Having animals to tend again, chores to do, is a kind of rebirth for me; a second childhood, a return to yesteryear. Like a new blade of grass, or a fresh sprout poking up through the brown, winter-soaked leaves at the edge of a field, I am coming alive once more, feeling a sense of déjà vu, a usefulness and sense of value and accomplishment that was sorely lacking during all those years working at the prison. Living things are depending on me again for sustenance, understanding and compassion, patience, maintenance and punctuality.

My grandfather, Will Coolidge, was a thrifty, practical, native Adirondacker who, among his other occupations, was also a producer of maple syrup. At one time or another during his life (all 78 years of which was spent on the land he loved – the farm where he was born, in Jay, NY), he was a taxi driver, dairy farmer, potato grower, mailman and trapper. But the thing I remember him for the most is making maple syrup. And while he went about this demanding and honorable business, he was also passing down little pearls of wisdom to me, his eldest grandson.

Elisabeth Jonsson, a previous guest at the ranch, was struck by the similarities between cattle ranching in the American West, and raising reindeer in the far north of her native Sweden. Reindeer, like cattle, are highly gregarious and usually travel in herds. The American rancher relies on his cattle herd to sustain a way of life that has been ongoing for nearly 150 years. Laplanders, the inhabitants of the northern-most regions of Norway, Finland and Sweden, have been herding reindeer for centuries, and are almost completely dependent on them for their livelihood.

I remember, when I was a boy growing up on the farm, how my younger brother and I looked forward to Christmas Eve, and the arrival of Santa Claus. Each December 24th, after we had done all of our chores out in the barn: fed the calves, put out fresh bedding for all of the animals, and given our ponies their Christmas treats, we’d get cleaned up and ready for bed. Of course, like most kids, we always put out a snack for Santa – a mug of hot chocolate and a plate of cookies, or maybe a glass of milk and a piece of pie. But, in addition to Santa’s snack, we always left some nice, fresh hay out in the front yard for the reindeer, too.

March 1982 ~ Dad & I have just built a new, smaller sugarhouse on a slight bench above the brook, behind our 120-year-old farmhouse, on the Glen Road in Jay. I’m 27 now, and employed as a Correction Officer by the State of New York at Clinton Prison in Dannemora. This 6-week stretch that I spend making maple syrup with my father every spring is a retreat, of sorts ~ a return to a simpler time, of working with your hands, legs and back, producing a seasonal product, as my family has done for six generations.

When I step out the door on a frosty spring morning, and I’m greeted by the sounds of not only my own animals, but those of the songbirds, crows, and wild geese, I know that I’m right where I was meant to be, where I need to be – the only place on earth where I WANT to be. As I take those first brisk steps towards the hay barn to commence the morning feeding, the bleating of my goats, nicker of the horses and meowing of the cats serve as a welcoming chorus…