Tonight, my ears sting and itch with a virus. Throat is sore and nose runs. My heart however races like a child's because tomorrow we drive to the trees, our trees, my trees and begin our right of spring. Tapping the maples. This will be my 9th or is it my 10th or 11th season of mapling and each year I fill with youthful excitement on the first warm day in March.
So, tomorrow, sick or not, we will drive the 13 miles to our permitted site in the "Chip" with buckets, spiles, drill and taps. We'll stop first at the "Grandmother" tree or rather her body. Last year we arrived to find her lying down, holding up one last hurrah of buds, severed at the waist by some fierce gust of wind. I sat at her base in tears, sad to see her go, but understanding this was the way of such things.
We will offer tobacco and set to hand drilling holes in the maple forest. We could use power tools but that doesn't seem right. We should have to labor, just like the trees, for this reward. We will listen for that certain squeak of the drill bit. The sound that will tell us, yes, we are on time, the trees are beginning their run.
And yes tomorrow, we will give ourselves to the trees. They will own us for as long as the sap runs. We will visit every day to take what they give and be thankful for each clear sweet drop in our buckets.
Tonight, daylight savings is welcome, because it brings me tomorrow one hour sooner.
Peace
Karen
