The Cane Boil

Inside it was warm while we layered in fleece, old sweatshirts, knit caps and gloves. This is Alachua, Florida and it's 19 degrees. The dogs ran circles around us turning the frosted grass to green mush as we approached the tool shed for our machetes. Why? Because sugar cane grows well here. Because even two acres is enough for a family-sized year-round cane crop and victory garden here. Because if you have ever tasted home grown, home juiced, home boiled sugar cane syrup, you will never be the same again.

R.G. Peattie carrying harvested cane to the cutting pile

 

Tapasvini feeds pieces of cane into the Vijay juicer while Nadia keeps the supply coming. Both the feeder and the catcher of squeezed cane are covered in cane juice in no time.

The girls take a break from algebra equations to sample cane juice cut with lemon.

Eventually the December sun overwhelmed us. Jackets, hats, long underwear were cast over fences as we moved through preparations for Saturday's Community Cane Boil: juice enough cane to get a full cauldron ready, make sure firewood is dry, gather enough machetes, kitchen knives, bowls and buckets; split enough harvested cane. Visiting friends and a handful of students from Gator Nation will pitch in at various necessary chores in the process. But they must be fed, so bisquits and a huge pot of soup have to be made.

 Jim Crack glares at his human friends from the cabbage, fixing them with one green, then one blue eye, wondering why the dogs are getting more attention on Cane Boil Day.

R.G. keeps the juice circulating in the caste iron cauldron as it begins to boil down. This is the place to stay warm, beside the fire.

Call it community involvement, call it a spiritual connection with Nature. For me, physical labor in pursuit of dirt under the fingernails and blisters from hand tools are a form of meditation. Cane leaves slice like paper cuts, and sugar in a wound stings as much as salt.

When others have gone, the family works into the evening to finish the juicing.

The aroma of sweet cane syrup warms the clear winter sky.

Maybe it's having happily  labored to get to this goal. Maybe it's appreciating all the robust taste of all things organic. Maybe it just is what it is: one finger full of warm cane syrup elevates the senses, and they will demand to know, why have you been keeping this from me for so long?

Just a small plot of sugar cane in a Florida backyard, a small juicer from India, and a hand-me-down cauldron yield endless cane juice and more than six gallons of cane syrup.And many many perfect pancake breakfasts.