Having grown up in New Orleans, I have such colorful childhood memories of springtime. March, my birthday month, meant shorts and t-shirt weather, bright, blooming flowers, and often it meant celebrating Mardi Gras. What fun it was to wear my purple, green, and gold, stuff my face full of King Cake brought daily to class, and wave my arms around, yelling "Throw me something, Mister!" at the nightly parades. 

Springtime in New England is quite different. March is a month meant to be endured. It's still essentially winter,and for sturdy, hardy folks who have enjoyed and then put up with a long, hard winter, March is not our friend.  It is now April, and  we still have snow in our front yard and the winter-jackets and snow pants are not yet put away. There is only a hint of green outside, as the crocuses timidly begin to push their way through the still-frozen soil. And no one has heard of King Cakes.  

This is the reality for my kids. We're cold. We're ready to shed our extra layers and play outside without hats and mittens. We're ready for fresh strawberries and iced tea. We're ready just to enjoy, not to endure. But there is something special about this time of year, something that my Southern friends and family don't get to enjoy. 

Sugaring Season!

At this time of year, the maple sap flows and all of the maple trees are tapped with buckets attached, waiting to catch each precious drop of that succulent nectar. There's nothing like heading out on a Saturday morning and driving to a Sugar Shack, as they are called, for a pancake breakfast. Locals and tourists alike love this tradition, and it may be the reason we New Englanders are able to keep our heads up and see the light at the end of this long tunnel. 

This weekend, we went with our good friends to a local Sugar Shack and had the best breakfast and then enjoyed some post-meal fresh air.

The Little Girls

The Big Girls, peeking into the bucket of sap.

Our gaggle of girls

How big they are getting!