Who’s at Your Breakfast Table?

 

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Our handsome son with college long hair with an unshaven look

 

Look at who sat at our breakfast table this week! Our son was on spring break and was home all week. Tom and I rose Sunday morning with an ambition to cook breakfast together as a team, for our son. Scrumptious bacon sizzled on its pan in the oven, as eggs bubbled in pools of butter and the cinnamon French toast scent wafted through the house.

 

 

 

 

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It made my heart full to plan my cookie baking while my son was at the table.

 
We were happy to wake with our son under our roof. Tom and I patiently waited awhile for the delicious aromas to wake Branden,but he really needed to sleep in. We ate in quiet with the sun shining in our little windows. He woke later and entered the kitchen to discover his plate and his breakfast warming in the oven. A sleepy smile came to his face and I was grateful for this and for his presence, at our table.

 
It was a rough week, later on with our son getting the stomach bug. We collectively made sure he was hydrated and on the road to recovery. We sanitized all week and built our immune systems up so we could stay healthy while he was home. Despite the crummy week, our breakfast moment was special.

 

 

Who is at your breakfast table? Your family or guests are there for a reason, to be with you. Instead of being glued to your cell phone or device, enjoy the people at your table. Talk and laugh and be grateful for their presence.

 

All My Best,

Heart and Soul

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Nature’s Spring Gift

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There’s no place I’d rather be than on this dusty road….

venturing out on a quiet Sunday afternoon.

The intense beauty of my home and its heritage run through my veins,

as I welcome  the first signs of spring!

A row of erect trees stand in salute,

 

as the afternoon sun casts reaching shadows across the road.

 

Magnificent maples proudly wear their Sunday best, metal sap buckets,
A quaint and historic reminder of long ago,

 

back to the times of Early European settlers.

 

 

 

 

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Beyond the trees the mountain tops reach to the clouds.

 

Closer to the eye,  wispy branches mingle here and there while the afternoon sun fades.

 

Just soggy leaves and brown grass remains,

 

recovering from a cover of light winter snow.

 

 

 

 

A decrepit crumbling stonewall leads to a grand maple

 

and silver sap buckets, hanging with purpose catch my eye.

 
More evidence of spring…

 

 

A vision of nature’s simplicity, the running of the sap is  ruled by the weather,

 

warm days and cool nights are ideal for the saps flow.

 

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Further down the stretch of road plastic lines connect each maple like a dot to dot at school.

 

They too do the job of collecting, yet there is no beauty in it.

 
For the metal old fashioned buckets mean something more to me, spring! home! New England! A picture perfect postcard!

 

 

I have memories of a few times my family tapped our trees in the yard long ago.

I remember peeking in the buckets, expecting to hear a ping.

Not much was there, but a  silent flow of a force.

This force is a true pure gift of nature for man to savor.

 

 

At last when the sap is collected, it’s heated to a boil.

Parties congregate in the sugar shacks, celebrating spring and the maple’s gifts. 

 
Amber hues stream from the pitcher, saturating pancakes and sweet to taste.

Lick your lips.

Sticky.

Delicious.

A New England tradition.

 

Buy New England Maple Syrup today!