Friday, February 15:
We are tapping trees this week. Two of the boys went out Wednesday with a brace and bit and a bucket of spiles; now on the hill two-gallon pails hang on the southeast side of ten or fifteen maple trees, enough to produce all the sap our backyard operation can process, all our household needs for a year of pancakes and waffles.
It is a feat to scramble diagonally across our steep hills filling five gallon buckets from the sap pails on each tree and trying not to spill too much or fall fifty feet into North creek below. The dogs think this is an exercise designed for their personal amusement and stay close to us, showing us deer sign and getting tangled up with our feet. Bridget the sorrel pony knows we are wasting our time and stands at the pasture fence to show us that we would be better employed bringing her half a bale of second cutting clover and timothy. Despite her, and despite the way our boots are slipping on the thin wet snow and the mud beneath it, we are purposeful, determined: the trees have something to give us, wild food to be had for the gathering, and we are out here to get it.
The cattle at the monastery are only half-way through the forage in the very large paddock that was made for them last Saturday. When they are given too much space they browse inefficiently, stepping on grass they would eat if they thought they were feeling competetive. Nevertheless we are going to leave them in that paddock for another two or three days, there is still so much grass. We will not run out of forage this winter, and in the spring, if the gods smile, we must consider buying extra steers just to keep the pasture grazed.
The black hog made the great transition this afternoon, from Fed to Food. The boys brought home a bucket of casings to be scraped and tomorrow they’ll break down the sides into chops, hams, belly and sausage meat. No more going without breakfast meat on Sundays. On Thursday the farm science class will learn to scrape hogs’ intestines and make five kinds of sausage.