Real Maple Syrup: Part One

While I was out today, dearest mother, who is thoroughly Canadian to the core, insisted that she simply could not live without maple syrup.  I agree, to a point.  I personally cannot do without a supply of good maple syrup.  Naturally, I looked at what was available, and naturally, it was from northern New England.  This is not to be unexpected, as maple syrup has been an ongoing concern among the Green Mountain folk for some time, ever since the earliest settlers to New England noticed the first born making it through the winter a bit better because of it.  That said, the first born a bit further north taught some other trans-Atlantic arrivals a thing or two about the miracle sap of the maple tree.  The French arrived on the scene even earlier than the first residents of second born Massachusetts, and believe me, Canada is far more savage in the winter time than anything coastal New England has to offer.  In the words of Samuel de Champlain, "there are six months of winter here". 

Therein lies a key truth about maple sugar production.  The whole journey begins with the sap of the tree being liberated from its arboreal prison, a process which happens only when the holy elixir flows.  For this to happen, the tree must become aware that its dormant period of winter rest is coming to an end, and starch stored in the roots then rises in order to get the tree back up and running.  The next part is the real trick, namely that things need to get cold again at night so the whole process is not rushed by the tree.  A slight increase in temperature over freezing during the day is enough to make the tree run more of that delightful root energy back higher into the crown.  Obviously, to get any sort of sap at all, the maple tapper is best off being in an area where such conditions are likely to happen on a regular basis.  Theoretically, any maple that will produce sap that can make for decent tasting sugar can be used, as long as the tree enters and exits dormancy; maple syrup has been made with some success down into the higher elevations of Georgia.  Funks from central Illinois near Bloomington has been producing "sirup" since the 1840's.  In a moment of sheer snobbery, I regret to say that I declined to make a visit while en route to Springfield.  To be fair, I was shocked to see any sort of a sugar bush in the heart of the eastern tallgrass prairie in hot, humid, flat Illinois.  I have since had the opportunity to try some of their creation, and it is pretty decent, considering the unfair conditions they have to deal with in terms of what may jokingly be called a spring thaw. 

Look at that, see, I'm already ranting. 

Anyway, as with so many other agricultural things, syrup can, and indeed does, vary based on a number of conditions.  While few would argue that differences between syrups are as noticeable and pronounced as those between wines, the truth is that an Illinois sirup made from a Black Maple (Acer Nigrum) will be noticeably different from a New Brunswick syrup made from Red Maple (Acer Rubrum).  Some people, such as your author, can also tell the difference between a Sugar Maple (Acer Saccharum) syrup produced in Lapeer, Michigan and the same produced in Mason, Michigan, places with relatively similar climates and even soil conditions.  Maybe I'm picky and imagining things, but one imagines that trees with such huge ranges and such varying growing conditions would be not without variations in sap taste, let alone general botanical characteristics.  Mr. and Mrs. Red Maple, after all, can be found everywhere from tropical Southern Florida to windswept and rainy Newfoundland:

Thanks, USGS!

Next post, we shall explore the wonderful world of things maple in terms of climate, weather, and all that stuff that happens up in the sky.  (And yes, Vermont syrup is fine, and yes, I will tell you all about how wonderful if inferior it is, etc.  And no, Everglades syrup is not a real thing).

The Impact of the American Civil War on the Neighbors: Part Three

Part One.

Part two.

By the start of the American Civil War, Canada had experienced significant developments in telegraph and railroad lines between its otherwise parochial-minded regions.  For the first time, even if they were not speaking amicably or in agreement with one another, politicians and community leaders from the different parts of British North America were talking to one another.  The freedom of Quebec, the need for consolidation of the regions, a transcontinental railroad, and the consideration for a dominant capital were all among the topics hotly debated.  One particular concern, however, was at the forefront: The United States of America.  While the Quebecois laughed at the Ontarians who shook on their boots every time the southerners were spoken of, nobody was keen on the idea of Manifest Destiny taking a turn northwards.

Quebec might have proclaimed that it had nothing to fear from people who clearly were still not the best of friends with Britain, but it knew full well that its rights and culture would be just as much at odds with an English-speaking government in Washington as it was in London.  Ontario and Nova Scotia had every reason to be concerned about a third-generation attack on the descendants of Loyalist colonists, to say nothing of the fact that Ontario was quite a prize to take geographically.  To this day, complete control over the resources of the Great Lakes is still something very much coveted by certain portions of the United States government.  The memory of the Mexican-American war was just as fresh in the minds of Canadians as it was in Mexico, and just as everything from Texas to California had been seized in that conflict, fears had arisen regarding the annexation of British Columbia and southern Ontario by the United States.  Imagine a border at the continental divide and along the French and Ottawa rivers, for such might well have been the very least of what would have happened as an outcome of war between the two sides.  The politicians feared for their positions, while the ordinary people, especially the First Nations, wondered what would happen to their way of life and property.

Something had to be done, even while the various factions and regions were divided against one another.  In the end, the initiative was taken not by a trembling Ontarian, but by a Nova Scotian, Charles Tupper.

Charles Tupper, National Archives of Canada, PA-026317

Charles had a pretty good grasp of the big picture of what was going on in his time.  While Atlantic Canada did not feel much of a bond with distant Ontario, and with the possible exception of warm sentiments in strongly French-Canadian New Brunswick, did not feel much of anything for Quebec, the peoples of the Maritime lands, then as now, knew that continued isolation meant eventual take-over by the Americans.  Charles initially played his cards close to his vest, and proposed that the military vulnerability created by the existing regional separations could be lessened simply by a union of Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, and Newfoundland (whose invitation apparently got lost in the mail).  Britain, knowing full well how helpful this would be, strongly encouraged the matter, and by 1864 a conference at Charlottetown on Prince Edward Island was called for.  This worked far better than Charles had hoped, because upon learning about the conference, both Ontario and Quebec wanted to come as well.  On the 1st of September, 1864, men with very different opinions and methodologies set aside their differences in the face of invasion by a common enemy.

Charlottetown Conference Delegates, National Archives of Canada, C-000733

Come by tomorrow for part four.