Writing the Self 1: Maple Goodness

Throwing on my bright pink coat, I race out to the front doors of my mom’s apartment building holding a small plastic bowl, allowing the icy air to hit my face. My mission is to fill the bowl with fresh snow. Along the outside of the old, chipped white and red building there are small hills of snow piling up, just enough for me to take my fingers and scrape the fresh layer of snow off of the top into my bowl. Firmly, I press the snow down and scoop more from the pile in front of me, filling my bowl completely and giving it another press with my palms. My fingers and face are slightly chilled, the air is calm, and thick snowflakes fall onto me slowly without bother, all is content.  Kneeling on the concrete ground, I look up into the blindingly white sky and take in the weather around me, this is my absolute favourite type of winter weather.  I grab the bowl and make my way back into the building, the loud and spongy sound of my steps being softened by snow underneath me. I am about to make what are really, essentially, maple popsicles for the very first time. My youthful mind is bursting with excitement over the treat because my mom made these with her sister long ago in Quebec, which is where she grew up. I feel a connection to her roots, and I think of my mom while I make my way up the old, musty smelling carpet that covers the stairs, remembering that this was her favourite treat back then. The apartment instantly feels warm and toasty as I step in to take off my boots and coat while my sister waits in the kitchen with all of the supplies: popsicle sticks and maple syrup.  “Okay now make sure you get the syrup on quickly before the snow starts to melt!” mom says loudly as she walks in with a big smile on her face, her skin still firm and bright, her eyes as kind as ever. Marianne, my sister, has everything open and ready. I take the thick bottle of real maple syrup and begin to pour it slowly in a straight line across the snow, the overbearingly sweet and sticky scent taking me over. Marianne and I take turns laying out the syrup until there is enough to start rolling it all up. I take a popsicle stick and lay the end at the top of a syrup strip, slowly rolling the stick along until I have neatly stuck it all together on the stick and pass it to my mom to have for herself. Taking another popsicle stick, I quickly make up my own and try it as soon as I can. Heavenly sweetness fills my mouth and the three of us smile at each other. The water that was once snow combines with sickly sweet goop in such a way to perfect the taste and later become one of my favourite childhood treats too. It may be my excitement of trying something that my mom loves that makes this moment and everything in it so wonderful. However, maple syrup is simply that much tastier with the cool touch of snow and a popsicle stick to eat it from.