I grew up in a family that loved ice cream.
We ate a LOT of ice cream.
My mom wondered why the ice cream went so quickly,
until she caught my Dad in action.
Apparently, he left a spoon in the ice-cream bucket.
When he went down to stoke the fire,
we survived North Dakota winters heating with
a wood-burning stove,
he would have a few bites.
(I think he deserved them, don’t you?)
Anyway, we grew up on those huge buckets
of ice cream that were about $2.
We usually bought vanilla, so we could add toppings,
but on rare occasion had Neapolitan.
As an adult, I was offered Breyer’s vanilla ice cream
for the first time, and I didn’t like it.
It didn’t taste like ice cream to me.
We had the same experience with Rebekah and maple syrup.
Not a possibility in my neighborhood,
so I drove to Trader Joe’s and bought real Maple Syrup and waffles.
Traffic was bad, it took me over 10 minutes to go 2.3 miles.
Life as a city pioneer can be grueling.
We didn’t see a bear, but almost saw an accident.
Back to the syrup.
She cut the waffle in half,
and tried each kind of syrup.
She ate the Mrs. Butterworth’s first.
I grew up with the Maple flavored kind we made from scratch.
Store bought, like Mrs. Butterworth’s, was a luxury.
Pondering, while letting the natural goodness swirl around her tongue.
If I ever find a Maple tree flowing with syrup,
I officially know I won’t have to stop and make syrup for my family.
However, if I find a sale on imitation syrup,
I better stock up.