Read by Matilda Longbottom

I stumbled upon it amidst a clutter of forgotten treasures as I ventured into the depths of our cellar, a repository of 30 years worth of keepsakes and memories. Each item, once cherished, now seemed like a relic of a bygone era, ready to be relegated to the realm of discard. Yet, one find sparked a cascade of nostalgia—the maple tap.

In the tumultuous 1970s, my beloved and I harbored dreams of rustic living, seduced by the allure of the back-to-the-land movement. Armed with visions of self-sufficiency and inspired by the likes of “Mother Earth News,” we embarked on a journey to merge our urban lives with the natural world. A transformative Summer spent with dear friends in the rugged landscapes of Alaska only deepened our resolve.

Our foray into rural life led us to an ancient farmhouse in New England, where we embraced wood heat, cultivated gardens, and nurtured dreams of tapping into nature’s bounty. Nestled near our home stood a modest sugar bush, a cluster of maple trees whispering promises of sweet abundance.

With a nod to tradition and a copy of “The Maple Sugar Book” as our guide, we embarked on our maple sugaring adventure. Armed with secondhand taps and buckets procured from a taciturn local, we set out to coax nature’s elixir from the silent sentinels of our land.

As the Winter thaw gave way to Spring, we drilled, tapped, and collected the clear nectar of the sugar maples. Each day brought forth a new bounty, the rhythmic flow of sap mirroring the pulse of our newfound rural existence. Amidst subfreezing nights and sun-kissed days, we reveled in the simple joys of gathering nature’s gifts.

Our modest setup evolved with each passing year, guided by lessons learned and shared with dear friends who joined us in our sugaring pursuits. Together, we refined our techniques, improving our yields and savoring the fruits of our labor.

With each batch of amber syrup, we forged memories that would outlast our time in the countryside. Our endeavors became a celebration of life and friendship, a testament to the enduring bond between humans and nature.

Though our paths eventually diverged and the rustic charms of the countryside gave way to new adventures, the memories of our maple-sugaring days remained etched in our hearts. And as I held the maple tap in my hand, I knew it was more than just a relic of the past—it was a tangible reminder of the sweetness that life has to offer, waiting to be savored once more. ❖

Author Biography: Harvey Silverman is a writer and adventurer whose wanderlust has led him from the bustling streets of New Orleans to the serene landscapes of rural New England. With a penchant for storytelling and a deep reverence for nature, Harvey’s writing captures the essence of his varied experiences, weaving tales of resilience, friendship, and the enduring spirit of exploration. When he’s not penning his next adventure, you can find Harvey seeking inspiration in the great outdoors or sharing tales around a crackling campfire.