It's been a wonderful winter, lots of snow, freezing cold and hot blazing fires, but now I'm ready for warm winds to lift my laundry hanging on the line. I want to dangle my feet off the dock and into the cool pond water. I want to hear the sound of outboard motors. I want to taste the sour lime of a vodka tonic while sitting on my deck rather than feel the burn of whiskey sipped by the fire. Today I watched the thermometer rise and fall. It reminded me of my children when they first climbed the barn ladder. Rung by rung, cautiously moving upward only to reach a point where fear caused retreat and slowly back down, rung by rung. As I poured my morning coffee, the thermometer read 8 degrees, by nine it had climbed to 15, now at mid day it stays firmly planted nearly where it started at 10 degrees. My husband and I were born and raised in Vermont. His parents were both native Vermonters. Only those born in Vermont understand the presumed importance of a Vermont birth. My brother was born in Boston and moved to VT with my parents when he was three months old. We never miss the chance to remind him that he's NOT and never will be a native Vermonter.
My parents, each being only children, left their parents in Pennsylvania and Wisconsin to raise their family in Burlington, Vermont. To them, I'm forever grateful. My mother loved winter. Her internal temperature was peculiarly hot. As a child, I knew it was VERY cold outside when she would trade her thin gloves for a pair of leather mittens. Both my parents embraced winter. We skied, we skated, we built amazing snow structures and there always seemed to be plenty of snow.
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| That's me in red and my brother behind in the checked coat. |
Dad would spend nights flooding the yard near our garage so we could spend as much time outside as possible skating with our friends. Although our family traveled often, I never remember us taking a warm weather school vacation. I do, however, remember going further north to Montreal or Quebec City so we could experience real winter!
My mother, brother and me in Stowe to watch the Nationals, around 1953 or 54.
No fancy ski wear and climbing by foot to access the trails.
Some of the snow sculptures created by the fraternities at the University of Vermont during Kake Walk (a winter festival no longer held) were ornate. There was competition between the fraternities and sororities. Lines of cars would drive through Burlington to see what had been created, often during the coldest nights.
As of February 16th, 2019,Vermont was experiencing the 6th snowiest winter on record. 81 inches of snow has fallen on the city of my birth, South Burlington, Vermont, which is 2 feet above normal. My mother would have loved every frozen inch of it! Here in Ripton, the fun began over Thanksgiving week. What was first seen as "just a taste of winter" was built upon and the snow never left. Snowmen built that week, lost their heads and their middles during the dieting rain of January, but their bases remained and are now buried under new snow. All Vermonters know of the "January thaw". In recent years, it seems to occur more often than just in January.
This month, after some rain and snow melt, the farm fields bordering Otter Creek flooded. This was followed by bitter cold temperatures turning the frozen fields and surrounding swamp into a skater's paradise. One could skate for miles.
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| Our family and two onlookers |
Hot dogs, marshmallows and hot chocolate!
Now, it's March and the snowbanks surrounding the house have lost some height. I'm able to see the dock that extends out over our pond, piercing through a blanket of snow. There are even some patches of dry brown grass between the house and barn. Mounded dirt tunnels indicate a subterranean highway being used this winter by moles. The dog will have fun investigating these. The nights remain cold, between 10 and 20 degrees, while the daytime temps are now in the thirties. It's sugaring season.
Sugaring is a family activity. Youngsters marvel at the way slightly sweet sap flows from the tree into the bucket. It's hard for them not to have a taste! I personally have never liked the taste enough to drink large amounts as some folks will. I prefer it as syrup.
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| These trees are in Lincoln, VT |
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| Grandchildren make great helpers! |
We no longer hang pails on our maples, but many in our town partake in backyard sugaring. It's a lot of hard work! In a few days it will be Open Sugar House weekend in VT. Most sugar houses invite the public inside to see the art of boiling maple sap into sweet sticky syrup. There might be plain donuts to dip in syrup or sugar on snow. Large houses often serve a full pancake breakfast. Sugaring is a time honored tradition in Vermont.
Years ago, sap buckets and spouts were made of wood. I have several old wooden sap buckets which I use as wastebaskets. I would assume that making wooden buckets was once an important trade.
Smoke and steam rising from the roof of a sugarhouse tells folks nearby that boiling is occurring. Boiling sap is often an end of day activity, often extending well into the night. Once the sap is on, the process has to be completed. Wood fired evaporators require attention. Sitting, watching the pan, can be a time to swap stories and visit with family, friends and neighbors.
Today, March 20, is officially the first day of Spring. The sun is warm enough on my front porch that I've dragged a plastic lawn chair from the cellar and placed it in the sun. I plan to use it while I watch the icicles drip and feel the sun's warmth on my face. It's going to be rejuvenating! Then, perhaps this weekend, we'll head to a local sugarhouse to sample Vermont's liquid gold.