hurt the trees?” Helen wondered. “The maple trees are so pretty, especially when they turn red and yellow in the fall.”
“Doesn’t seem to,” Uncle Bob assured her. “When the sapping time is over, we take the spiles out and plug the holes, then we let them rest the next year, and the hole grows together again. Iffen the tree’s been a good ‘sapper,’ we’ll tap it again on the other side after it’s had a year’s rest.”
“Can we help gather the sap — and when do we start?” All three girls seemed to be asking at once.
“Whoa, there! Slow down! We have to get just the right kind of weather first. But it won’t be long, mark my words. We haven’t had a thaw yet, but we’ll be gettin’ one ’fore February’s over. That’s what we need, freezin’ nights and thawin’ days, and the sap’ll start pushin’ up in the maples for sure.
“An’ yessirree! You can all help. You’ll be hurryin’ home from school each day — once we start sappin’, t’help us gather it from the trees. I’ll tell you a secret, girls.” Uncle Bob lowered his voice mysteriously.
“You’ll likely come a runnin’ an’ be good and thirsty — and y’know what? A good, long drink of sap, ’most cold as ice, right from the heart of a maple tree is almost too special for words! Jest you wait an’ see.”
Mother and Father had been busy at the table drawing plans for Aunt Sue’s and Uncle Bob’s house, and now Father was saying, “Come, look at these plans, Bob. See if you think this is what Sue’ll like. I’m itching to get at building that house, soon’s we get the sapping and maple syrup finished.”
It wasn’t long before Uncle Bob’s predicted thaw came. The children at recess time were making forts and snowmen and the boys were pestering the girls with snowballs. The girls raced home from school to see if it was time to tap the maple trees, but Uncle Bob shook his head.
“We’d better watch it for a day or two and see if the weather makes up its mind. You never know just yet - might be a blizzard t’morrow. I don’t like the way the wind is shifting northeast.”
Sure enough! The wind began to whistle around the little house during the night, and the next morning the windows were frosted over again, and the whole world seemed filled with whirling snow.
“Shall I get the horses and sleigh out and take you to school?” Father asked.
“Thank you, but no,” Mother replied. “The school board told us not to hold classes if it looked like a real blizzard, and all of the families know this.”
“What will we do all day?” Naomi asked.
“The dishes must be done, beds made and the floor swept. Then you girls can bake cookies, and how about blowing soap bubbles?”
Suddenly the day was filled with happy possibilities.
While they were doing dishes, Helen reminded Naomi and Peggy, “We haven’t played house up in the attic for a long time. I found a whole lot of interesting things up there the other day!”
First they made gingerbread boys and girls with raisins for buttons on their clothes.
Then Mother fixed the soapy water for blowing bubbles and spread a blanket made of their own sheep wool on the table. When the bubbles landed on the blanket, they didn’t break right away. The girls could blow them back and forth across the table. The longer they lasted, the prettier colors they seemed to turn.
The happy day flew by, and the swirling snow was forgotten. During the night the wind stopped. The next morning as they rode to school in the sleigh, all the world looked like a winter wonderland.
A few days later, a soft wind blew that Uncle Bob called a “Chinook.” “A week of this and the snow will melt fast,” he predicted. “Heard a couple of crows talkin’ things over this morning. We’ll soon be sapping, girls.”
Sure enough, a week later many maple trees were filling the shiny lard pails hanging from their spiles. Father had made a big metal vat that looked like a huge shallow bathtub. It rested on big rocks under each corner. Underneath it a slow fire was burning, and the pails of sap were emptied into the big vat. The roof overhead was held up by sturdy poles, but the sides were all open.
Each day, when the girls got home from school, they would take their sleds and help the men gather the full pails of sap. When they reached the “sap house,” they would empty their pails into the big, steamy vat. When they got thirsty, they would enjoy a delicious drink of cold sap right from the pail, and it was just as good as Uncle Bob had said.
Steam rose in sweet-smelling clouds above the gently-bubbling syrup in the big vat. Gradually it began to turn a golden color. After what seemed a very long time, it became a rich, dark brown. Then it was time to “ladle off,” Uncle Bob said. That meant pouring it into clean quart jars and sealing it with a rubber ring and tight lid.
Many jars were filled, and finally just a little syrup was bubbling in the big vat. “Now girls, go find a spot nearby where there’s nice, clean snow. Brush the top off and come back here quick.”
When the girls returned, Uncle Bob scooped up a ladle of thick, sticky syrup. “Now, Peggy Jean, show me your spot and I’ll help you. Then Naomi and Helen can do their own.”
The girls watched eagerly as Uncle Bobby dribbled the sticky syrup in a lacy pattern on the snow. Immediately it was cold and hard enough to break off big bites. Oh how good, how good it was! Soon they were all enjoying the sweetness of pure maple candy.
No one seemed very hungry for supper that night, and they didn’t need coaxing when bedtime came. As long as the weather held with thawing days and freezing nights, the maple sapping would continue.
One evening Mother made maple sugar candy. She boiled a large kettle full of maple syrup on the big black kitchen stove. Every once in a while she spooned a few drops into a cup of cold pump water. Finally she said, “Come see, girls, so you will know how to do this. The syrup I dropped into the cold water can be gathered into a soft ball and lifted out now with my fingers. That means that it has boiled long enough. Now I will take the kettle of hot syrup and set it into this larger one of cold water, to cool for ten minutes. Then we will beat it with a big spoon until it turns a light golden color and begins to thicken. After that, we’ll pour it into this big, shallow pan that I have buttered lightly. We don’t have pretty molds, or I would use them.”
How good it smelled! When Mother began to beat it with a wooden spoon, sure enough, it began to turn a lighter color. Naomi beat it for a little while too, then Mother finished, for it began to be thick and stiff. When she poured it into the big, flat pan, it looked like golden fudge.
How they all enjoyed it that night! Then Mother explained that she would put most of it away in a metal box with a tight lid. Every day, it would get a bit harder. Then it could be shaved with a sharp knife, or grated and used like brown sugar for their oatmeal. It could also be turned back into syrup for their pancakes by adding a little hot water.
When the girls went to bed that night, they thanked the Lord for all the good things He had for them in these big woods.