So we’re getting socked with more snow in New England today. As in 10-16 inches expected at my house. Those of us in forced hibernation might particularly enjoy this funny anecdote from last week’s blizzard, Juno 2015. Resourceful New England women, battling the elements… Please welcome the author, my sister Susan.

On Burying the Cow

by Susan Giordano

Every ten seconds or so, I’d wave my arm predictably or raise a leg intentionally just to let any curious passers-by or concerned neighbors know NOT to call 911! Peace and satisfaction overwhelmed as I lay triumphantly on the woman-made pile of snow–my own Great (snow) Wall of China–separating our cars from threatening invader drifts. The snow melted on bright flushed cheeks, fogging my sunglasses, blurring the usually crisp clean tall tree lines, wavy. Their branches swayed back and forth predictably as if under the hypnotic trance of the lofty whirling winds. Staring up into the stormy grey abyss, I could only see cold confectionary sugar sifting silently and relentessly down.

A couple days earlier on another icy cold afternoon, we had travelled to the Connecticut border to retrieve a quarter of a grass-fed cow for storage in the freezer. Having reached our farm destination, I noticed in the back yard, as high as a telephone wire on a street pole, a 250 foot laundry line of wet hanging clothes that floated up a long hill–there must have been three loads-worth I estimated, imagining the labor this job entailed.

“My dryer broke,” our farmer friend explained casually.

“Why so high?” I wondered aloud.

“They say the higher the clothes, the windier, the faster they dry,” was the sensible reply.

I further learned her husband was working out of town for the weekend, which was especially tough THIS morning, because sadly enough, one of her cows had just died of pneumonia and she had to bury it, this morning.

(Thoughtfully, her husband had prepared ahead before he left, she explained, and had dug a hole with a backhoe–just in case.) So, that was good. It’s not everyday one meets a woman who deftly works around a broken dryer mid-winter and buries a cow–all in the same morning!

Just two days later, winter storm Juno of 2015 dropped its fresh white historic payload into our forty-foot driveway. Like my farmer friend’s scene, my husband was also “out of town” of sorts, busily making conference calls from his basement work office most of the day.
Reminded by my inspirational farm visit, I summoned strength and determined to clear the thickly blanketed driveway, to “bury my own cow.” The self-imposed mission was set. And with the exception of pleasant occasional visits from my youngest helpers, Will, 10, and Caroline, 7–I was on my own.

This job called for an old-fashioned shovel. Armed and perhaps dangerous, it was show time.
After a long mid-day go of it, I shoveled a few strategically-planned paths toward the street, breaking through the daunting mountainous plow pile where the driveway meets the road, and amassing a *Jerimoth Hill-sized mogul for the joy of my sledding-aged children. I proudly thought, while uncomfortably stretching my aching back — my farmer friend — she has nothing on me…

I could have rested for an hour that afternoon on my little hill in the silent swirling snow, waving off imaginary worried neighbors, staring at the frozen dashes sprinkling evenly from above. But there was more to be done. I planted my “flag” atop the conquered peak and slowly, regrouping, trudged back down over the Great Wall into the house and down the stairs to conquer the next personal never-ending battle, below. Switching yet another wet load of laundry into the dryer, I meekly pressed the “start” button.

*Jerimoth Hill (812 ft, 247 m), the highest natural point in Rhode Island.

Learn more about high flyin’, clothes dryin’, cow buryin’ farmer Julia Boyce: Evolving Farmer  Click to Julia’s story, #6 of Reader’s Digest Best Life Stories.

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I grew up in the beautiful back woods of Rhode Island. Our retired neighbors, the Pecks, lived on a hundred acres next door. Mr. and Mrs. Peck were an endless source of entertainment, wonder and companionship for me as a child. He, a retired engineer with striped engineer’s hat, shock of white hair and mustache. And she, with two long white braids in keeping with her Cherokee heritage. Of great shock and interest to me, she skinny-dipped at 5:30 a.m. each morning to the island in their pond. She invited me once. (NO THANK YOU, Mrs. Peck!!!) But always unusual conversation, kindness and interesting observations in their home. Mrs. Peck was often taking a pan of cookies out of the oven as I’d arrive for an impromptu visit. She made wonderful peanut butter cookies, always welcomed me in. She also taught me how to knit when I was only six.

Mr. Peck designed their amazing three story contemporary home, complete with a working dumb waiter he let us kids ride up and down. There was a metal spiral central staircase connecting all three floors, a human anti-gravity machine (hint: hang by your ankles), and double decker porches overlooking the enormous man made pond he designed and built by damming the wetlands.

Photo courtesy of Clarke Ryder

The wooded island in the middle of the pond housed a gazebo. Rowing out solo for a picnic and afternoon island explore was always an exciting adventure.

Photo courtesy of Clarke Ryder

A small scale beautiful wooden covered bridge (above) led to a cabin on the far side of the pond, just out of view in the picture. A zip-line we called “the trolley”, complete with antique metal tractor seat was mounted between two tall pines. Mr. Peck often walked the periphery of the pond, tossing in breadcrumbs along the way. Schools of fish swam along, following behind Mr. Peck, the Pied Piper. The pond froze hard and thick in winter, and we skated there often.

When the sap ran in early spring, I’d often ride the wooded trails with Mr. Peck to collect it. I’d hear his tractor motor back in the back woods and hunt ’til I found him. He drove the tractor, hauling a trailer behind with big clean garbage pails for collecting the sap. I’d hop on and off the back, dumping maple sap from the collection buckets into the gigantic pails. After the run, we’d head to the sugar house by the pond where Mr. Peck would crank up the stove to boil sap for syrup making. It took forty gallons of sap to make one gallon of syrup. Hot and steamy inside the sugar house, if you looked up, you couldn’t miss the suspended shell from a two hundred pound snapping turtle. Mr. Peck himself shot it on the island. (No one wants to be chomped by a two hundred pound snapper, least of all his skinny-dipping wife!) In short, Mr. Peck was a Yankee Renaissance man.

Every so often the Pecks would invite our whole family over to enjoy Maple Sugar on Snow. It was a neighborly, family thing to do. And I remember thoroughly enjoying the camaraderie, feeling especially important that I’d made such a valuable contribution in helping to collect the sap.

The recipe I’m sharing today is different than the one we enjoyed with the Pecks. Their Maple Sugar on Snow,  involved boiling maple syrup to a very high temperature, then pouring over fresh snow. The snow cooled the boiling syrup quickly, making taffy like strands of maple delight.

This past week a friend kindly shared her recipe for Maple Taffy on Snow, an old French recipe from her grandparents. Maple Taffy on Snow has maple syrup, plus a few more magical ingredients. Like brown sugar, butter and vanilla. What’s not to love? With the newly fallen New England snow (and more forecasted!), now’s a great opportunity to enjoy this fun, old-fashioned family tradition with yours. A great across-the-generations activity, making Maple Taffy on Snow is perfect after sledding, skating and snow angels.

Gently boil the four ingredient syrup mixture for 5 minutes, stirring.

Drizzle over several pans of fresh, clean snow.

The taffy will harden slightly, looking like this.

Now it’s time to grab some forks and dig in!

There were lots of volunteers to help.

And not a complaint. (!)

Print

Maple Taffy on Snow

Maple Taffy on Snow. Soft maple taffy hardens on snow. An old-fashioned French tradition.

Course Candy

Prep Time 5 minutes minutes

Cook Time 5 minutes minutes

Total Time 10 minutes minutes

Servings 2

Author Allie Taylor

Ingredients

• 1 cup maple syrup
• 1/2 cup brown sugar
• 1 tablespoon butter
• 1 teaspoon vanilla

Instructions

• Boil all ingredients slowly, at a low boil for 5 minutes, stirring frequently.
• Fill several large shallow pans with fresh, clean snow.
• (9 X 13" or roasting pan works well)
• Drizzle liquid taffy mixture onto the snow.
• If it stays on the top and slightly hardens, it's ready.
• If it's too hard and sticky in your teeth, it's overcooked.
• Eat immediately, right out of the pan with a fork.
• Best shared!

We made quick work of two pans of delicious Maple Taffy On Snow, a nice lunch appetizer (!) yesterday. Hope you’ll try this recipe. Do you have any fun maple syrup, Maple Sugar on Snow or Taffy on Snow memories? Please share them today!

Related posts: DIY Vanilla Bean Maple Syrup

 Sugar Bush Farm

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“Deck the halls with boughs of holly! Fa la la la la, la la la la!”

Rhode Island is near and dear to my heart. I was born there just a few short years ago. Giggle. Only thirty-nine by forty-one miles, Rhode Island has some of the best coastline in all of New England. (I’m not biased or anything.)

I’ve got a real treat for you today. Through Her Looking Glass was invited on an exclusive Rhode Island Christmas Home Tour in Barrington. Love this home owner’s style, she knows a thing or two about design and ringing in the season. When you got it, you got it. And she does. You’ll see warm wood tones, artistic vignettes, lamp light, gorgeous artwork, eclectic decorations and a dash of coastal inspiration.

Fireglow mingles with saltwater breezes…

Clever perch, fella.

The starfish were hung by the chimney with care…

“Meet me under the mistletoe…”

Love. Love. Love.

Clever use of driftwood….

Pewter. Fruit. Classic.

The Holy Family.

Twelve drummers drumming. (Well, actually just one.)

“Sing we all Noel…”

Unclench those teeth, little holiday man. It’s Christmas after all!

There just aren’t enough wreaths in this house. 

“Infant Holy, Infant lowly, for His bed a cattle stall.”

An elf! (Not on the shelf.)

Rudolph putting on airs.

This gorgeous platter is begging for some Decorated Christmas Roll Out Cookies http://throughherlookingglass.com/?p=1821

(Or Peppermint Bark  http://throughherlookingglass.com/?p=1977 )

Must. Have. Chocolate.

“Peace on earth, good will to men.”

Snowman. With attitude.

There’s just something about a cut glass shade. Gorgeous.

“Silent Night. Holy Night.

All is calm, all is bright

Round ‘yon virgin, mother and child.

Holy infant, so tender and mild,

Sleep in heavenly peace,

Sleep in heavenly peace.”

-Franz Gruber, 1818

Thanks, Sis, for an inspiring home tour and getting me in the Christmas spirit. Love what you’ve done. Such a beautiful home and family, inside and out. Merry, merry Christmas!

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