Going to the Sugar Shack

A true Canadian "cabane à sucre"...(Sugar Shack)

The nights grow longer, the moon is right, the wind makes it's way from the southwest...a Quebec tradition rises with the morning sun. Within a shack among the maple trees sticky hands boil the sweet water. Then one hand fills the glass jars while the other one gets ready to piles the plates and fill the bowls for a family style dinner.

We all joined as light fell behind the maple groves. We were in for a "sweet" night. The fiddler tapped his foot providing a beat for those in need, accompanied by the wooden spoons within the hands of guests. Eager feet, ambitious smiles and laughter filled the room. The smell of pea soup, baked beans,ham and potatoes wafted through the air. Like ketchup to hot dogs, maple syrup spreads over the traditional meal. Heaping stacks of crepes lay in front of us. Without effort my fork slices through, syrup trickles down my chin funny enough I fit right in. I make no effort to wipe it away knowing another one is sure to follow. Sitting back in my chair after inhaling my share of Canada's best I see the pride rising in the chest of the native men. Ancestral spirits keep the Quebecoise humming.

Bouncing out of our seats on a sugar rush we bounce outside. The silver bridal is polished, manes brushed, adorned with bells the horse drawn wagon awaits. Gliding through the woods on this crisp night my husband holds my hand. He reads my mind. I would rather be riding on the back of the horse than sitting within. He pats my leg and gives me a compassionate smiles. My heart melts a little.


One last experience before a visit to the dentist to fill my cavities. Hot syrup is poured over a patch of snow, with a wooden sticks I began to roll the amber goo....I'm not exactly sure what you call it outside of yummy. (It's called Tire sounds like tear. Not 100% sure.)

The collection of water one drip at a time, filling buckets, creating a golden bond for generations to come.