Elias walked the line of trees alone. He passed the old silver maple, then the twin reds, until he reached the last tree—a giant sugar maple his great-grandmother had planted. Its trunk was wider than his outstretched arms. He pressed his palm to the bark.
No drip. No rhythm.
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. guided reading questions
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. Elias walked the line of trees alone
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. He pressed his palm to the bark
“We could leave,” Elias said at breakfast.