Winter Dunderland

It’s snowing, right now, flurrying in a way that will stick to the sour taste in my mouth if not to the ground. My seedlings are dying to see the light of day, and I’m wilting right behind them.

Oh, but I could candle-dip melodrama on and on (being stuck inside and all), but I have a Tip For Self-Sustainable Cheapskates to share: we discovered the secret to inexpensive sap-filtration. And that secret is: the ass-end of old (but clean!) panties, cut out and draped over a plastic coffee filter holder. A friend insisted we could make twice as much money filtering through unclean undergarments and selling to undesirables, but this year’s output is for the enjoyment of ourselves and close friends, all of whom are subjected to regular earfuls of our filth any time they want it. But the knickers did the job where paper towels, microfiber cloths, and #2 Merlitas failed. It somehow seems just right given the other details of our operation. (And if you’re the friend or family feasting over a jar right now, let me say again: they were clean! Honest!)

For those keeping tally, we had taps in from March 3 to April 12, and yielded +/- 3 gallons of syrup from 175 gallons of sap, not including all the stuff that was spilled, lapped up by the young person who frequents this joint, or burned over by someone asleep at the job. Someone’s always asleep at the job. I don’t even know who invited Someone up here, but he really ought to go back to the burbs. And take the damned snow with him.

In unrelated but equally important news, the Mud Dood is again at our mercy, as the trail up to camp has finally melted off enough. Given the length of the winter and the size of our back muscles, we were more than excited to get it rolling again, which of course means we’ve spent the better part of the past three weeks beaching it up the path twenty feet at a time. Last weekend, finally, we cleared it, or rather, The Native cleared it. The second I got behind the sticks, I found the last remaining length of snow and promptly parked it right on top of it. And, after The Native came to the rescue and graciously pushed it out, I managed to do the very same thing, in the very same spot, the very next day. When the snow isn’t totally screwing with me, the Mud Dood is. Because once Somebody’s been banished, anthropomorphism is the logical next step, and one day, when the Mud Dood least expects it, I’m going to beat the shit out of IT, for a change.

(From the tenor of things, it’s whiskey time at Cooter Hollow).