It's one of the rites of spring, hanging the sap buckets and boiling in the garage. I get home from work and spend my evening sitting by the propane cooker, skimming the sap, waiting for the water to evaporate. Usually I take along a good book to keep me company. As the steam swirls around my head in a sweet fug, I stir the sap and read. The chilly damp air makes me hug the cooker, warming myself by the burner.
Last year, we tapped four trees and got approximately one gallon. This year, John's tapped seven trees, including Big Bertha, our aging maple that needs to come down this spring. She's giving us the last hurrah.
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