It’s easy to love this time of year. The days are getting longer, the winter thaw is in progress and the sap is flowing in the sugar bushes. While that last one might not be something everyone equates with the arrival of spring, for me it holds a special place in my heart.
I didn’t grow up in Toronto. In fact, I didn’t grow up in a city or even a town. Rather I was born and raised in rural Ontario and I’m a bit of country girl at heart. I didn’t live on a farm but both sets of my grandparents did and they lived close by so I feel like I kind of grew up on one (well, two to be exact) nonetheless. I had hundreds of acres of fields and forest at my disposal for adventures and many a happy memory did I make.
Though, none as sweet as during the early days of spring when my grandparents would start to make maple syrup. And we’re not talking modern methods with hoses and boilers but instead the good old-fashioned way with tin buckets and an open fire. I remember my siblings and I watching our grandpa expertly hand-tap all the maple trees around the house and up the road, hanging a bucket from each one when he finished. Then early each morning, and again late every afternoon, he would gather the sap. Carefully he would carry each bucket to be emptied into a large pan situated over a smokey fire. There he would stand, watching and stirring as it boiled down to pure maple syrup perfection. It was something his father had taught him and it was a priceless gift he was sharing with us.
It was an amazing and beautiful tradition to be a part of. It was the real slow food movement in action before a “movement” was required simply to help us to appreciate our food. It’s something that I hope to someday be able to share with my own children and grandchildren.
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