Beth Lapin

Spring ahead! Just the words bring a quickening of the heart and spirit. But please explain to me how my cats have already adjusted their internal clocks and are yowling at the new 6AM for their breakfast.

Spring, rebirth, growth. I’ve seen crocuses and daffodils, pussy willows, and green shoots. And my friend Barb is tapping her sugar maples. These cold nights and warm days have been perfect for getting the sap running. Buckets are overflowing and the holding vat is brimming.

Now for the boil, boil, boil. Barb sends me home with a taste of the end result. I love maple syrup, always springing for the real stuff. I can’t wait for tomorrow morning’s waffles. I dip my finger into the amber liquid and taste. An exquisite shock runs through my mouth as the intensity of maple registers along all my nerves and synapses to my taste center. I remember maple sugar candies, shaped into leaves that I had as a child. Now, I’m spoiled. Even the real stuff isn’t good enough anymore. Oh, dear. Oh, yay. Life is good. Spring is here.