A MARCH CHRONICLE 89 



teams in up to their bellies. The oxen labor and 

 grunt, or patiently wait for the shovel to release 

 them; but the spirited horse leaps and flounders, 

 and is determined not to give up. In the woods 

 the snow is melted around the trees, and the burrs- 

 and pieces of bark have absorbed the heat till they 

 have sunk half way through to the ground. The 

 snow is melting on the under side ; the frost is going ,, 

 out of the ground: now comes the trial of your 

 foundations. 



About the farm buildings there awakens the old 

 familiar chorus, the bleating of calves and lambs, 

 and the answering bass of their distressed mothers; 

 while the hens are cackling in the hay-loft, and the 

 geese are noisy in the spring run. But the most 

 delightful of all farm work, or of all rural occupa- 

 tions, is at hand, namely, sugar-making. In IS^ew 

 York and northern New England the beginning of 

 this season varies from the flrst to the middle of 

 March, sometimes even holding off till April. The 

 moment the contest between the sun and frost fairly 

 begins, sugar weather begins; and the more even 

 the contest, the more the sweet. I do not know 

 what the philosophy of it is, but it seems a kind of 

 see- saw, as if the sun drew the sap up and the 

 frost drew it down; and an excess of either stops 

 the flow. Before the sun has got power to unlock 

 the frost, there is no sap; and after the frost has 

 lost its power to lock up again the work of the sun, 

 there is no sap. But when it freezes soundly at 

 night, with a bright, warm sun next day, wind in 



