Page 133 of Sugar & Shadows

“We’ve got the rebuilding infrastructure in place,” I continued. “Now we need to figure out how to replace the Maple Festival income annually.” I flipped through my binder. “We’ve got new revenue streams and a lot of tourism interest, so now we need to give them a unique experience. An experience that is distinctly us. Then we can take all this viral interest and channel it toward actual dollars.”

“We’re working on a cider- and syrup-themed food event in the fall,” Mom chimed in. “The inn wants to participate, and we think we can wrap it into our fall festival timing. Maybe subsequent weekends to ensure a steady stream of visitors.”

I nodded. Expanding what was already going well, the fall festival, was an excellent start. But there was still a gaping hole in the calendar in the spring—Vermont’s least scenic season. It was rarely more than slush and mud and gray skies. But we had maple syrup.

“I went to Portland this weekend,” Nina said. “Ramona was there for work. A big commercial shoot.” Nina’s best friend was a makeup artist who traveled around the world. “And I had an idea.”

I sat back, getting comfortable while I waited for her to explain. Nina was not one to rush.

“We were at a bar watching the Timbersport National Championship. And all the wood chopping and tree climbing got me thinking.”

“Ooh. I love those lumberjacks,” Marigold chirped.

“I’m a big fan of Remy Gagnon,” my mom added with hearts in her eyes.

Sorry, what? My Jane Austen-loving, cardigan-wearing mother had a favorite wood chopper guy?

“Is he the one who does the Racine commercials?”

“Yes. He’s a cutie.”

“Can we focus?” Nina snapped. “Athletics. Competition. Men in flannel shirts.”

“Should we start a lumberjack competition?” Marigold asked. “They attract big crowds.”

“We could easily find sponsors,” my mom added.

Nina shook her head. “Maybe, but I was thinking we could do something a little more authentic to Maplewood. A bit wacky, maple themed, and unlike anything that already exists.”

I picked up my pen again. “What are you thinking?”

She shrugged and tapped her nails against the table. “Some kind of Maplewood games, maybe? Athletics, because people love that shit, with a twist. Like a 5k where you have to chug a shot of maple syrup at every mile marker.”

“Or an obstacle course where the competitors carry buckets of sap?” my mom added proudly.

“A drill relay,” Harper added. “Where teams have to tap a bunch of trees and race.”

“A shirtless syrup slide.” Marigold laughed.

I couldn’t help but laugh along with her. This was a solid idea. A schedule full of outlandish and unique activities we could do in the spring. Maple themed, but not a Maple Festival.

“Think CrossFit,” Nina said, “but slathered in syrup and deeply unserious.”

“This is either genius or a class action lawsuit waiting to happen,” Meg added from the phone. “But I’m in.”

Harper was typing furiously, nodding along. “I can work with this. We could do a big announcement video and solicit entries from around the country. Think of the media coverage and all the weirdos it would attract.”

“This is Vermont. We love weirdos.” Marigold grinned.

“We don’t want snobby New York tourists,” my mom agreed. “Let Birch Hollow have them. They can taste the syrup and talk about color grading up there.”

My mind spun as the team threw out wild suggestions. A mountain athletic competition was another great idea. We didn’t need perfect weather, and we could still take advantage of the maple harvest.

“Syrup wrestling,” Marigold said.

“A sticky hand challenge,” Harper added.

I huffed a laugh. This could work. The town had hosted plenty of festivals. This wouldn’t be much different, and with our bigger social media footprint, spreading the word would be easy.