Little House in the Suburbs ...

It doesn’t seem that long ago when my children were reading the Little House on the Prairie series. They were enthralled with the pioneering adventures of Laura Ingalls and her family, working the land, trying for that “big crop”, never quite getting one, but almost.

My children were intrigued with what they ate, what they wore and how they lived.

When Fridley, Minnesota, was bestowed an uncommonly warm winter, followed by an even warmer spring this year, it motivated many to do early yard work. This included my own family, and we spent one of our glorious afternoons cutting dead tree limbs, stacking them into neat little piles to be used as firewood later-on.

One of these trees was a birch. My children wondered what was dripping out of it like tears, it looked like water.

My spouse, always eager to have a learning moment with them, explained it was sap. A discussion soon arose if you could make syrup with birch sap, or not. Would it taste like Maple syrup? How do you make it?

I was happy to have a theoretical conversation about this, but this conversation soon developed into a desire for a full blown experiment. This alarmed me, as I confess; I am not what you call “outdoorsy.” The thought of

anything close to an outdoorsy experience, makes me nervous.

To the great disappointment of my spouse, and the shock of many of my fellow Minnesotans, I utterly lack the Camping Gene, the Gardening Gene, and the Canoeing Gene (I also utterly lack the Baking Gene, but that’s another blog).

And while I enjoy hearing about, and looking at the imagery of our Northern Jewel, the Boundary Waters, the thought of me in it, plays out more like a nightmare than an invigorating adventure.

I am confident, had I lived in the days of Laura Ingalls, I would not have survived.

So I made excuses to not participate. There was laundry to be done, meals to be made, homework to be checked. Couldn’t this experiment wait?

After some healthy peer pressure from my loved ones, it was decided we would collect the sap, and try to make syrup. After all, how could I pass up an opportunity to feel like Laura Ingalls for a day?

After a little research I learned that birch syrup is not only a real product, it is very rare with the exception of Alaska. It is also expensive to make because it takes twice as much sap as it would to produce the same amount of Maple syrup.

Once the sap is collected, you must slowly evaporate the water off, to expose the sugar, which becomes the syrup.

We collected an ice-cream bucket or two of sap, and so the process began. I left it simmering and we went about our day. It was a pretty ordinary day, laundry to be done, meals to be made, homework to be checked, all the while my caldron steaming away.

But this caldron was a source of wonderment for my children. Was it really going to work?! What would it taste like?! When would it be done?! I realized then, that I was living one of those magical moments and I suddenly felt lucky to have recognized it.

It won’t be long after all, when my children will not be interested in homemade
experiments, or spending much time with me. I can predict this future as a parent with confidence, as I think about my past as one.

It was a blink or two ago that instead of children, I had infants. They smelled of baby lotion, clean blankets, mixed in with the undertow of scent that is babyhood. Soon, they grew to toddle about on unsure legs, their chubby little hands, dimpled and as soft as bread dough, holding onto mine.

There is no doubt about it, they are small people now. They no longer care to hold on to me, expect once in a great while. Days that use to hold eternity, are now replaced with busy activities and the daily distractions of laundry to be done, meals to be made, and homework to be checked.

The process of making the birch syrup ended up taking about a full day and half and yielded about a thimble full of syrup for each of us. We each had a small taste (it really does taste like Maple syrup), and then we put it in the fridge to save for a while.

When the kids are in school, I’ll pull it out every now and then and look at it. I think a little about Laura Ingalls and how different our lives are from hers. But mostly, I think about how something from my own backyard in Fridley, Minnesota could give me pause to enjoy my family for a day.

I am told that the sap collecting season this year was incredibly short, due to our warm weather. I’m glad I participated, when the season was here.