Barth Anderson

Sap dripping and collecting in the "sugarbush" (maple forest).


Stacked firewood.


The sugar shack team keeping the evaporator stoked.


Siphoning sap from the wagon's barrel into the sugar shack's rooftop container.


Feed hose from the rooftop container carries sap into the evaporator.


Key members of the sap collection team, Rosebud and Anwaag.

Over five thousand maple trees in the sugarbush have been tapped, the workers are ready, and so are the horses - but the sap isn't running this April.

That worries Todd Sisson, Food Production Manger at Native Harvest, because the company, located on the White Earth Reservation in northern Minnesota, is dependent on the sap for its maple syrup production. If the run in the maple forests, the "sugarbush," is light, that spells hard times for Native Harvest.

"We've had the taps out there for the better part of three weeks," Todd says during a phone call on a snowy day in mid-April. Late winter storms like this one make everyone a little nervous. "The sap run just hasn't really kicked in yet this year. We hope and pray that the Great Father brings us a good crop and production. But we're still waiting."

The Anishinabe (Ojibwe) of the White Earth Reservation call maple syrup aninaatig ahfiwaagamizigan. A big name for an ancient food. Galvanized buckets and blue collection bags are now the norm, taking the place of birch-bark baskets, but making maple syrup, from tap to boil, has remained true to tradition. Alongside wild rice and bison, maple syrup is one of the oldest, native Minnesota foods, a central part of Anishinabe culture for a millennium.

So, as a result, if the sap run starts, everything else stops.

"When we're going full bore, out there [in the sugarbush], it's fourteen people, seven days a week," says Todd. "They work long days and they are evaporating [the sap] constantly." Even the office staff of Native Harvest gets involved during the crucial, spring sap run, because, says Todd, "One, we need the bodies out there, and, two, we all want to be a part of that."

No one is more important to Native Harvest's syrup production than Ron Chilton, the Sustainable Communities Coordinator. But Todd Sisson has another title for Ron: "Sugarbush ramrod."

"Ron practically lives in the sugar shack [where sap is evaporated into syrup] once the run starts. It all happens because of him," Todd says. "Ron coordinates the workers and he is the cook and first taster. He's out there making sure the syrup is tested, up to sugar content, making sure it's not burnt. He's also the Chief Evaporator."

Last year, 2006, saw a short sap run, evaporating only about 300 gallons of maple syrup, so Native Harvest is doubly anxious about the lagging production this year.

"Ron is usually evaporating hard on Easter," Todd says, "but he wasn't at all this spring. We just didn't get the freeze-thaw cycles."

The freeze-thaw cycle is the engine that drives the sap run. Turning an entire forest into "maple pumps," the cycle causes expansion and contraction inside the maple trees, which then gets the sap moving inside them. Day temperatures need to get up to 35-40 degrees max, which causes the sap to flow, and then night temps need to drop below freezing, for the cycle to be effective. The cold temperatures keep the sap cool, too, which makes for better quality syrup. (The sap tastes like slightly sweet water, in case you're curious, and doesn't get its trademark sugariness until the Chief Evaporator gets his hands on the sap.)

Once filled, the buckets and bags of sap are gathered and emptied into a giant, white barrel, hauled on a wagon pulled by two magnificent percherons named Rosebud and Anwaag. The horses pull the wagon to the sugar shack, the building that holds the evaporator, and the castle where Ron is king. A team of workers siphons the sap into another giant container on the roof of the sugar shack. The sap feeds down into the evaporator, while Rosebud and Anwaag stamp in the mud outside.

After the evaporator has been loaded, the team fires it up. Literally. They stoke the furnace with firewood from a huge stack outside that stands almost as high as the sugar shack itself, and the heat inside is welcome on a cold, spring day. About 40 gallons of sap is required to make one gallon of maple syrup, so the workers will keep throwing wood on the fire for two to three weeks to make the most of the sap run.

"Natural gas is a late-comer to this game," Todd explains of Native Harvest's wood-burning strategy. "Besides, gas is not actually the best energy choice for us. That road leading into the remote sugarbush is muddy. It would be awful tough to get a propane truck in there. It's one of our monikers: we process our syrup and our wild rice with wood heat. That's just the way it is."

On sluggish sap runs in year's past, Native Harvest has outsourced sap from other regions - like the Oneidas, specifically. "In having the opportunity to sample syrups from other areas, I can tell you we have something special," Todd says. "This is wonderful syrup from this area. It's unique. It's sacred and I can understand why. When you look at how things were prior to the modernization of the aboriginal culture, you just look at that source of sugar. We're lucky to have it."

There's a pause in the conversation and Todd asks me if it's snowing where I am. I look out the window.

"Yep, big heavy flakes."

"I think it is going to miss us up here," he says of the storm that's currently dumping snow across Minnesota. "I think it's going to go south of us."

I check the weather map that I have open on my computer for tracking the storm. It's 30 degrees down here in the Twin Cities, but it's 40 degrees in northern Minnesota, where the Native Harvest sugarbush is located.

Forty degrees. Perfect for the freeze-thaw cycle.

A few moments later, Todd says he just got an email from the Sugarbush Ramrod himself, Ron Chilton.

"Well, look at this. 'We should be cranking it out this weekend,'" Todd tells me, reading from Ron's email, excitement in his voice. "'The sugarbush is in full swing!'"

Spring is back. Fifty-five hundred taps have started to drip. The sugarbush teams are mobilizing, so it's time to get back to the sugar shack. Ron will work round the clock for the next few weeks, stoking the fire and boiling down the sap.

Native Harvest's 2007 maple syrup is on its way.

Wedge Financial Director Elka Malkis with White Earth Land Recovery Project's Winona LaDuke