Between the Phoebe and Sugarin' Time

Between  Phoebe and Sugaring Time

“Phoe-ee-be”, resounds in the distance ‘gainst white, blanketed hills.

We walk without speaking; bending our ear for an echoing, “drip, drip” of sap quickly

            filling buckets, yet unhung.

Strange, brown earth rises to meet the souls of our feet; awakened from its sleep beneath  

            a once-deep crust of ice and snow. 

This is a brief period; a wisp of time; a day, a week, depending on how weather turns.

The crust has failed; now too soft to follow creature’s trails toward hidden dens. 

The fox prints can be seen from last night’s hunt.

Senses are alive.  Balm is in the breeze.

No mittens or scarf encumber today.  Coats remain unbuttoned.

Our boots finally need not keep out winter’s cold and snow;

              --only the MUD, glorious mud!

I wrote this last year and am about three weeks late in posting it for this Spring. "Sugaring time" is certainly underway. Syd and I even saw two moths the other night, fluttering outside the porch window. The time for maple sugaring is drawing to a close soon. The nights have been quite warm. Snow on our north side of the Hill is holding tightly to the ground while the mud on the driveway steals your shoe as often as it gets a chance.

The phoebes were singing their little hearts out this morning; I suppose they're waiting for the buds to swell then burst forth their leaves, just like we are. It won't be long before we see the poplars and birches pale yellow-green appear on the gray hills. Syd always says that "it's like looking at a Bob Ross painting, the way the light greens are spattered across the mountains." He brings it up every year, noticing it before I do. 

Steam has been pouring from our neighbor, Mike's sugar house and the boys up the hill have a nice outdoor operation, with their woodpile nearby and sap buckets lining the driveway. Now and then you hear their snowmobile heading up the hill across the field, sled attached, going to gather.

"Oh, the drip, drip, drip in the bucket; Oh, the drip, drip, drip from the tree; Oh, the drip, drip, drip makes me want to take a sip from the old sap bucket on the maple tree." Syd sings this song; something he remembers from childhood. I'd never heard it before until he sang it at the beginning of a video he did about maple sugaring. He visited lots of old sugar houses and especially went in to see our friend, Jim's, operation. We like to call Jim, "Uncle Jim-ima". It is from him that we buy all of our maple syrup. He was pleased that Syd did the film, as his grandkids never had gotten to come and help him make syrup because it is while they are in school and they don't live nearby.

Well, if you come to the hill soon, watch the mud and take it slow. If you can, stay in the middle of the road.
Thanks for stopping by!