Syncopated Spring: Embracing the Music of Nature's Swings
Keep up the fire, it's maple syrup time
Musical Pairing: Scott Joplin’s “Maple Leaf Rag”, Pete Seeger’s "Maple Syrup Time", "Sugar Shack" by Jimmy Gilmer and the Fireballs, "The Maple Leaf Forever" by Alexander Muir, “Maple Sugar" by Norman Blake and lots of good toe-tapping banjo picking, which makes a sticky syrupy family dance with the buckets
March is a time of wild and unpredictable weather, where one minute you're basking in sunshine and the next you're bundled up in a parka, shoveling snow off your driveway. It's enough to make your head spin! But amidst all the chaos, nature is putting on a show that's not to be missed.
The symphony of March is full of intricate rhythms and tempos that reflect the sugar season. It's like a rollercoaster ride for your emotions, with subdued moments followed by sudden bursts of excitement. The wind picks up, the sky changes, and you can feel the energy building to a climax. Will it be a storm or a blue sky day?
But amidst all the fluctuations, there's one constant: the maple trees are coming alive. Their sap is flowing like a river, providing the raw material for the sweetest of all nectars. It's a reminder that life is full of magic and wonder, waiting to be discovered by those who are willing to slow down and pay attention.
And that's exactly what we do during the ancient ritual of maple sugaring. As we work to rebuild and repair the sugar shack in the maple grove, we find ourselves tapping our toes to the syncopated rhythms of Scott Joplin's Maple Leaf Rag. Its erratic patterns and changing tempo reflect the sudden swings of the spring weather, from warm spells to sudden freezes.
In this sacred space, time and place become one as we tap the trees and gather the sap. We're following in the footsteps of generations before us who celebrated the land and the seasons through the tradition of maple sugaring. It's hard work, but it's also infused with energy, humor, and a sense of playfulness that echoes the jaunty jig of the weather.
As we boil down the sap into syrup, neighbors come from far and wide to help. It's a community effort that's infused with the sweet melody of life. And when it's all said and done, we have liquid gold to savor and enjoy for the rest of the year.
So when the moody March weather starts to get you down, remember the syncopated rhythms of spring and the sweet traditions that connect us. With a lot of humor and a splash of hope, we will weather the storms ahead and find joy in the natural rhythms of life.
“To everything - turn, turn, turn”
“And the seasons they go round and round… /… In the circle game."
It was lovely to listen to Scott Joplin “maple leaf rag“ while reading this. It’s all very evocative of childhood memories that I never had growing up in suburban New York. Yes, we would always eagerly await the arrival of that large blue rectangular tin gallon can of delicious Vermont maple syrup that would arrive each year from a farm adjacent to my grand parents outside West Brattleboro… Never quite understanding what kind of labor of love went into producing it. 40 to 1 ratio? Wow – 40 gallons of sap to bring that one beautiful gallon to our kitchen.
But the joy of tapping into a maple tree, like the joy of frolicking in the water by a beaver dam or making mud pies… These joys are forever lost to me yet happily brought back to life in the magnificent writings and recollections of the Celinas of Singing Bridge!
So many happy memories in this piece. As children we would "help" my grandfather empty the sap buckets into a large metal tank on wooden runners that was dragged through woods behind his bulldozer. Some of the finished product was always saved and boiled even further to be poured over fresh snow and hardened into maple candy. E III and Annie loved visiting the sugar house...one sunny spring day we brought along an empty wine bottle as a syrup container of last resort and allowed five year old Elisha to carry our precious cargo back down the hill. Scarcely able to contain his excitement, he ran most of the way...until he literally disappeared into an enormous mudhole on the North Bridgewater Road. The rest of the hike back was a trail of tears...but he never let go of that bottle.