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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

BOILING SAP AT NIGHT IN VERMONT, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Our sugarhouse was jest a shack
Last Line: That syrup made at dead of night!
Subject(s): Country Life; Food & Eating; Mountains; Soup; Vermont; Hills; Downs (great Britain)


OUR sugarhouse was jest a shack,
Shacked up "regardless," bit by bit;
Sed parva apta est, is how
A scholar might have spoke of it;
The "arch" was bluestone set in clay
Without a draft or door in sight—
But say; 'twas fun to boil all day
And extry fun to boil at night.

Each time before we built the fire
We boys would take an iron bar,
Retrue the arch, reset the pan,
And pry the kettle up to par;
And then we'd slather on the clay
To make the thing combustion tight—
And say; 'twas fun to boil all day
And extry fun to boil all night.

There'd be a backfire now and then—
Most chimblys have to sneeze and cough—
And there was settlings more or less,
Of course, each time we syruped off;
But wan't that syrup good and sweet,
Not zoomy gray or sickly white,
And wan't it elegant to eat
That syrup syruped off at night!

We fired with hemlock dry as bone,
And there was floating sparks, no doubt,
But always after every run
We scoured the pan and kettle out;
Soft soap and sand—a Yankee pair—
Would make 'em both look pretty bright,
And all us boys, we combed our hair
Before we went to work at night.

However, 'twan't no science plant,
No prophylactic tub or plug
Or ox or ass was 'round the place,
Or Listerated jug or mug;
But wan't that syrup good and brown,
It looked the part, it tasted "right"—
I've never seen a can in town
Like that we syruped off at night.

Our sugarhouse was jest a shack,
Shacked up Si Briggs way, bit by bit;
Sed parva apta est, is how
The preacher might have spoke of it;
No zinc "containers" 'round it stood,
No 'vaperator was in sight,
But wan't that syrup sweet and good—
That syrup made at dead of night!





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