We did it!

There's a moment in every dogs' life when they realize the dream of their species. Maybe a lab makes the perfect catch while launching himself off of a dock into a summer lake; a beagle tracks deer for miles and miles, abandoning her owners for the afternoon while she finally gets the chance to follow her nose and all of its magical powers. And then. . .

And then there is the husky.


Sure, huskies like to play in snow. And many relish the opportunity to tie into a team of yowling brethren and race across a frozen lake. This is not, however their raison d'etre. No, as any human living with a husky will tell you, this breed has one--and only one--true reason for being: rampant destruction.


Now, as many of you know, Ari is only half husky. The rest of her DNA is Korean jindo, a dog known for being both serious and sensitive. Think of it as the angel on her right shoulder, the voice of reason in an otherwise devious mind. So Ari had to work extra hard--and extra long--before she was final able to embrace her full husky self. That's why our fellow dog bloggers were so thrilled with our recent soup incident. And why she has finally earned the highest possible honor for any husky: membership into HULA.


Needless to say, we were overjoyed when we received our notification. Here's what Queen Meeshka wrote:

"Dear Ari,

HULA membership requires a lot of dedication, evil plotting and planning, and finally; devious deeds to drive your humans insane. I had to say that when I read the tale of the soup... I piddled in the human woman's chair. It is so fiendish and clever that it would be an injustice not to welcome you into the HULA Hoop.

Display your certificate with pride... or rip it to shreds, whatever makes you happy, and welcome to the HULA Hoop.

Meeshka"

Knowing Ari, the certificate will probably be shredded eventually. But for now, we are honored to display it here, along with our pride in a breed fully realized.


K&A

This is just a note to say. . .

Dear Ari,

Just a quick note to tell you I love you. I do. Even though you stole the giant yogurt container of soup that was thawing on the kitchen counter. You know the one—it contained the homemade broccoli soup, that I made from scratch. You might even remember the day I sautéed the leeks, added diced carrot, celery, and potato. That I blended the perfectly caramelized vegetables with homemade chicken stock (which had reduced for a full day until it reached the perfect flavor and consistency). That I added the frozen broccoli—the Ziploc bags full of the veggies I picked with my own hand, then blanched in a scorching July kitchen so that we would have good produce even during the long winter. The soup that simmered all last Sunday, giving me the time I needed to perfect the spices—a little salt and pepper, a little thyme, a pinch of nutmeg. And when I finished that labor of love (and really, it was love that motivated me), I carefully ladled the soup into large yogurt containers and placed them in our chest freezer so that, on a day like today, I could take one out of the basement and know that a wholesome lunch awaited me. Which is why, of course, the broccoli soup (have I mentioned yet that you don’t even LIKE broccoli?) was thawing on the counter near the woodstove today, when I innocently left the house just long enough to run some errands. And, which is also why I am now writing you this letter. Because I want you to know that even though you stole my soup and somehow managed to lug the still-frozen container up to my bedroom, where you tore it open with your wolfie fangs until it looked like it had been a victim of an exuberant target practice, and then proceeded to gnaw on the soupcicle until it was almost gone and you got bored (or full) and thus allowed the rest of the thawing soup to seep onto the lovely Persian rug that Greg’s father gave to us, I still love you. I do—even though I did not have much for lunch today. And even though you feigned innocence on the bed—MY bed, I might add—while I cleaned the carpet. Because, when it comes right down to it, you are worth a frozen container of soup. And, at least I know you got your vegetables.

Yours,
Kathryn

Syrupdipity

High: 28 °F
Low: 13 °F
Conditions: Partly cloudy with a chance of flurries.

This past weekend was Maine Maple Sunday, the one day a year when the entire state turns out to celebrate our favorite sweetener.

On the fourth Sunday of every March, the maple syrup producers open their doors and invite the public in for tours, information on sugaring, and lots of really wonderful tastings. How could we say no?




This year, we visited Kinny's Maple Syrup, one of the larger operations in our area. Each day, 6500 gallons of sap travel from the farm maple stand through this rubber tubing, eventually pooling here, in a 2000 gallon holding tank.




From there, the sap travels inside the sugar shack, where it enters the first of two condensers.



When it leaves the tree, sap registers a sugar level of less than 2%, which means that it must be reduced dramatically before it becomes recognizable as syrup. To achieve a single gallon of syrup, then, the sugar makers must boil down 40 gallons of sap.



Once it is reduced, the syrup enters the second boiler, where it is further refined and darkened.



While inside the shack (a misnomer if ever there was one, given the size and surgical cleanliness of this place), we were able to take a full tour of the facility. We also saw evidence of the struggles between sugarmakers and wildlife, including this warning about Ari's nemesis:


We also sampled the local wares, including twice dipped syrup donuts:

And spun syrup candy:

But by far and away the most illuminating aspect of the tour was the opportunity to learn about (and taste) different syrup grades.

As this file photo reveals, syrups range from light to dark, with the former considered the most refined and, thus, valuable. We humans in the group will clearly never become syrupeliers, since we universally liked the darkest of the group. As for the caninaturalist, her only preference was for the syrup most readily available: