A couple of weeks ago, the tiny town of Hebron, Connecticut (Est. 1704) held its annual Maple Fest, featuring visits to several local sugar houses, along with pancake breakfasts and "hamburgs" at the VFW hall. I decided to attend.
Here is an old sign that shows how things used to be done.
The Hebron Historical Society is located in a restored school house, along with some artifacts of the original building, including a copy of Noah Webster's Spelling-Book.
Here's and old maple bucket. This was preferred method of collection in days gone by, and for a lot of hobbyists today. However, most operations have replaced these with plastic tubing that leads downhill to plastic barrels near the sugar house, simplifying collection.
This image shows the tap.
I talked with a man who introduced himself as a “fourth generation Maple Syrup maker.” He explained why the buckets need roofs. Apparently it’s not unusual to find a mouse drowned in a sap bucket, which then creates a moral dilemma: toss the sap or cook the mouse-infused sap.
Maple cotton candy made with 1 part maple sugar, 2 parts white sugar:
Lots of wood is needed to fire up the Leader Evaporator. I learned that there is a big secondary market for evaporators in New England, so that you can upgrade your first evaporator without losing money on the old one.
This picture shows the whole set up. The blue barrels hold sap.
Sap runs through several chambers in the evaporator. Successive chambers holds a progressively denser syrup.
I asked this gentleman, the proprietor of one of the small sugar houses, what grade of syrup he likes best. He told me that people in the know always want the very last bottle of the season. This is what is called grade B, or commercial grade. The more expensive the syrup, the less desirable! Sounds like a true Yankee conspiracy to me.
I also asked him what was the strangest thing he had ever seen while making maple syrup. I never could have anticipated his answer, but it's certainly one to warm the cockles of any LTH-er's heart. Apparently, he had once come across a raccoon standing on its hind legs, washing a corn cob in a sap bucket.
Man : I can't understand how a poet like you can eat that stuff.
T. S. Eliot: Ah, but you're not a poet.