Read by Matilda Longbottom

When I was a child, one story in an elementary school reader forever changed the way I thought about maple syrup. The tale began with four small children trudging through snowy woods, their bellies empty save for a few meager berries and nuts. The wind whipped icy frost into their faces, and hope seemed lost. But then, I turned the page—and there it was: a hollowed-out fallen tree glowing with molten, golden maple syrup. The children shrieked with delight, scooping the delicious syrup into their starving mouths.

For years, I assumed that’s how maple syrup was found in nature: ready to eat, bright and golden (though I did wonder why the syrup we had at home was always brown). Of course, Mrs. Butterworth’s and Log Cabin syrups weren’t pure maple syrup, but they sure tasted great on pancakes and waffles. Then one fateful day, I tried a “mapleine” syrup—a corn syrup-based substitute—at a restaurant in Maine. It was, in a word, yuck. At that point, why not just pour butter and brown sugar over your stack?

That culinary disappointment spurred my curiosity about how real maple syrup was made. When our local newspaper advertised a maple sugaring lecture at the Wissahickon Environmental Center, my family and I braved the chilly Philly weather to attend.

At the event, we were greeted by a massive trough, which we assumed was meant for the Fairmount Park horses. Our docent soon clarified that it was a replica of the kind of trough Native Americans once used for maple sugaring. They poured raw maple sap into the trough, then used stones heated in fire pits to boil and caramelize the sap into syrup. The ingenuity amazed me!

The docent explained that sap is mostly water with about 2% sugar, and the sugaring season lasts just four to six weeks. Freezing nights and thawing days create the pressure in trees that causes sap to flow. It takes nearly 40 gallons of raw sap to produce a single gallon of syrup—and the tree itself must be at least 40 years old before it can be tapped.

Still, I left that event with more questions than answers. How exactly does sap become syrup? Later, I turned to YouTube for clarity.

In modern sugaring, small holes are drilled into the trees, and taps (spouts) are inserted to direct the sap into buckets or tubing. The clear sap is then transported to a sugarhouse or collection tanks, where water is removed before the sap is boiled in stainless steel pans over wood- or oil-fueled fireboxes. When the temperature reaches 219°F, the syrup is ready to be filtered, rested, and graded for flavor and color before being bottled.

Today, I marvel at the beautiful little maple-leaf-shaped bottles in stores. They’re expensive, but they represent a labor-intensive process that dates back to Native American ingenuity. It’s hard to imagine old-time farmers trudging up and down snowy mountains to tap hundreds of trees, but their dedication brought us the sweetness we enjoy today.

And yet, for all the modern knowledge I’ve gained, I’ll never forget that childhood image—seared into my mind for over 65 years—of golden syrup gleaming in a hollow tree. It was a simple but unforgettable reminder of how something as ordinary as a tree could provide such sweet answers to life’s adventures. ❖

About the Author: Hannah Dougherty Campbell, a spirited wordsmith with a heart as lush as her garden, hails from the suburbs of Philadelphia. Inspired by the beauty of nature and the resilience of the human spirit, Hannah found solace and creativity in crafting heartfelt poetry. With a background in teaching and a passion for nurturing creativity, she imparts her wisdom through her creative writing classes, where she encourages others to explore the depths of their souls through the written word. Her cherished tradition of assigning flowers to personalities has blossomed into a family heirloom, enriching the lives of her loved ones and students alike. Through her work, she reminds us all of the delicate dance between nature and humanity, where every petal tells a story and every soul blooms in its own unique way.