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From the February 2002 Conservationist

How Sweet It Is

By Donne Green

Great white clouds of steam billow against the blue sky. March air mingles with the scent of wood smoke and the hearty aroma of maple sap. For more than a century, smoke drifting from the Edwards family's sugar house has signaled the end of winter and the official start of spring.

In the Adirondack foothills of upstate New York, over the cool, moist soil in which maple trees thrive, Maple Hill Farm covers more than 1,000 rocky acres, 400 of which are designated as "sugar bush."

Day and night inside the board-and-batten sap house, family members load the fire box, check temperature gauges and subdue boil overs. Besides serving up samples of the latest batch of syrup throughout the fore to six-week sap run, owners Guy and Dorothy (husband and wife) share backwoods hospitality with a steady stream of customers, neighbors and curiosity seekers.

North American Discovery

The art of collecting and evaporating maple sap is an exclusively North American ritual. Iroquois legend explains that one March, a Chief names Woskis left his tomahawk embedded in a maple tree. When his resourceful wife noticed that dripping sap had collected in a nearby vessel, she reduced the liquid to its sweet essence by simmering it in the day's stew.

Later, the Iroquois developed a more efficient technique for preparing the sweet liquid. Fire-heated stones were dropped into sap-filled birchbark or clay bowls to reduce the water. The resulting syrup and sugar, called "sinzibuckwud"(meaning drawn from the wood) were soon incorporated into Native American diet and culture.

As Native Americans shared survival techniques with European settlers, maple sugar and molasses replaced more expensive can sugar. Produced by patriots throughout the Revolutionary War, it was sweet proof of the colonies' self-sufficiency. Later, abolitionists advocated the use of home-grown sugar in the hopes that it would halt the slave trade.

But North America's affinity for maple trees is not grounded in controversy. In 1881 an anonymous writer reported "There is a human and poetic quality in maples which is easily felt, and though the land would be worth more for its lumber than for its sugar, many farmers would no more part with their maple bush or orchard than with any precious heirloom."

A Family Tradition

The roots of the Edwards family tradition reach back to the 1850s and Guy's great-grandfather, Holden, who "sugared" for family use. By 1920, their syrup supplied the neighbor's needs as well, and in the '40s, Guy's father, Walter, again expanded the Edinburg, New York operation.

Following in his father's footsteps, Guy continues the maple sugaring tradition. "Guy loves the taste of it, the smell of it," Dorothy says. "He was born in this house and he never left home."

Tapping more than 3,000 sugar maples and setting out 5,000 buckets requires many hands, and so the Edwards tap the resources of an extended family network. Guy's sisters bake casseroles and cookies, and the couple's sons, nephews, cousins, and an occasional neighbor round out the hard-working crew. On any given weekend, Dorothy serves up home-style chicken, ham and potatoes to as many as 20 hearty appetites around the farmhouse kitchen table.

There are rules of thumb and folklore galore as to when to begin tapping, John Burroughs, 19th century naturalist, believed it was "the moment the contest between the sun and frost fairly begins."

And what causes sap to run is as mysterious as nature itself. Is it osmosis, atmospheric or root pressure, or temperature fluctuation? "People think that temperature is most important," Dorothy advises. "But it's the wind. If the wind is in the south or east, the sap just won't run." She repeats a syrup maker's golden rule: "When the wind is in the west, that's when the sap runs the best."

Even with the wind in your favor, work in the sugar bush is exhausting and tedious. Trudging through deep snow, boring holes and inserting taps to collect watery sap and turn it into rich syrup is a monumental task. First you need to cut and stack more than 25 cords of wood to fuel the evaporator. Then, in early March, after weeks of fretful weather watching, when the mercury registers between high 40s and low 50s daytime, and overnight temperatures stay in the high 20s and low 30s, experts agree it's time to begin.

But Adirondack mountain weather can be fickle and unforgiving. Should trees be tapped and buckets set out prematurely when there is a hard freeze overnight, Dorothy explains, the sap will expand and "you can end up with thousands of busted buckets."

Sap is gathered throughout the daylight hours, poured into a collection tank situated on a tractor-pulled wagon, and delivered to the "sugar shack." There, it is poured into a holding tank which channels the liquid into the evaporator. When the temperature reaches 219 F, or when the sap comes off the ladle in sheets, it's syrup. Then it is strained, graded and canned.

Even after months of preparation and round-the-clock hot and heavy work, yields of syrup are a unpredictable as the weather. Tallies penciled in on the sugar house wall reveal that a good year yields around 900 gallons. But, the family has celebrated a high of 1,400 gallons, and endured a low of only 250 gallons.

Embracing a Rustic Lifestyle

Since the days of earliest settlers, earning a living and feeding a family in remote mountainous regions has demanded dogged determination, unwavering optimism, and tireless effort. In that tradition, guy and Dorothy run a logging business, serve as school bus drivers and produce their own pork, beef, chicken, eggs and mild. Fifty head of dairy cattle are raised and sold as "replacement heifers," and it that's not enough to keep the couple busy from sunup till sundown, Dorothy grows and preserves her own vegetables. Reassured by knowing what's in the food she serves her loved ones, Dorothy says, "I'm very thankful for what we're able to do."

But Dorothy doesn't stop there. She also turns out mouth-watering candy, maple cream and sugar for local customers as well as hundreds of tourists who pass through the area each summer. The couple also barters for everything from help with harvesting to truck repairs. Describing it as a system where everyone gets exactly what they need- no questions asked- Dorothy adds, "We're always glad to help out."

Sale of the syrup provides one quarter of the couple's annual income. The bulk of the gallons, half gallons, quarts and pints are sold right from the farmhouse kitchen. Popular at Christmas, gifts bearing the Maple Hill Farm label make their way cross-country and overseas.

By now, it's obvious that Maple Hill Farm isn't any "get rich quick" venture. And why anyone would embrace the arduous lifestyle which husband and wife have shared for more than 40 years is a mystery to someone. "It's just something in the air," Dorothy says, "Guy's had a hand in making syrup since he was old enough to tote a pail behind him."

Guy's favorite evening snack is buttered bread slathered with syrup. His brother Bert's favorite morning beverage is half syrup-half coffee; and four generations have savored the flavor of Guy's mother's maple icing.

For the Edwards family, maple syrup is the sweet taste of home.

Photo: Thomas D. Lindsay, Jeff Green