“I cannot endure to waste anything as precious as autumn sunshine by staying in the house. So I spend almost all the daylight hours in the open air.”

— Nathaniel Hawthorne

Acer S., the tree guy notes… Acer saccharum.

We have other maples… Red maples (Acer rubrum) and black (Acer nigrum). We have a massive ash tree (Fraxinus) and a picturesque stand of birches (Betula). We have cedar and spruce and hemlock trees (Juniperus, Picea, Tsuga) but only the single sugar maple. I’d planned to tap that tree to try my hand at backyard sugaring, but hadn’t gotten around to it, and in retrospect I’m awfully pleased I didn’t; I’m sure I’d worry it was me what killed that tree.

Maybe it was lonely.

I think I’ll replant another sugar maple when all is said and done. Not a single sugar maple, but two. Just in case.

As Terry’s likely to turn out a crowd, the folks at Flying Pig are kindly requesting you let them know you’re coming — RSVP by phone at 802-985-3999 or by email at flyingpigevents@gmail.com — so they’ll know if they need to have overflow space for you and that towering stack of books you want signed.

Raging water on route 100 in Waitsfield, VT. AP Photo by Sandy Macys.

So it turns out that Irene wasn’t the “Storm of the Century” for folks on the Atlantic Seaboard — beach town and megapolis alike were spared the brunt of Irene’s wrath — but rural Vermont wasn’t so lucky. Torrential rains lingered idly over Vermont’s already soggy mountain terrain, swelling creeks and rivers into raging torrents that undermined roads, swept bridges downstream, and inundated homes and businesses, alike. Now villages up and down state are isolated islands, cut off from all directions by washed out roads and bridges… you just can’t get there from here.

Towns like Waterbury — the center of my working life for most of the last seven years — were inundated as rivers escaped their banks much like they did in Vermont’s historic flood of 1927… which was likewise caused by a wayward tropical storm that meandered its way up from the Caribbean. Folks — family and friends, alike — are mucking-out today; mud and foul, fuel-oil fouled water, and waterlogged possessions. The unsalvageable bits go to the curb, the rest: photos, family heirlooms, items imbued with meaning and memory are fussed over and set aside with guarded optimism.

Folks here are stubborn (though they might prefer the word, resolute.) And while Vermonters will get on with the business of repairing, rebuilding and renewing their communities, there’s aspects that simply can’t be patched and fixed-up, losses that can’t be recovered. Three people died in storm-related incidents. Historic clapboard buildings, and centuries-old covered bridges are bits of Vermont’s heritage that can’t be merely replicated and made aright.

In the wake of the storm I’m feeling both grateful for my good fortune — Irene treated my home here in Vermont with kid gloves —  and a bit guilty for my charmed life. I hope to make up for it by lending a helping hand this week.

Why yes, the earth did move for me, too.

Sugar Shack

The Sweet Stuff

Boiling down thousands of gallons of concentrated sap still requires the patience of Job, and a certain sort of mindfulness, as the difference between pure maple syrup and a burnt maply mess is a matter of only a few degrees temperature or a coupla ticks on the hydrometer. And so it’s little wonder that sugaring tends to be a family affair, with an experienced hand on the tap, and a broad back or two keeping the fire stoked well into the night. You can make syrup only when the sap is running; and when it’s running, it waits for no one.

Sugarhouses all over Vermont will be hosting their 9th annual Open House Weekend March 26-28, 2010. To learn more, visit the Vermont Maple Sugar Makers’ Association.

Mind you, this is heavy, wet stuff; surely the prodigious sort that (we’re told) Eskimos have a hundred words for. This is the stuff that sticks, that clumps and bunches on wet, black branches and gracefully-draped power lines alike, and on the occasion that the first leans a little too much on the second, then it’s good to have a backup power supply. A genny.

Meanwhile, it sure is pretty. And — fair warning — it makes for a right awesome snowball.

I mean, I’ve managed to go without updating Bloggle for a while at a time, but this is a stretch even for me.

I had the best of intentions, of course. And it’s only on the occasion that I picked up a bug and have been away from the office a couple days that I’ve found time even now to post something, so hey… this virus has been good for something.

Here’s hoping that you’re doing a better job of enjoying the change of seasons. Me… I’m a bit behind.