scribbling. And as usual, when he finished, he crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash, as though it were secret information.
He wrote down the Federation price per pound, which would be $2.89 in 2012, per the Federation’s recent announcement. Below that figure he wrote the cost for transportation and procurement, 12 cents a pound, which raised the total price to $3.01. At eleven pounds to the gallon, that meant a bulk price of $33.11 a gallon, which Bruce thought way too steep. To this figure Bruce factored in the exchange rate—at that moment the US dollar was worth 99 cents to the Canadian dollar. That brought the price to $3.05 per pound, Bruce said, which put the bulk price per gallon at $33.55, which was excessively high.
“The time to act is now,” Bruce said. He tossed the paper and walked away to help a customer.
Because of the early sap runs, producers were arriving with barrels of syrup to sell to Bruce. This was encouraging even though it seemed far too early in the season. One producer drove from New York with a trailer loaded with barrels. He stopped in at the Cooler, got weighed and graded, then came to the store with a receipt that brought a $9000 check. Liz wrote it out while Bruce talked with the producer, who said, “I started tapping on January twenty-seven. I’ve never done that before.”
Two other customers arrived, who had also driven from upstate New York. Bruce greeted one with, “How much have you made?”
“About five hundred gallons,” he said. He was tall and bearded, wearing a hooded sweatshirt.
“That’s about fifteen percent of crop, right?”
“Yeah,” he answered. Bruce introduced us in his usual way. He told him, “You should talk to this guy,” meaning me. “He’s a writer, you might end up in a book.”
He was from Glen Falls, New York, near the Vermont line, and he managed the sugaring operation for the other man he came with and who was now buying equipment. I asked what he thought of the weather as of late.
He told me he worked in construction and had been outdoors doing roofing. “It’s the first winter ever I didn’t have to wear long johns,” he said. “We’ve been working in short sleeves.”
I asked about his expectations of the season.
He smiled a little, and with an air of authority said, “It will be short, sweet, and of high quality.”
Everyone seemed to be talking about the weather that morning. Bruce overheard me talking about it, and in a quieter moment made a comment.
“Maple producers are a bunch of worrywarts, you know that, right? This is the time of the year when they worry about the weather. They are like corn growers, saying that the crop is lost two or three times in a single year.”
9
H ERE FOR THE HISTORY
T HE FIRST TIME I saw Peter Rhoades at work in his sugarhouse was an afternoon in March, in the 2010 season, after we checked tubing. A bear had passed some time making holes in the lines at the uppermost reach of the system, and we found the leaks by listening for the hissing sounds. We came down through the woods, the yellow bright light on the branch tips, the sky a deep New Hampshire blue. We walked down through the field toward his grandfather’s house, where his Aunt Margaret now lived, along the soft snow. Then we went to get his tractor, a 1947 Farmall, and we gathered sap, first from barrels and then from a steel tank, a milk tank. The tank was overflowing, due to a sudden run, so Peter called George at Bascom’s to tell him he should make a pickup.
Peter’s grandson, who was named after him and who they called Petey, went with us to gather sap and then back to the sugarhouse, staying there until he left to go to Aunt Margaret’s just before dark. Peter fired up the evaporator for the first time in 2010.
The Rhoades’s sugarhouse was about thirty feet from a brook that ran hard in the spring and trickled in the summer. It was close enough so they could wash equipment in it. The sugarhouse sat up against
He wrote down the Federation price per pound, which would be $2.89 in 2012, per the Federation’s recent announcement. Below that figure he wrote the cost for transportation and procurement, 12 cents a pound, which raised the total price to $3.01. At eleven pounds to the gallon, that meant a bulk price of $33.11 a gallon, which Bruce thought way too steep. To this figure Bruce factored in the exchange rate—at that moment the US dollar was worth 99 cents to the Canadian dollar. That brought the price to $3.05 per pound, Bruce said, which put the bulk price per gallon at $33.55, which was excessively high.
“The time to act is now,” Bruce said. He tossed the paper and walked away to help a customer.
Because of the early sap runs, producers were arriving with barrels of syrup to sell to Bruce. This was encouraging even though it seemed far too early in the season. One producer drove from New York with a trailer loaded with barrels. He stopped in at the Cooler, got weighed and graded, then came to the store with a receipt that brought a $9000 check. Liz wrote it out while Bruce talked with the producer, who said, “I started tapping on January twenty-seven. I’ve never done that before.”
Two other customers arrived, who had also driven from upstate New York. Bruce greeted one with, “How much have you made?”
“About five hundred gallons,” he said. He was tall and bearded, wearing a hooded sweatshirt.
“That’s about fifteen percent of crop, right?”
“Yeah,” he answered. Bruce introduced us in his usual way. He told him, “You should talk to this guy,” meaning me. “He’s a writer, you might end up in a book.”
He was from Glen Falls, New York, near the Vermont line, and he managed the sugaring operation for the other man he came with and who was now buying equipment. I asked what he thought of the weather as of late.
He told me he worked in construction and had been outdoors doing roofing. “It’s the first winter ever I didn’t have to wear long johns,” he said. “We’ve been working in short sleeves.”
I asked about his expectations of the season.
He smiled a little, and with an air of authority said, “It will be short, sweet, and of high quality.”
Everyone seemed to be talking about the weather that morning. Bruce overheard me talking about it, and in a quieter moment made a comment.
“Maple producers are a bunch of worrywarts, you know that, right? This is the time of the year when they worry about the weather. They are like corn growers, saying that the crop is lost two or three times in a single year.”
9
H ERE FOR THE HISTORY
T HE FIRST TIME I saw Peter Rhoades at work in his sugarhouse was an afternoon in March, in the 2010 season, after we checked tubing. A bear had passed some time making holes in the lines at the uppermost reach of the system, and we found the leaks by listening for the hissing sounds. We came down through the woods, the yellow bright light on the branch tips, the sky a deep New Hampshire blue. We walked down through the field toward his grandfather’s house, where his Aunt Margaret now lived, along the soft snow. Then we went to get his tractor, a 1947 Farmall, and we gathered sap, first from barrels and then from a steel tank, a milk tank. The tank was overflowing, due to a sudden run, so Peter called George at Bascom’s to tell him he should make a pickup.
Peter’s grandson, who was named after him and who they called Petey, went with us to gather sap and then back to the sugarhouse, staying there until he left to go to Aunt Margaret’s just before dark. Peter fired up the evaporator for the first time in 2010.
The Rhoades’s sugarhouse was about thirty feet from a brook that ran hard in the spring and trickled in the summer. It was close enough so they could wash equipment in it. The sugarhouse sat up against
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