Vermont Quarter, 2001: Tapping for Syrup

He stands between a pair of leafless maples, 
two buckets hang off each of their trunks.   
A scarf that shields his neck is wind-whipped,
the chill of early March still winter-fierce.

In the distance, beyond snow-covered fields,
the icy ridge of Camel’s Hump is limned
with silver by dawn’s first light. This is when 
sap begins to drip, gradually at first. 

The moment is tranquil and commonplace. 
A man leaves his house at daybreak for chores.
The chickens in their roost need to be fed.
Cows lined up inside the barn must be milked. 

Of course, there is no way for him to know
what is happening twenty years later:
a disease across the land, oppression
at the hands of those who swore to protect,

discord over what to do about it 
fracturing bonds between friends and neighbors –
even in his corner of the country,
a calm locale often immune to strife. 

Wearing knee-high boots, he checks all four taps, 
but now is not the time to expect much. 
Come April, when the fields have thawed to mud,
enough for syrup will gush from these trees. 

Then, boiling the sweet liquid over fire
until only a small portion remains,
he will make the prized ingredient 
implied by the scene on the back of this coin:

“Freedom and Unity”, the state motto 
emblazoned in the foreground to his right.