For me, making maple syrup isn’t about profit—it’s about rhythm, place, and tradition. What began over two decades ago with a few taps for curiosity’s sake has grown into a seasonal ritual rooted in the land I call home. Each spring, as the nights stay cold and the days begin to warm, I return to the woods to do what feels like second nature: collect sap, tend the boil, and share the sweetness.

Working with around 80 taps across a small section of my 40-acre property, I keep things intentionally small-scale. I don’t use vacuum pumps or reverse osmosis systems. I work with buckets and gravity, fire and patience. The flavor of the syrup changes year to year, shaped by the weather, the trees, and the land itself—it’s not something I control, but something I collaborate with.