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Walking up the hill my shoes squish in the layer of mud which was once my driveway.  The rain/snow mix falls gently from the sky ‘ticking’ off my jacket.  Passing the pond I startle the mallard duck pair who was hiding in the cattail reeds.  Off they fly across the driveway to the other pond looking back at me as if to say, “You have some nerve lady!”  Closer still to the maple trees and the woodchuck hiding behind the old spring snickers at me and lumbers away; somehow knowing that I have no interest in bothering him.  Puddles hiding underneath last year’s grass suck in my foot as I cross the field to the maple trees.

Walking ever closer to the trees, I wonder how much sap awaits inside the glimmering silver buckets.  I set down my collection container, remove the top and voila – ½ bucket full of beautiful clear maple sap.  Four more buckets await, actually five, but one of them is almost always empty; we probably should have moved the tap, but we figured the damage has already been done.  No need to injure another tree so that we may benefit from its sugary sap; she can keep it this year.  Three buckets emptied and my five gallon collection container is dangerously full.  Final bucket – filled right to the tippy top, the sap rippling gently at the rim in the light breeze – just in time!  The final sap bucket emptied, it will be a slow walk back to the house because I didn’t bring the lid to the collection bucket.

Before lifting the 40+ pound bucket and walking back to the house, I pause looking down the hill over the farm.  The rain/snow now dripping from the hood of my jacket, the sap spilled on my jeans getting that much colder, and the moisture seeping through my worn out winter gloves; I stare contently back toward the lake.  Even from the top of the hill I can hear the rooster crowing from the open door of the coop, almost complaining about the precipitation which is keeping him inside today.  Brush from the recently trimmed apple trees rests beside them awaiting the return of the tractor to be picked up and either added to the campfire wood pile or chipped for mulch around the garden and flower beds.  The brook has risen today with the weather and cruises at a dull rumble through the pond and down towards the lake.  Although the ice is almost gone from both ponds, that which remains on the lake is holding on till the very last minute.  The dog stares out at me from the bedroom window as if to say, “You are NUTS for going out in that weather.”  Freshly sprouted pepper plants shiver slightly in the greenhouse, wondering if I am going to turn on the small heater to chase away the chill of this Vermont spring day.

Standing at the top of the hill, moisture permeating all of my outerwear, long walk back to the house with a heavy bucket; there is no where I would rather be.