The Magic of Maple Syrup Making

“We like to tap trees close to the trail. We’re kind of lazy.” 

Rich Metzler made this declaration in the midst of collecting sap from over 200 maple trees tapped on his property the previous day. Within an hour we’d have over 250 gallons ready to be cooked down to maple syrup. And that’s just the first pass.

Needless to say, the Metzler family is anything but lazy. Every spring they band together and produce an average of 350 gallons of syrup. With a typical ratio of 40:1, that takes 14,000 gallons of sap. Between the prep work, sap collection, processing, and cleanup, it adds up to hundreds of hours of hands-on work throughout the weeks-long season. 

Granted, it’s not uncommon to see evidence of syrup production while driving through back roads in early spring. According to the USDA, Wisconsin produced 300,000 gallons of maple syrup in 2021. And that doesn’t count the many rurally-living Wisconsinites that usher in spring by tapping their own trees for personal use. 

But what draws them to it? Is it an easy means to natural sugar? A lucrative side hustle? 

With an invitation to join Rich and his family this year, we were about to find out. 

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The Metzlers’ decades-long tradition started with a bet in a Minnesota bar. During a fateful spring in the early ‘80s, Rich’s father, Les, found himself seated next to a friend describing his process for making homemade maple syrup.

“He bet I couldn’t boil down sap without burning it,” recalls Les. “I like a bet so I gave it a try.”

Forty-plus years later, Les has a full blown “sap shack” next to his central Wisconsin home, serving as the hub for producing syrup from maple trees growing on nearby properties owned by friends and family. He admits there have been some burned batches over the years, but it wasn’t on his watch. Perhaps it was inevitable as the operation has grown and involved more and more people.

The process sounds simple enough: Tap trees, collect sap, and boil it down to a concentrated syrup. Filter to remove impurities and sediment, bottle, and voilà – ready to serve at the local church pancake breakfast fundraiser.

But simple doesn’t mean easy.

Tapping day

Let’s back up to tapping day on Rich’s property. By the time we arrive for what I assume is the first step in syrup production, Rich, his son, Knox, and Les have already spent about 40 hours sanitizing taps and attaching the bags to their metal hangers. 

In that case, on to step two. 

Rich, Knox, Brett, and I set off on foot along the trail that cuts through the woods, with Les following close behind in a tractor holding the extra supply of bags. Rich chooses an eligible maple and uses a cordless drill to make a 5/16 inch hole in a south-facing spot a few feet above the ground. In his other hand is a spray bottle used to wash away bark bits near the hole. Knox follows with a tap, gently hammering it in until secure and sap starts to drip out. Bringing up the caboose, Brett and I swoop in to hang a bag to catch the dripping sap. 

One down. 229 more to go.

Rich explains how trees can be tapped year after year without causing harm. During winter, maples store starch in their roots, which converts to sugar when temperatures rise above freezing in spring. Sap flows in response to pressure changes caused by temperatures being below freezing at night and warm during the day. We’re only removing excess sap that isn’t necessary for the health and sustainability of the trees.

Weaving through the property, we pass a wood shed piled high with fuel for the sap shack fire. It’s hard to imagine the large supply will dwindle in the coming weeks – another reminder that syrup preparation started long before today.

By the time our walking assembly line reaches the trail end back in their driveway, some of the earlier bags already have an inch or more of the vaguely sweet liquid. (Fun fact: Sap is 97% water.) Sunshine helps the sap run faster. When we return the next afternoon, many of the bags are nearing capacity. 

Sap collection

Collection is another team effort, with Rich’s wife, Angie, joining in the fun. We make our way through the wooded trail, each carrying a three- or five-gallon bucket. We remove bags, pour sap into our buckets, and then dump them into the mesh opening on a 100-gallon stock tank attached to a trailer pulled by a 4-wheeler. 

When the tank fills, a driver – today it’s Les – maneuvers the 4-wheeler along the trail, trying to keep sap from splashing out. A 250-gallon food grade tote is waiting on the bed of a truck in the driveway. Les pumps the sap from the stock tank to the tote, then returns to us to refill.

Walk to tree. Lift bag. Pour. Replace bag. Rest pumping heart. Repeat. There’s something therapeutic to this work in the fresh spring air, with sun glimmering through the trees and making the snow sparkle. The task is done in less than an hour. 

The transformation

When the 250 gallon tank is full, the truck makes a three-mile journey from Rich’s property to the sap shack at his dad’s. The sap is pumped into stainless steel holding tanks set on a platform above the shack, allowing the liquid to be gravity fed inside.

Entering the shack brings a wave of heat as Rich’s brother, Ryan, adds wood to the raging fire inside a 12 foot by 4 foot metal cooker. At first glance the space appears more like a blacksmith shop, if it wasn’t for trays of sap bubbling over the heat. Once the door to the fire is closed, I step closer and can smell the sweet, nostalgic smell of an old-fashioned candy shop. 

Rich stands next to the cooker and his face lights up as he explains how their built-from-scratch operation works. A valve allows sap to enter from the outside tanks through pipes into the left-most trays. As the liquid becomes more concentrated, it moves from tray to tray, becoming sweeter and darker in color. A hydrometer is used to test the sugar concentration as it nears the end. 31.5 is the magic number, meaning it’s ready to move to the final cooking, filtration, and bottling station. 

More sap is let in as water evaporates and wood is added to the fire every 10 minutes. The goal is to keep a steady level of liquid in the pans to keep it boiling, but not burning. Apparently burned sap is a real headache to clean come the end of season – not to mention a ding on Les’ pride.

What it’s all about

Repetitive tasks could seem mundane, but the people keep it fresh. Every time we stop by the shack there are some new faces gathered inside and out. Everyone seems in good spirits at this annual marking of spring. Adults drink beers and tell stories. Kids splash in puddles in the gravel driveway. We meet additional family members, friends, and neighbors. Many live just down the road – making them our neighbors, too. 

As the weeks pass, it seems some of the initial excitement has waned. Understandably so: Nearly every day includes syrup responsibilities that have to be scheduled around work, school, sports, and appointments. Rain and snow haven’t helped. We’ve been able to come and go at our convenience, but the Metzlers are committed. 

We stop by on the evening of Easter (no breaks for holidays!) and learn more about the monetary investment of syrup making. Like so many activities, you can spend as little or much as you want. Many supplies can be re-used if you’re willing to put in the time and elbow grease during cleanup. But purchasing taps, sap bags, bag holders, bottles, and caps can add up quickly, and there’s costs to repairs and improvements to processing equipment.

“It’s an expensive hobby, but we don’t do it for the money,” Rich says. “It’s about bringing everyone together.”

I think about how much has gone into each finished quart of syrup. How somebody physically gathered 10 gallons of sap. Transported it to the shack and into the cooker, all of which were built from scratch. Spent hours adding wood to the fire and monitoring the evaporation. How two people – likely Rich and his father – worked side by side to filter and bottle it.

How many other products would I have a greater appreciation for if I witnessed the process? 

We leave at dusk, noting that Rich likely still has hours of cooking before he can call it a night. Driving down country roads in our side-by-side, clinging to glass bottles of syrup in each hand, Brett jokes it feels like we’re bootlegging moonshine.

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These past weeks have brought so much more than knowledge of how to make maple syrup. We’ve drank homemade wine (another one of Rich’s pastimes). Offered to chicken-sit for neighbors. Tasted still-warm, unfiltered syrup. Watched this year’s totals get marked on the wall next to years past. Experienced first-hand how one man’s hobby has turned into a multi-generational family tradition. Spent time with kind, generous people that value family, community, the environment, and enjoying life’s most simple pleasures.

Maybe we’ll start our own small-scale syrup production on our property in the future. But we’ve learned the magic of maple syrup isn’t in the process itself. Nor is it an easy moneymaker. It’s an excuse to breathe in the spring air after a long winter. A reason to come together with friends and family. To work together. Laugh. Reminisce. Make plans. And remember what truly matters.

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Video highlights

Snapshots

Wondering what to do with your own pure maple syrup? Try maple cinnamon roasted nuts.

Share your thoughts!

Does your family have a tradition that has stood the test of time? An experience that means more than the physical or monetary benefit? Tell us about it in the comments below.