//------------------------------// // Sap Collecting // Story: Spring Comes to Snow Hill // by Admiral Biscuit //------------------------------// Red Maple opened his eyes as the mattress shifted. “Getting up?” “Just did.” Sugar Bush brushed her muzzle against his neck, giggling as he recoiled from the cold. “It's snowing. Big, fat flakes.” “That's a good omen.” He pushed the covers down. “Outta put some wood in the stove, else the foals won't want to get up.” “Already did.” “How many times do I gotta tell you to take it easy? Relax? You're gonna—“ She pressed a hoof against his lips. “The foal will be fine.” “I just worry, is all.” He piled the blankets up over her. “Get some more sleep. I’ll wake you up when everypony’s ready.” Red leaned down and nuzzled her cheek, then covered that with the blanket as well. She had no intention of staying in bed; as soon as she heard the back door close, she headed to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. If the barn was his domain, the kitchen was hers—she had no need for a lantern. As she began mixing a bowl of dough, she watched the fat, lazy flakes of snow drifting down outside the window. It didn’t take long for a hungry foal to arrive in the kitchen. She didn’t even need to look to know who it was. “Did you wake up your sister?” His hesitation was answer enough. “She’s tired from yesterday,” Maple explained. “I thought I’d let her sleep in a little bit.” Sugar turned to look at him. “You just wanted to get the freshest samp cake, didn’t you? You really do take after your father. I’m surprised he isn’t in the kitchen yet.” “I was gonna wake her up, promise.” “How many cakes was you going to eat first?” “Just one.” “They’re almost ready,” she said. “If you go wake her up now, you’ll get the first one, fresh out of the pot.” • • • In the barn, she helped her foals into their wicker panniers. Both were pass-me-downs: Winter wore Sugar’s old ones, while Maple Leaf wore his sister’s. Each held a quartet of enameled metal cans—empty milk cans that had been elevated to serve a nobler cause. Once the two of them were loaded up, Sugar helped Red finish fastening his harness, and then hitched him to the large sledge, where more repurposed milk cans stood arrayed in neat rows. Today, she took the lead, and her family followed. Winter and Maple were constantly talking, almost covering the sounds of Red tugging the sledge, but with her ears turned forwards, she could mostly ignore them and instead focus on the sounds of spring. Black-capped chickadees were already out, chirping to mark their territory. Soon, the pegasi would fly over Snow Hill, and migratory birds would follow. They got to work as soon as they arrived in the grove. One by one, she carefully took the sap-filled buckets off the spiles and sipped the sap, making sure that it was good before pouring it into the cans in her foals' panniers. Once those were full, they headed back to the sledge and exchanged them for empties. As the sun climbed above the trees, the temperature rose above freezing. Squirrels bounded around in the snow, looking for their buried caches of nuts. When the sledge was nearly full, Sugar and Red left to unload the morning’s harvest into the transfer tank at the saphouse. Winter, meanwhile, got the leftover boiled samp cakes ready for lunch. Sugar and Red returned while the foals were still eating. Maple Leaf broke off a corner of his last samp cake and offered it to one of the squirrels, who sniffed at it warily before finally snatching it and scampering up a tree with his bounty, and then he and Winter went back to harvesting sap, giving Sugar and Red a chance to eat. At the end of the day, Sugar helped her husband out of his harness at the barn, and then the family went to their small hearth room to relax. “Gonna start reducing the sap tomorrow,” Red said. “Already looks like it's gonna be a good spring, and we don't want to get behind.” “So soon,” Sugar said. “When’s the last time we had a spring this good?” “Before Winter was born. Remember, Pappy had to come out and help, and don't think I didn't get my ears bent about that.” “I can help in the saphouse,” Maple offered. “Carrying wood, and working the fire.” “You're still a little bit—” “You was in the sap house when you was hardly off your mother's teat, remember?” Sugar said. “Pappy would say whenever you went out to get fresh wood how you had the sap in your veins, and—” “Mayhap that's so. I reckon Maple Leaf's old enough.” He leaned down and nuzzled his son. “It's a lot of work—don't think that it isn't.” “I know, Dad.” “Hot work.” Red looked down at his shaggy winter coat and then turned to Sugar. “Might as well get the thinning rake.” Maple’s ears dropped. “Me, too?” “You, too.” • • • Sugar Bush trimmed her son’s coat, and when she’d finished, he stood shivering in the hearth room among a pile of his hair. “This doesn't feel right,” he muttered, running a hoof across his nearly denuded belly. “You'll get used to it,” Red promised. “You'll be grateful tomorrow, I reckon.” “Do you want me to get your blanket?” Winter asked. Maple Leaf lifted his hoof. “No. I—I need to get used to it. Dad doesn’t wear a blanket.” “'Cause he's twice your size.” “Pfft, bragging about your size,” Sugar said. “I'm the widest one here.” She glanced over at her husband, then her children. “It’s time for you two to go to bed—we’re gonna be busy tomorrow, and you need the sleep.”