I suppose it widens our experiences if we try something new.  With this character building in mind I decided to try something old; tree tapping. Collecting the sap of particular trees at Spring time is apparently something that humans have been doing for quite a while.

There was a time, not so long ago, when I did not know the names of the trees.  Then I  made a determined effort to try and be able to identify trees and plants.  It was a long process and I feel like I have only just begun with respect to plants. The trees seemed easier to commit to memory. Then one tree started to stand out as a favourite.  Not the Oak or the Beech; the Birch won my heart.  Its shape, its bark, and even the sound as the wind blows through the leaves. I think it was in an interview that Ray Mears once said that he could identify many of the Native trees just by the sound of the wind through them.  I adore the birch so much that I cut down a fair sized horse chestnut as it was too close to a younger birch. It was bullying the birch and adding the chestnut to the wood pile gave the tree space to simply be itself; be a beautiful birch.

Tapping a birch tree is something that I have been tempted to do for a while.  The window of time for tapping is narrow; only about two weeks.  I have sometimes wistfully looked at birch trees well outside from this critical time. Strangely, the thought of tree tapping never enters my head at the appropriate moment.  Until now.

I stabbed the tree with my knife and drops of clear birch tears formed on the blade.  I collected my equipment; hose, bottle, string and drill.  Three feet from the ground, and at an upward angle, I drilled a one and a half inch hole into my favourite birch tree.  Straight away the sap began to drip out and I plugged the hole with the hose.  That’s it. It seemed comically ridiculous to make a hole in a tree and get a drink out of it.  I collected a small amount  and proudly presented it to the lovely Sharon to share the first tasting. She looked at me quizzically. No, suspiciously. It was clear she had a lack of trust in me and my botanical identification skills. I tasted it myself, this rejuvenating tonic from nature and fortified with forest spring, life itself unfolding.  And it tasted…..of water with a hint of something strange.  No sweetness at all. Was it really a birch?  Had I drunk the poisonous sap of some strange tree?  Doubt dripped into my mind. No, my favourite tree cannot be a lie, it would never do that to me.

Later research revealed that some foragers do admit that the sap tastes pretty much like water with a hint of “earthiness”. The plan, if I collect enough, is to boil it down to make a syrup for pancakes.  I may have to cheat a little by adding sugar. It’s a bit of effort, and it may end up re-purposed on the compost heap, but I think it’s important to try new things.