MAKING MAPLE SUGAR.—PART I.
There is no part of farming that a boy enjoys more than the making of maple sugar; it is better than "blackberrying," and nearly as good as fishing.
And one reason he likes this work is that somebody else does the most of it. It is a sort of work in which he can appear to be very active, and yet not do much.
In my day maple-sugar-making used to be something between picnicking and being shipwrecked on a fertile island, where one should save from the wreck, tubs and augers, and great kettles and pork, and hen's-eggs and rye-and-indian bread, and begin at once to lead the sweetest life in the world.
I am told that it is something different nowadays, and that there is more desire to save the sap, and make good, pure sugar, and sell it for a large price.
I am told that it is the custom to carefully collect the sap and bring it to the house, where there are built brick arches, over which it is evaporated in shallow pans, and that pains are taken to keep the leaves, sticks, ashes and coals out of it, and that the sugar is clarified.
In short, that it is a money-making business, in which there is very little fun, and that the boy is not allowed to dip his paddle into the kettle of boiling sugar and lick off the delicious syrup.
As I remember, the country boy used to be on the lookout in the spring for the sap to begin running. I think he discovered it as soon as anybody.
Perhaps he knew it by a feeling of something starting in his own veins—a sort of spring stir in his legs and arms, which tempted him to stand on his head, or throw a handspring, if he could find a spot of ground from which the snow had melted.
The sap stirs early in the legs of a country boy, and shows itself in uneasiness in the toes, which, get tired of boots, and want to come out and touch the soil just as soon as the sun has warmed it a little.
The country boy goes barefoot just as naturally as the trees burst their buds, which were packed and varnished over in the fall to keep the water and the frost out.
Perhaps the boy has been out digging into the maple-trees with his jack-knife; at any rate, he is pretty sure to announce the discovery as he comes running into the house in a state of great excitement, with "Sap's runnin'!"
And then, indeed, the stir and excitement begin. The sap-buckets, which have been stored in the wood-house, are brought down and set out on the south side of the house and scalded.
The snow is still a foot or more deep in the woods, and the ox-sled is got out to make a road to the sugar camp. The boy is every-where present, superintending every thing, asking questions, and filled with a desire to help the excitement.
It is a great day when the cart is loaded with the buckets, and the procession starts into the woods. The sun shines brightly; the snow is soft and beginning to sink down; the snow-birds are twittering about, and the noise of shouting and of the blows of the axe echoes far and wide.
In the first place the men go about and tap the trees, drive in the spouts, and hang the buckets under. The boy watches all these operations with the greatest interest.
He wishes that some time when a hole is bored into a tree that the sap would spout out in a stream, as it does when a cider-barrel is tapped.
But it never does, it only drops, sometimes almost in a stream, but on the whole slowly, and the boy learns that the sweet things of the world have to be patiently waited for, and do not usually come otherwise than drop by drop.
Then the camp is to be cleared of snow. The shanty is re-covered with boughs. In front of it two enormous logs are rolled nearly together, and a fire is built between them.
Forked sticks are set at each end, and a long pole is laid on them, and on this are hung the great iron kettles. The huge hogsheads are turned right side up, and cleaned out to receive the sap that is gathered.
The great fire that is kindled is never allowed to go out, night or day, so long as the season lasts. Somebody is always cutting wood to feed it; somebody is busy most of the time gathering in the sap.
Somebody is required to watch the kettles that they do not boil over, and to fill them. It is not the boy, however; he is too busy with things in general to be of any use in details.
He has his own little sap-yoke and small pails, with which he gathers the sweet liquid. He has a little boiling-place of his own, with small logs and a tiny kettle.
Directions for Reading.—In the second line of the lesson, after the word more, a pause should be made for the purpose of giving special effect to the words which follow. This is called a rhetorical pause.
In the third and fourth lines, point out the rhetorical pauses.
Language Lesson.—Let some pupil explain the meaning of the third paragraph of the lesson.
Change the verbs in the last paragraph so as to indicate future time.
LESSON LXX.
grim'y, dirty.
re al i za'tion, the act of coming true.
in vent'ed, found out; contrived.
per mit'ted, allowed.
dis solved', melted; broken up.
a vid'i ty, eagerness.
re duced', made smaller in quantity.
sen sa'tion, feeling.
crys'tal lize, change into hard particles of a regular shape.