LET ME EXPLAIN...

Maple In the County, the long awaited, syrupy-sweet, local harbinger was this past weekend. We were able to take in a few of the events with our daughter and Grandson. So, if you didn't make it, Let Me Explain...

We wrap little Prince Soren up and our shoes squelch in the muddy parking lot. Renegade snow banks, like pale ghosts, hide up against walls. The air feels cooler as you near them. 

I carry my grandson in my arms, explaining everything as I go. "Look at these barrels and the beautiful wood!". Inside is humming with activity. People are milling around tasting wine at the bar. There is a large group of beautiful young women, part of a wine tour, and looking very sophisticated as they lightly hold their wine glasses and chatter like song birds to one another above the din.   

I take Soren over to the huge open fireplace and let him feel the hot kiss it plants on our faces. "HOT!" I say, but like every other human, he is entranced by the dancing flames and embers, the crackle of the wood. If I set him down, he would crawl right into the belly of it. 

A couple of chefs are working their craft: Carrot soup and a cheese fondue, both in a beautiful bread bowl and infused with maple are on the menu. 

We order one of each to share. The carrot soup is perfectly balanced, topped with creme fraiche, greens and a drizzle of maple syrup. 

We make our way to Kinsnip. I love their whiskey-tinged maple syrup and wanted to see their home base. The parking lot has a small lake in it and as we drive in we watch a family push their van out of a muddy rut. It is raining in earnest now and we pull out the umbrella and wrap up the Little Prince. 

In one of the back barns is a woman who makes barrels. We enter through the low ancient door into a wood beamed quiet space. The big Bernese Mountain dog lumbers over to greet us but soon settles back beside the warm wood stove, head resting on the ancient floor, as the woman explains her craft. 

The main house is an exquisitely compact Victorian that I would pay money to tour, but we are only allowed in a back room where product is sold.

Soren is sending signals we are now on borrowed time before he lets us know what we are all feeling - tired. So we head home, listening to the windshield wipers swishy lullaby. 

Before bed I take Lulu out for her bed-time walk. The dark is alive with the sounds of water: tapping on cars, dripping off eavestroughs, rushing little waterfalls into drains. The quiet hush of winter is gone, maple syrup is running in the veins of trees, robins chirp with delight at the spongy malleable soil, spring is here. 

Good Night.