The Season of the Sap

“Benjamin, don’t fight me on this. There isn’t another choice.”

Ben watched his dad run his hands through his hair and sigh. He was sure it was for effect. “Dad, I’m almost 14. I can stay by myself for a few days. I’ll just order takeout.”

“The state of Illinois disagrees with that idea,” Dad said. “You can’t stay alone.”

“Stupid state. Look, they won’t even know,” Ben tried.

Dad shrugged. “We’ve got to leave early for the airport tomorrow. I’ll get you to your gate and then go to mine.”

“I barely remember Grandpa,” Ben said. “He’s probably a million years old by now.”

Dad laughed and tousled Ben’s hair, earning a full eye roll and a scowl from Ben. “That’s it. Just keep your sense of humor. The conference is only four days and then I’ll pick you up at O’Hare.”

“Why don’t you have any friends I can stay with?” Ben asked. “What about Charlie?”

“Why did all your friends and their parents leave town for vacation?” Dad snapped back. “And Charlie’s away, too.” Dad paced away and then came back to stand in front of Ben. “Shit. I’m sorry. There just isn’t anything else I can think of. Grandpa isn’t so bad. You might even have fun.”

Ben avoided his father’s eyes. He wasn’t going to make this easy. He was almost 14 after all. If he could get to school and hockey practice by himself, why not this? “I promise I won’t even leave the apartment.”

“What if you get hurt? Or the building has a fire? Nope, we can’t do it,” Dad said.

Ben slammed his hand on the kitchen island. Damn that hurt. “Does grandpa even have Wi-Fi? He better have Internet out there in nowhere land,” Ben said, eyes blazing.

“You might as well pack,” Dad said.

Ben pivoted without a response and sulked down the hall to his bedroom. He pulled a duffle bag out of his closet and stuffed in some jeans, sneakers, underwear and a handful of t-shirts in about six minutes. As he zipped the bag, his dad yelled, “Don’t forget warm socks, gloves and your winter coat. It’s still cold in Vermont this time of year.”

***

They drove to the airport early the next day. Ben stuck his earbuds in to tune into his music and drone out the audio from his dad’s news station and any comments his dad might make. The parking, the lugging of the duffle bag, the check-in, the wait in the security line, and all the airport activities were performed to the soundtrack of Eternal Boy’s latest album. He loved the mix of punk and rock; the bass line could take over his brain and stop his thoughts.

When they got to the gate labeled Burlington, Vermont, Dad walked up to the counter. Ben trailed behind him before realizing that his dad was checking him in as a minor. “Hey, I don’t need that,” he said. “Dad, I’m almost 14. Come on. Give me something.”

“It’s a regulation, young man,” said the attendant, holding out a lanyard with MINOR stamped in red letters. He pointed to the sitting area where two young kids were already seated.

“Dad,” Ben pleaded.

“Rules,” he said. “It’s a short flight. You’ll be fine. Look out the window, maybe you’ll see the Green Mountains on the way.” Dad pulled Ben in for a quick hug. “Gotta catch my flight. Got your phone? I’ll call.” He gave a wave as he hurried to his gate.

“Thanks for nothing,” Ben muttered and slumped in the waiting area. What a great way to start this trip. Maybe they’d give him some applesauce and a pin from the pilot, too. He turned up the music and swiveled his back to the airport, wishing he was a plane taking flight to anywhere else.

***

The flight was uneventful. Ben snagged extra cookies for himself and the other kids and they thanked him with wonder in their eyes. The Wi-Fi worked, and he watched a movie his dad wouldn’t have approved of.

When they landed, Ben and the other two kids with lanyards had to wait until the plane was empty of passengers before the cheerful steward led them up the jetway. Like prisoners to a holding cell.

As they entered the gate area, each child ran to a parent-looking person and received a long embrace. The moms and dads looked happy to see the kids. Ben nodded once as the kids waved goodbye to him. It took Ben one minute to look at the tiny gate area and all the way down the hallway to the other gates. Figures, even the airport is dinky. Ben spotted an old man with gray hair reading a paperback book a few rows away from the gangway door. He was the only other adult in the area. “Grandpa?”

His Grandpa stood. He towered over Ben. Even taller than his dad. Ben saw some resemblance in the jawline, the blue eyes, the thick hair. Maybe this is what Dad would look like when he got old.

The man looked up, then his eyes slowly ran over Ben, starting at his red Vans and up past his hoodie. I probably should have got a haircut before coming. He stood up straighter, pushed his blond bangs out of his face and stared back.

The old man shoved the paperback into his back pocket and held out his hand. Ben reached forward and gripped as hard as he could, but still felt crushed by the calloused bony strength of his grandpa.

“Yup. Welcome,” Grandpa said. He signed the paper on the clipboard, and Ben handed back the humiliating lanyard. “Got luggage?”

“Yes, I checked the bag. It’ll be in baggage claim,” said Ben, wondering if perhaps his grandpa wasn’t happy to have him here either. “You know, if you don’t want me here, I can go back. There’s a flight returning to Chicago in another two hours.”

“Good try, city boy,” Grandpa said. “Just like your dad, trying to get away with something. Come on now, I don’t have all day. There’s sugaring to do this time of year and I could use a pair of extra hands.”

Sugaring, what was that? Ben opened his mouth to ask, but decided he wasn’t going to appear like an ignorant city kid. As they rode the escalator down to the bags, he pulled out his phone and googled maple sugaring in Vermont. He pulled up a YouTube as they walked to baggage claim. In five minutes, he knew everything he needed to know. Nothing to it.

***

The ride from the airport back to the farm in the Mad River Valley seemed to take forever. Ben learned Grandpa wasn’t one for chit-chat. He didn’t even ask all the usual boring adult questions. How old are you again? What grade are you in? How are you doing in school? That was a relief at least.

As they turned off the main road, Ben saw mountains in the distance with white ribbons running down them. “Wait! You still have snow?”

“Looks like it,” Grandpa said.

“Can we go snowboarding?” Ben asked, this isolated vacation now perking up.

“Maybe,” Grandpa said. “After the sugaring. Do you know what that is?”

Ben held up his phone, a smile on his face. “I just learned all about it. We tap the right kind of tree, get the sap in a big bucket and then boil it on the stove until it turns into maple syrup.”

“Almost,” Grandpa said, chuckling a little. “Glad you have that phone though.”

Ben wasn’t sure what that meant, but if it meant he could snowboard, he was all in. “I didn’t bring my board.”

“We can figure something out,” Grandpa said.

He pulled the truck into the dirt driveway on the side of the white farmhouse. Ben’s dad had told him all about growing up in the small town of Waitsfield, stories about chasing chickens, swimming in the river, and eventually leaving for a job and family far away from the Valley. They used to come visit every summer and Ben had memories of running through the woods, making fires outside in the fire pit, even sleeping under the stars, but he hadn’t been back to visit since Gramma’s funeral four years ago. Life, school, his parents’ divorce and custody disputes seemed to get in the way.

“It looks the same,” Ben said, with relief in his voice.

“Pretty much,” Grandpa said. He opened the side door to the house and a big black dog bounded out, circling and barking around Ben. “Who’s this?” Ben asked, crouching down to get a big lick.

“Ranger, sit,” Grandpa said.

The dog stopped running, sat promptly, stayed in place for three seconds, before running and barking around Ben again. Grandpa shook his head, but a smile showed on his face. “Maybe you can train him while you’re here, too. Come on, put on your work clothes and let’s get to it.”

“These are pretty much the clothes I have,” Ben said, enjoying Ranger’s licks and thumps from his wagging tail.

The old man sighed. “Follow me then.”

Ben and Ranger followed him into the house. Although Ben didn’t remember everything from the visit when he was nine years old, it seemed nothing had moved or changed. The fireplace area with the two couches draped with wool blankets was the same. Maybe there were more books on the piles on the floor? The kitchen to the right looked as tidy as always, a pan on the drying rack, the counters clean. The white curtains lay still against the windows, closed against spring chills. And it smelled vaguely like lavender. He remembered the lavender since he had to ask his dad what that smell was. It was in the perfume Gramma wore.

Grandpa opened the closet in the little hall and pulled out some dirty coveralls, a coat, and a pair of mud-speckled boots. “Put these on and let’s go. Time’s a wasting.”

“Are we going to collect the sap buckets?” Ben asked, proud of his YouTube knowledge.

“Follow me, now,” Grandpa said.

Ben pulled everything on and the two men and the exuberant dog headed back outside. Ben jogged to keep up with his grandpa’s long stride, up a trail behind the house towards the sugaring building he used as a fort on summer visits. But, as they walked, here was something different.

Blue plastic ropes ran from tree to tree like the track of a crazy roller coaster. Small lines started in a tree and fed into big lines, like a highway system with on ramps.

“What is all this?” Ben asked.

“Your YouTube didn’t tell you about this now, did it?” Grandpa chuckled. “Modern day sap buckets. I’ve got about 500 trees now. Enough to keep some syrup and sell some. They all drain into the shed. Boiling’s still pretty much the same.”

“Cool,” Ben said, pulling out his phone to take a picture.

“And that’s what you can do,” Grandpa said, pointing to the phone. “Download the Smartrek app and figure out if we have any line problems.”

“App?” Ben said.

“Remote sensing. Saves me a bunch of mindless wandering,” Grandpa said. “Pretty good for an old man, right?”

Ben nodded. He agreed.

The three of them worked for a few hours. Ben and Ranger tromping through the woods, using the app and the GPS on the phone to find and fix any loose taps or tubes that had stretched or blown off in the wind. Ben could tell which trees were the maples thanks to the taps, but he wondered what the others were. Maybe he would ask Grandpa. Ranger sniffed some tracks and chased a few red squirrels, but always came bounding back, as happy as Ben to be outside in the snow.

When Ben and Ranger finished with all the alerts from the app, they came back to the shed. Grandpa had been busy getting the sap to flow properly into the giant steel cooker called the evaporator and loading up the wood fire to start the boiling. Ben inhaled the steam of the sugarhouse, the smoke from the wood fire, the sugary smell of maple flooding the air. The air was sweet on his tongue, like sucking a hard candy made of air or eating cotton candy without the fluffy part. It was warming and overwhelming at the same time.

The tidy interior held rows of glass jars and lids, some filled with amber liquid, others empty and waiting. The giant metal evaporator and stacks of wood filled most of the space, but a card table and set of chairs were tucked into the corner. 

Ben took off his coat. “It’s so hot in here.” 

“Need the heat to get a good boil. I’ve got things ready here for a while. It’ll take a few hours at least to cook down. Maybe the two of us can get some of that boarding in,” Grandpa said.

“You board?” Ben blinked a few times to let that sink into his brain.

“Who do you think taught your dad?” the old man said. “But I stay out of the park these days. Too hard on my bones, those landings. You be careful if you take any of those jumps.”

“You even have a park? Awesome,” Ben said, looking around the room. “What’s the table for? For putting labels on the bottles?”

“Poker nights on Thursdays,” Grandpa said.

Ben’s eyes widened as he looked at his grandpa. “You’re so much cooler than my dad.”

The older man laid a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “It’s not easy being a dad. Sometimes, maybe even most of the time, it’s hard. You’ll see someday, if you’re lucky.”

Ben nodded. His cranky attitude toward his dad replayed in his mind. Maybe Dad was right. Maybe this wasn’t the worst vacation ever.

“And sometimes, dads and grandads get it right. Those are the good days,” Grandpa said as he shrugged his coat on for the hike back to the house.

 “Hey, Grandpa. Can we bring some syrup into the house? Can we have pancakes for breakfast?” Ben asked.

“Hell, we can have them for dinner,” Grandpa said as he pulled a still-warm mason jar of syrup off the shelf.

Ben smiled. Definitely not the worst vacation ever. He might even tell his dad.