“We could leave,” Elias said at breakfast.
The next morning, Elias woke before dawn. Frost glittered on the grass. He ran to the sugar bush. From the spile in the old maple, a single drop fell. Then another. He cupped his hand under the flow—cold, clear, sweet. guided reading questions
The sugar shack had stood at the edge of the forest for four generations. Every March, Elias’s family tapped the maples, boiled the sap, and filled amber bottles with sweetness. But this year, the buckets hung empty. “We could leave,” Elias said at breakfast
No drip. No rhythm.
“Too warm,” Elias’s father said, wiping his forehead in mid-March. “The sap isn’t running.” He ran to the sugar bush
That night, Elias searched online: Why do maple trees stop producing sap? Climate change. Unseasonable heat. Shifting freeze-thaw cycles. He read that some farmers were moving operations north, chasing the cold.
His father stared into his coffee. “Your great-grandmother’s tree can’t move.”