North of Boston

They aint much happened sence the last riting Moren a month ago I drove over to see a friend to order my maple syrup. They want no one in his sap house when I got there. A good fire was going, the place was full of steam and the sap was boiling lively. Pretty soon a crawler tractor comes grunting down over the hill, pulling a big tank of sap. The owner gets off, hooks up the hose and starts to siphon the sap.

I give him my order. Then he asts, "How about you and me getting a real old-fashioned bellyache?" I tell him that I'm his huckleberry and will go right over town and get the donuts and sour pickles.

When I get back he has the coffee brewing on the back of the evaporator and a big pan of thick syrup stewing on the frunt. A tub of snow is parked in frunt of the sap house steps.

He took a big serving spoon and poured the hot syrup onto the snow. It made a patch of clear brown candy, supple and warm. When he twisted it onto a fork and wadded it into his mouth, a few snow crystals was blended in, shining real pretty. Then I done likewise. We set on the steps and et till our mouths cloyed. Then we had half a donut each, half a pickle and a half a cup of black coffee. That put our taste back in business.

We set and et and settled the affairs of this world while the sap boiled away and the sun worked down. We cleaned up everything. He loosened his belt and grinned "Its good to sneak back and be a boy again, even if its only for an hour — thanks for helping me." You cant get mad at a guy like that.

I do wish that a cupple of you fellers could of set there with us. You might of liked it.