As an Old English Sheepdog, I don’t stray too far from my pack, that is, James and Ron. They don’t need to put me on a leash when we go out walking or hiking in the woods. Sure, the occasional scent will grab my attention, but if either of them is out of my sight, I backtrack to find them.
Because of this, I had a hard time understanding why they spent hours trying to teach me to come to them. They refer to it as the command “come.” As you may have read two weeks ago, I’m not enamored with dog food. They discovered this rapidly. Once I understood what they meant when they yelled out “come,” I went running to them. What would they reward me with? Dog food. I was quickly trained not to come to them when they commanded me to do so.
Then a day arrived when James and I took a ride to the market. While I obediently stayed in the car, James went inside and bought liverwurst. Once I smelled it after he got back in the car, I was hooked. He could ask me to do anything, and I would do it so long as I was rewarded with a sliver of liverwurst: A bit of heaven on earth.
When James and Ron would call out to me, I’d beat a trail to them. They would stand about three hundred feet apart, and I would run from one to the other for that slice of the sweet life. Of course, they also considered it a good form of exercise for me, but I didn’t care. I would have made a dirt path between them if I could have had liverwurst all day.
Wouldn’t you know it? A day arrived when neither of them would use the sweet smell of liver again. I won’t go into detail, but suffice it to say that the divine aroma lingered long after and overcame any other disgusting stink. Yeah, I think you might have gotten it. Enough said.
Maybe they should have tried bacon bits, or chicken, or beef tips. Something that didn’t leave a residual odor you know where. Like I said, dog food doesn’t interest me, even if made with those ingredients, or even with lamb. It simply is not a good training tool for dogs like me. However, canines that relish their food will enjoy it being used as a tool for teaching.
Speaking of sustenance to be relished, James and Ron love Vermont’s maple sugar. They put it on, what seems like to me, everything, especially during the winter. You name it, pancakes, waffles, bacon and eggs, oatmeal, fruit, roasted vegetables, and much more. James even makes cookies with a maple sugar. Because of this, I thought the poem James wrote about this delightful flavor would be appropriate for this week’s post. Without further ado, here is that poem for your reading pleasure.
Late winter’s tepid days and freezing evenings spawn the
sap’s ascent from maple trees continuing a cycle from
ground to table – from yesteryear to today –
a journey of toil and time and delight.
Eastern Woodland Indians scored trunks and
trapped sap in hollowed logs; early
tintypes exemplify expansion with wooden
buckets and tanks on toboggans; more recently
metal pails appeared – rusted ones my dog, Trek, and I
discover while wandering in a
grove of wolf maples.
Plastic tubing like drunken spider patterns appear
today within the sugarbush. Hoses hand humid fluid to
electrified vessels consecutively conveyed to
evaporators for boiling. The
result: thick, sweet essence, perfect for our
visiting friends’ breakfast of flavored bacon and
syrup smothered pancakes, while Trek’s
company receives maple tasting treats.
Early Colonial commerce produced sugar
products. Freed from foreign sweets helped herald our
independence. We stand proud that the sweat of slaves
never stained our maple sugar.
Albeit small, sugaring played a part in our freedom, and
represents Vermonters’ taste for a host of freedoms.
Such are winter’s maple sugar pleasures.
Although I’m never given any of the real syrup, I have had some treats flavored with the sugar. I like it, but what I like better is when the winter days get warmer and the maple sap begins to flow. That’s when maple sugar icicles will form overnight and begin dripping onto the ground during the warmth of the day. Not only do I like to lick where the drops have fallen, but sometimes I get lucky and the icicle will break and crash to the ground where I’ll devour it. Now those are the pleasures I get from winter’s maple sugar.
That reminds me. I heard tell of how Ron also loves to eat liver, but James doesn’t. Whenever he hears about how Ron would like to go out to dinner where they serve liver, James says, “Yuck!” Well, Ron and I have more in common than one might think – not only do we both love liver, we both love James. (Score! Finally, a treat after how many weeks?)
Come back in two weeks and hear about lesson number one – the command to sit. I’ll let you in on a secret – it was an easy command to follow. Another secret is that James had experience with this one.
Between now and then, feel free to scroll down and leave me a comment. Let me know what you think of my blog and James’ poems. I always like to hear from you, so please leave me a note about this or anything else that’s on your mind.
Until next time,
Sir Oliver of Skygate Farm (you can call me Ollie)