Boiling and Bottling
Over breakfast, Bill has the record book out to check historical temperatures for this time of year. At four degrees, this is about twenty lower than the average low, but not quite an all-time record.
It doesn’t really feel that cold when we go out to check the fire in the sugar shack but I’m pretty well bundled: two layers of wool shirts, ski pants over thermal leggings, a puffy coat under another coat, polar fleece scarf, knit hat. It’s just my nose poking out, and I can feel the prickle of water vapor freezing in my nostrils. But the layers are working well: it’s comfortable to hang out by the steaming pans of sap, leisurely skimming foam and debris off the top.
Overnight, the fire was banked: a couple of logs tossed in and the vents closed. Too much heat without close supervision threatens to boil over and burn: a waste of the whole batch, and a big mess to clean up. So we left it with at least four inches of sap in each pan, and most of that is still there in the early morning when Rick pokes up the fire. The sap is much reduced; now, it fits in just one boiling pan.
We also go out into the woods to gather an “emergency bucket” of cold sap just in case it starts getting too hot. The pails on the trees are frozen solid, but I’m able to break the ice on top of the refrigerator with a stick, and Eileen dips out a couple of gallons to bring back.
Now, we’re all gathered around to check the Brix of the liquid (essentially, its sugar concentration) with a hydrometer, a glass rod marked like an old thermometer, with a very specific weighting at the bottom. I hold the hydrometer in a tall, thin metal vessel while Bill scoops hot sap with a dented saucepan. Once the measuring vessel is full to overflowing, the hydrometer sits upright.
“It’s not bouncing yet,” Bill assesses.
Once more water evaporates off, the sugar from the sap will make the liquid more dense and the hydrometer will begin to float just above the bottom of the vessel. You read the Brix by seeing which line on the glass rod is even with the level of the liquid (though it can be tricky, with the sugar foam).
I’ve written out my meeting schedule on a yellow notepad so we can schedule the important parts of the sugaring process around them. We’re trying to get the bottling done by 11:30am. I think we’re in luck; by ten, the hydrometer has begun to float. We bring out big boiling pots; the last little bit, we’ll finish up on the stove.
In the meanwhile, we’ve been setting up the kitchen for bottling. Glass jars have been sanitized in the dishwasher, which is kept closed to maintain heat. Newspaper is down on the floor, and that covered with thin plastic cutting boards. I know from honey harvest that the sticky mess is probably not containable, but it does help to try.
The bottling process is quick and hot. There is a homemade stand for a big double filter: felted wool on the outside, paper on the inside. Underneath that, there’s a basin to catch the fresh hot syrup. Eileen and I take our places on the floor with funnels as the Brix level rises in the boiling pots. Rick stands ready to pass us sterile glass jars, and Bill has all the jar rings and lids laid out to seal.
As soon as the hydrometer rises to the marked red line (two-thirds sugar), the boiling syrup gets poured through the filter. We scoop and bottle, filled jars get capped and flipped to seal. Within minutes, the batch is done.
Cleanup is no small task, though we’ve been relatively neat. The big wool filter is full of a gritty sludge called sugar sand.
“You can try it,” Mary Ann offers dubiously, so Rick and I do. Sure enough, it tastes like maple-flavored sand. I look it up later; it turns out to be mostly calcium malate, one of the most bioavailable forms of calcium — though I wouldn’t recommend it outside of a swallowable capsule.
Mary Ann washes out the filter for re-use next sugar run.
In the meanwhile, my attention is on the main product of our labors: beautiful rows of maple syrup, sealed in jars to keep until we’re ready for it- all except one, the last jar, which didn’t get all the way filled. That one is for pancakes tomorrow.
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