We who live in the north have five seasons:
Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, and
MUD season.

 March 30, 2020 - Monday morning
32 degrees/cloudy/windy
Pentoga Road

One of the nicer things about spring is that Sargie and I are able to sleep with our bedroom window open, something we do nightly eight months out of the year. We snuggle under the blankets, our arms and legs pretzeled in such a tangled mess that various numb appendages have to be awakened the next morning to regain any feeling. We especially love listening to the bubbling in the garden pond caused by the large circulating pump.

It may have snowed last night, but down deep, Sargie and I know that warmer weather is around the corner.

How do we know?

Duh, because we slept with our window open. 

Every true northerner knows that a little snow helps to keep the mosquitoes at bay

Well, it's all about the syrup, not the sap, but the syrup. (Sorry, that was my attempt to parody the Meghan Trainor song, All About That Bass.) 

Actually, that's not completely true. It's about both.

We boiled all day Sunday. Oh how we boiled.

Through rain, mist, wind, snow, and stampeding musk ox, (just wanted to see if you are really reading or just looking at the pictures) the fire was kept roaring in the wood box as the sap roiled overhead. I grew weary of continually adding water every few minutes, plus, I sensed I was doing something wrong. 

Though the sap was evaporating, the end batch was no closer to becoming syrup and ready to draw from the pan. At the rate we were going, the entire contents of the large pan, several gallons, would be ready to process at the same time. The system is designed so that an occasional "batching" can be made in smaller, more manageable, amounts.

What was I doing wrong?

Luke helps a buddy tap thousands of trees in Maine and ventured that I was adding too much sap at any given time. 

That got me to thinking.

There was a float box attached to the boiler (technically, it's an evaporator, but boiler is much easier to type). Knowing I didn't have a large holding tank or a way to mount the tank above the boiler so it would gravity feed into the box, I'd not ordered the kit. I figured on such short notice and for this year anyway, water could be added manually.

Doing it all by hand meant I had to continually stand by the boiler, adding little amounts at a time and it seems I was pouring in too much. It made for a long and tedious process.

We wanted to make a quick dash to town Sunday morning, but I was unable to leave the boiler for that long of a time. We surely didn't want the pan to boil dry and the wood box would need to be occasionally filled.

Hmmm. Hmmm. Wait. Wait. Hold on, I was having a deep thought.

What if....

I gave Sargie a short list of parts I needed and begged her to stop by the hardware store in town.

My girl was back home an hour later with what I thought was needed to make a sap auto fill system.

First, I needed to make a special hose-like thingamajig, an adaptor, to fit the float box. I had an old piece of hose lying around and cut it into needed sections, it worked perfectly.

Now that it was attached to the float box, what next?

Ah, a storage tank. A brand new pretty trash barrel would suffice.

A hole was drilled towards the bottom and a flange, one used for a bilge pump on a boat, was inserted.

You can come out now, Sargie
Actually, Sargie was holding the other side of the flange while I was tightening the outside. It was definitely a two person job.

 A plastic faucet was screwed into the flange. Our tank was ready for use.

Sargie's giving it a test run

Now comes the important part, that of hoping and praying the old Ford 8N tractor would start. Without it, it would be game over.

Nothing runs like a Deere... or in our case, a Ford.

We placed the barrel on the tines of the bucket and filled it with sap.

A hose was connected from the float box to the spigot and up into the air went the barrel.

With a slow leak in the hydraulics, that 2x4 holding the bucket is also a very important piece of the puzzle.

After an adjustment or ten, the new system worked flawlessly. We no longer have to stand by the boiler and add water by hand. The tank can be refilled by simply starting the tractor, lowering the bucket, and dumping in several five gallon pails of sap, something that has to be done two or three times during the entire day.

I've thought about patenting the process, but knowing it works best by utilizing a leaky, sixty-eight year old Ford tractor whose bucket is held up with a 2x4, I was fearful the demand might not be there. 

Most people prefer newer, more modern machinery and I'm not certain my method would be as efficient for them. For instance, if I had Mississippi Brother Garry's nice, shiny, power-everything, Kabota tractor, it might not work nearly as well. 

.... but I digress.

Meanwhile, anticipating boiling off our first batch of syrup, Sargie returned to the kitchen to prepare the first of umpteen quart jars.

She may be smiling on the outside, but what Sargie's really thinking is, "I'm tired, I'm cold, I'm wet, and I'd really like to go sit by the wood stove where it's warm and dry."

Since this was our first time using the boiler and not wishing to ruin several gallons of hard earned syrup, we opted to finish a much smaller batch than normal. 

The sap that was not quite syrup was poured into a stainless steel pot (used for boiling crabs in Alaska) and set on the propane burner. 

Much like making candy, the heat must be carefully managed and when the syrup is ready, IT'S READY. Just a few seconds one way or the other can make a huge difference in the quality of the finished product.

I'm using a hydrometer to check for the density of the syrup. A floating glass that resembles a weighted thermometer will signal when it's finished. 

Sargie and I ran the boiling syrup through a felt sock before pouring and sealing it in quart jars. The quality appears to be top notch and later, we gave it the ultimate taste test by enjoying hot, very fresh, maple syrup, poured over a couple of scoops of vanilla ice cream.

Sargie and I work really well together, but she has a bone or two to pick with me. First, I learned we don't throw dirty gloves on the kitchen table. I guess I can live with that.

If that weren't demanding enough, now she's after me to straighten up the boiling area outside. The girl says it looks like a bunch of hillbillies live here. 

I guess the final straw was when she saw an old kitchen chair sitting on the drive by the snowmobile. 

I don't know of any rule saying a guy can't boil in comfort.

It's finally daylight, but I'm unsure if we'll boil today. It's very windy and cold and since the wind howls through the wood shed with only a roof for cover, it wouldn't be nearly as efficient. Assuming the sap doesn't run today and I start the boiling first thing Tuesday morning, we should be in good shape.

Meanwhile, with Saturday night's deluge of rain, it appears the garden pond is about ready to overflow. I need to chip the ice out of the overflow so it doesn't back up into the yard.

After all, a man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...