That falling-down sugar shanty came to mind the first time I read this reminiscence penned by my grandfather, known to readers of the old Potter Enterprise as Golly.
"A memory of the days of youth –
A sugar shanty 'way back in the woods in springtime. One side of the shanty open and facing the arch where maple sap was boiled into syrup.
There was a very slow fall of snow, maybe two inches during the whole day.
A wooden sap bucked covered with a sheepskin that still carried its wool, made a throne fit for a king in the warmth from the crackling and cheering fire with its bed of live red coals.
A lad alone keeping the fire burning. A good book of adventure to read when not firing the arch and watching the flow of sap into the boiling pan.
Lunch time. A pail containing slices of bread and butter, sweet pickles, cookies and uncooked eggs. The business of a dipper of hot sap and the eggs placed in it and set back int he pan of sap to cook.
Not a sound in the woods, not the slightest breath of wind, silence.
Never was a king happier over his repast than was this teenage boy. Golly knows as he was the boy."
And since this is the weekend when maple producers of this century are throwing open their doors to welcome visitors, how about this idea Golly floated in the 1950s?
"A municipal sugar bush for Coudersport-- Splendid idea! Wonderful publicity for Coudersport, and here's hoping the idea makes some money for Coudersport's Chamber of Commerce. This is a community effort and it may produce benefits to the town and county that cannot be foreseen. Here's hoping the whole town and community will go along enthusiastically."
1 comment:
When my brother and I were kids, we tapped all the maples around the block on Cartee Street and collected the sap before school. It was boiled down in a big pot on the old gas stove. Not much yield, but we boiled it until it was almost on the point of crystallizing, then threw spoonfuls on the snow outside--instant maple candy. There was also an old sugar shed at George Mitchell's camp on Moore's Run/Black Diamond where my father held his annual clambake--the old evaporating pan was used to cook the clams. We often stayed overnight at the camp the night after the clambake. One such night, my grandfather Johnston promised to show me something magical. He took me out to the sugar shed and put some birchbark on the hot coals. "I have the magic breath," he said, and blew on the coals. And to my amazement the birchbark burst into flames!
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