The Sugarbush is located on the Platte Mound.
  Close enough to not be far. Far enough to not be close
We hauled our hammers, axes, and buckets up the steps.
  How many steps were there?
  They seemed to multiply every time we climbed
I heard that our hard work and effort make the syrup sweeter.
  That’s a nice sentiment.
  Then it rained. And snowed. And melted. And iced. And rained again
My boots slipped on the mud beneath me.
  I bet this makes the syrup sweeter, too.
  My only consolation was the humor found in stumbling
Then, we began to nurture our fires to evaporate the sap.
  The ever-present smoke filled my lungs
   I bet this makes the syrup sweeter, too.
The next trip reads the same.
   More steps, somehow. More smoke, somehow.
I tasted some partially boiled sap.
  It was sweet.
  I thought of the slips and trips and falls, the cuts and bruises and aches
I took another taste.
  It was sweeter.
I thought of the many jokes and stories that my classmates and I forged on the Mound

I took another taste.
  It was sweeter.
  We climbed the same stairs, we breathed the same smoke, we slipped on the same mud
I took my last taste.
  It was sweeter again.
I revel, now, in what I was told at the beginning.
  After all was said and done, the syrup was sweetest when we poured our hearts into it.