WordSisters

Category: American life

  • Forty Gallons into One

    Quality sleep generally suffers when serious, worrisome, or sad things press on daily life. And here we are with a horrible cacophony of such news screaming across the media, in grocery store lines, and casual conversations as friends and family look for some tiny assurance that the world, our country, or at least a personal circle could be okay.

    Driving through rural areas in late winter, bags hang from trees ready to tap maple sap. Other trees might also be tapped, but maple trees are the largest producers. Tubing might zig-zag through a larger tree stand instead to gather sap into larger lines and run to collection tanks. For a small syrup maker, the sap will fill bags or pails which will be collected then carried to the sugar house location.

    Forty gallons of sap are needed to make one gallon of maple syrup. The sap is boiled over an open flame until extra fluid is gone, then foam is removed and the syrup filtered. The process is time consuming with possibilities for accidents like burns and back strains. 

    Some syrup seasons snow still stands in the woods. As kids we filled small bowls with snow then bothered adults until syrup was poured over it. We learned how putting the maple candy in your mouth too quickly could painfully burn a tongue and how hot maple syrup splatter hurt on bare flesh. Regardless of age, we walked around the tubing, hot fires or equipment. No running for so many reasons.

    If weather affects trees or harvest happens too late, the sap might be cloudy or bitter wrecking a season. If sap is undercooked or overcooked the syrup will be of lower quality. If deer and bears mess with piping the sap may drain onto the ground instead of filling the collection tank. Many things can reduce production from 20 gallons to a few or nothing.

    The world seems to operate with the similar equations as maple syrup. A whole lot of good raw material or information may be required to produce a small amount of awesome happiness. There are many ways to interfere with delivery of the good and deliver serious, worrisome, or sad results. Maybe when sleep is disrupted, the thought of breakfast including fresh maple syrup can sweeten dreams or at least make the night hours pass easier. Forty gallons of springtime sap into a few tablespoons of delight.

  • Hamburger Soup

    Another two big snowstorms are threatening our travel plans. Winter 2025 – 2026 isn’t willing to give up. Heavy snow, ice, cold temperatures, wind, have attacked almost every part of the country. If weather didn’t make leaving home difficult,  the stew of flu, Covid, colds and respiratory illnesses shut down schools and even the simplest vacation plans for a weekend visiting grandma and grandpa. Living in the communities impacted by ICE surges, emotional heaviness still exists. Rising costs, losing insurance coverage, changing political and values landscape, make temporary escape difficult to find.

    We’ve indulged in homey meals. Not necessarily fancy foods, but smells and tastes that bring back other times. Some of that has been European ethnic cooking with sausages, potatoes, onions and bread. Homemade pizza, order-in pizza, frozen pizza with sides of fruit. Grilled sandwiches with a cup of soup.

    Last week I made hamburger soup, what others might call vegetable soup with browned ground beef. My mother made her vegetable soup with chunks of cooked round steak, but we usually substituted ground beef because of easy freezer availability. The simple recipe made enough for three meals for the two of us with sides of bread slices and a chunk of cheese. 

    I was surprised at yuk faces when I shared our enjoyment of hamburger soup. Usually the frowns turned to memories of childhood when I described it as vegetable soup with burger. “Oh, yeah, that sounds good.” “That is comfort food.” “We ate that a lot when I was a kid.” It is all in the name.

    That is how I’m labeling this winter: The year of ICE and hamburger soup. It would be grand to be able to make vats of the stuff and feed some families still in hiding and people who are food insecure. We could leave out the burger to meet religious or personal preferences. But I’d love to add a crusty chunk of bread with each bowl to really fill everyone’s stomach. And hope that a touch of love gives the soup a dose of comfort.

  • Whistles Still Blowing

    As we file federal taxes, think about how our leaders chose to spend our money. Not on highways or better schools or improved health, but on 3,000 armed and masked government agents sent into multi-cultural communities with near complete freedom to hunt for people who might be in the U.S. illegally. Wearing expensive military equipment. No warrants needed. No explanation of how their lists are assembled. Federal domestic abuse perpetrated on men, women and children, particularly if they do not have white skin. And extended to anyone blowing the whistle on the ICE action or filming the action or merely annoying the masked strangers.

    Comfort is needed for people hiding in the occupied cities of Minnesota, for people brave enough to care for their neighbors’ needs, for all both here and abroad who have watched the loss of life and the trampling of basic human rights. For those who sing along with Bruce Springsteen’s “Streets of Minneapolis” and fear their own communities’ futures.  Trauma exists far beyond the I-494-694 freeways.

    Family and friends have fled the cities looking for safety and security and the ability to work. Some people just disappeared. They may have returned to other countries. They might be in a DHS facility. Or they could be living in your state. Thousands of individuals continue to feed, provide transportation, pay the rent of those in hiding.  ICE may stalk caregivers’ homes as well. And our schools, teachers, staff, parents who patrol each morning and afternoon.

    For those willing to walk in subzero weather and throw their bodies in the way of harm to protect a stranger or neighbor, how will we keep fighting for the United States we love? There isn’t any end date for what is happening. Did anyone think we would be facing these questions a year ago? 

    The answers are large, unknown. 

    One day at a time. One struggle at a time. 

    Whistles are still blowing on the streets of Minneapolis.