Page 87 of Sugar & Shadows

On a maple farm, sap day was more important than Christmas. It was the day mother nature blessed us. The day we started working around the clock to capture the brief magic that propelled this town and this region economically.

I’d done this more than thirty times in my life. It was part of the rhythm of my existence. But today was different. For the first time in years, I was excited rather than weary of all the work that lay ahead.

Josh ran the farm, but when the sap started to run, the whole family showed up to work. My parents had sold him our land, but we all owned small shares in the farm, and since Josh had taken over, we’d seen profit every year. We weren’t rich, but it sure helped make life a little more comfortable. Especially for my siblings. Nate had started the brewery with his farm shares, and Mabel was using hers to pay for grad school. This was our legacy.

Secretly, it had always felt like a burden to me.

But today, with the sun shining and a beautiful woman holding on to me, I remembered what it meant to truly be happy.

I hadn’t anticipated being sent to the far north end of the farm, but it made sense. Josh had been generous with us, giving us the freedom to set up cameras anywhere we’d like. And he was sacrificing potential income by letting us do the old-school bucket method.

These days, the farm ran on pumps, plastic tubing, and massive collection tanks that were emptied daily and delivered to Sugar Moon, where the sap was boiled into syrup, packaged, and sold.

We’d been tasked with getting footage of the old-school collection setup, where we’d hammered the tap into the tree and hung a bucket. With any luck, this type of content would help us turn things around.

I’d been driving ATVs since before I could read, but this moment was more exhilarating than usual. It could be because Sabrina was clinging to me for dear life, or it could be the high of this new endeavor. I was no social media expert, but the results we’d been getting were undeniable.

When I helped Sabrina off the ATV, she wobbled a bit, looking a little woozy.

“You okay?”

With a nod, she headed toward the primary maple camera, picking her feet up high with each step to get through the snow, and as she approached, she shrieked. “It’s happening.” She turned to me, her eyes bright with excitement. “Look. Sap.”

Camera bag in hand, I headed her way. “Harper said to check the solar batteries too.”

She moved on to the next tree, examining the bucket’s contents and shrieking again. She was like a little kid. This was a side of her I never would have expected. A side I didn’t know she was capable of, honestly.

Giggling—giggling—she jogged toward the next tree. Halfway there, her foot sank into deeper snow and she fell forward, face-planting into the snowbank.

It took all I had to hold in my laughter.

She pushed herself up to her knees, snow covering her face and clinging to her eyelashes, and started to brush herself off.

“Let me help you.” Carefully, I made my way closer. The snow was deep, and obviously, the terrain beneath it was uneven.

She stopped and looked over at me, snow still caked in her hair. “I’d rather die,” she deadpanned. “Just worry about the camera.”

Eventually, she got herself together and joined me. Once the camera was set up, we replaced the original bucket with a fresh one and attached the microphone. Then we stood back and waited for the signature plunk sound.

Beside me, she was totally focused. I assumed she’d hate this part. The cold, wet physical labor. Instead, she attacked every task like she was fighting a war and determined to win. She eagerly emptied buckets, adjusted taps, and staged scenes for the cameras. All in knee-deep snow.

We caught several fresh plunks, then got some close-ups of the sap droplets hitting and splashing that we could slow down for viewers.

“It looks like something’s wrong here,” she said a few trees over from where I was filming. “I think it’s leaking.”

I walked over and surveyed the tap. “Spile got loose,” I explained. “Here.” I reached into my toolbelt and handed her a small hammer.

She looked down at the tool, then up at me, breaking into a smirk. “Am I supposed to hit you with this?”

Huffing a laugh, I pointed to the issue. “You have to tap it in farther. Make sure the sap doesn’t leak out the sides where it’s not flush against the interior of the tree.”

“So you trust me with tools?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Questionable choice, I know. Here.”

I stepped behind her and guided her hand, showing her how to line up.

It wasn’t until I leaned forward, adjusting her hold on the hammer, that I realized just how close we were. My lips were inches from her ear, and I was surrounded by that undeniable Sabrina smell. Sweet and soft, with an edge, like the most beautiful but deadly flower.