Pancakes and sausages in the woods
Last Sunday I made the annual pilgrimage to Mountsberg Conservation Area with momma, pops, and Beef. We make this trip every year at the same time to enjoy maple syrup, pancakes, and sausages in the woods. And when I say every year, I mean every year... Beef was in a backpack when dad started taking her.
Ordinarily it's dad, Beef, and I making the walk in the cold and damp to sit in a log cabin hugging our apple cider, sucking on our maple candy, watching the guy talk us through the syrup making process (did you know it takes 40 gallons of sap to make 1 gallon of syrup?) But this year was the first year we welcomed our chubby nephew. So it was extra special.
While Mountsberg might not seem like the most exciting place, there's something very comforting about it. Not much has changed, besides the new signage and the fact you now have to pay for a Clydesdale hay ride (no matter... we always walked the trail, anyway). We visit the animal barn, pet the bunnies, learn about the boiling process, pretend we haven't already sampled the free candy in the sampling hut, and go back in for seconds (hee!).
We pass over the same train tracks on every trip and make the same horrible joke ("A train just went by... Oh, how can you tell?... Because it left it's tracks behind it!" *collective groan*). We stand in the same line up and wait for our turn to order breakfast. I hum and haw over what to order but always get the regular meal, and soon after regret the decision (piles of pancakes are rediculously filling, and to quote Mitch Hedburg "pancakes: all exciting at first, but by the end, you're f*cking sick of 'em).
And then dad being dad, he always orders the large meal, complains about the hard butter, asks "are you going to use all your syrup?" to which we always reply "yes," leaving at least one of the pancakes behind uneaten claiming "I always do this... I always order too much..." He's like Bear in this picture, vibrating with excitement at the idea of eating his pancake pile.
I am a self admitting creature of habit, I know this. I know I'm nearly 30 and I should probs grow up and get a life. But with the exception of the Rocton Fair, I can't think of another time of year I enjoy more.
p.s. A great big "hidey ho" to Cousin Toque!
3 comments:
Oh, that sounds marvy and cosy and wonderful and I've always envied your easterner family traditions.
Did you know that the Christmas building I received this year was a maple sugar shack? From my dad, natch. But it makes me think of you.
And that pic of the calf is CUUUUUTE!! Checka that expression!! I've seen that on his aunt's face...'ho hum, pig's bum.'
Cousin Toque says "meeeooowwwww, sup? meeeoowwwww" right back at ya !!!
Marg just handed me a vat of the recently-tapped Davis maple moonshine tonight coincidentally ... it from the trees where my Papi grew up (my Unca Bill still taps) ... good times.
Love the Larsen tradition ... ranks up there with ice cream on Blockhouse Island every time you lot came to Brockapulco ... the Larsens were sooooo cool.
Peeacceee !!!!
M.F.D.
Ah yes. Ice cream at the Blockhouse. I'm still a bit bitter you waited until I was in my 20s to tell me there was a Hershey factory 30 minutes away. But I won't hold it against you. Let's blame it on Liz, shall we?
And you claim we were the cool ones? Doubt that. You were the kids with the Pop Shop, bowls of candies in the living room, and more Little People than I could shake a stick at.
p.s. Your Blogger handle somewhat diminishes your anonymity, Cousin Toque. Hee!
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