Every year I write an article for our local arts and crafts newspaper, the Humm.This year I wrote a poem about Mr Blake.
A man named Blake, decided to make
Maple syrup to eat as a treat.
He’d seen it done, and it looked like fun.
He thought he could master the feat.
So he set out to find, some pails of the kind
He could hang on his maple trees.
Some buckets he found, a bit battered but sound,
Once used for coffee and teas.
For spiles he used pipe, a kind of the type
He could cut with a sturdy hacksaw.
With a push and a pull, he made a bagfull,
All ready to wait the first thaw.
Then off to the trees, in snow to his knees,
He hung a pail on each tap,
And sat down to wait and calculate
The syrup he’d make from the sap.
For collecting the sap, which dripped from each tap
He used a rather large bucket,
On a sleigh he could tow, through the heavy deep snow
To a tank in which he could store it.
Then he searched for a kettle, made of heavy cast metal
In which the he could boil down the sap.
While rummaging round, he found one that was sound,
In a pile of old lumber and scrap.
He hurried to put, the dried wood he’d cut
In a pile he thought he could burn
And he started his fire, with a piece of old tire.
The smoke was not his concern.
He hung his kettle, right over the middle
And added a pail of fresh sap.
The sap bubbled and boiled, it foamed and it roiled
Without a single mishap.
But how did he know, when he had it just so
Without a temperature gauge.
He used his big dipper, turned into a dripper
To test when it reached the right stage.
Now if you’re like Blake, and syrup you’d make,
Just follow this simple routine.
You’ll find it is fun, and when you are done,
You’ll enjoy your exquisite cuisine.