We made a visit to a local sugar house yesterday. Our maple syrup supply was out. The sun was shining and the sky was baby blue with nary a cloud in sight. The pot holes were drying up along the country road. A slight breeze shook the bare branches, waking them to bud.
The elderly French Canadian couple still processing the sap were as sweet as their syrup. Eyes were twinkling above their masks. Every customer was a “Dear” and handled individually. The old wooden sugar shack was full of delicious smells and treats – syrup, candies, maple butter. I don’t know which I needed more, the Grade A amber fluid, or the warm wishes given to me.