Excerpt from Enter Jerry
In February, each citizen tapped the maple trees in front of his own property; the resultant amount of sirup for each household was not enormous, but it was better than boughten sirup, because the suspicion of adulteration was eliminated. The sirup that one bought at the store came from various sugar bushes within a few miles of the village, and what the farmers could have used for adulterating it that would have been cheaper than the real maple becomes somewhat of a mystery to my more mature speculation. At any rate, we preferred our own.
It was certainly during the February following the January of the Dog Almanac that a queer little boy, who, my memory insists, can have been no other than myself, observed and sought to repair an omission in the tree-tapping process. The child gathered certain cans and tin pails from the dingy debris stranded by winter in the rear of the woodshed, and nailed them crazily to the apple trees and the hemlock. Having a can or two and a handful of nails left over, he did also most trustfully tap the white pillars of the veranda. (piazza, one should say. The front porch was the piazza, and the back porch was the stoop; the two terms were as rarely confused as were the respective appellations of parlor and sitting room.)
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