ZIISIBAAKADAKE – SUGAR MOON
By Mashkodebizhikigahbaw, Benji Sam
Photos by Maajiitaaziibkwe, Mary Sam
As the month of March came to an end, we round out an other year tapping maple trees and sharing the woods with our loved ones in the very same location that our family has tapped since the beginning of our family’s verbal history. To walk the same woods, with remnants of old tin sap collection cans among the very same trees, or at least the offspring, that our grandparent’s grandparents tapped is incredibly empowering.
Those who tap trees and gather around their own Iskigamizigan, sugar camp, know well that every year brings new challenges and new beginnings, as well as celebration of old traditions. It seems like the new challenges of the last few years has been sitting in the wonder of what will become of each sugar season. What was once 250 taps has reduced greatly over the years but remains enough to keep our family busy through the month of March and April. As we reflect on years past and the years to come, one can’t help but wonder how our presence on this earth affects the health of the trees.
This winter offered what seemed like an abundant amount of cold, but we were left unprotected without the cover of snow from the relentless frost that did not give way early despite an other abnormally warm start to the month of March. Our family text thread is such a supportive and entertaining thread, every one hearing from strangers and family friends telling us that we “tapped too early,” we “tapped too late,” or we simply “won’t have a good year.” Everyone takes their guess as to what the remainder of the spring will bring. We always talk about signs that indicate when the season is over, whether it’s the coming of the moths and flies, the return of the geese, robins, and songbirds, or simply by when the trees bud and the sap turns cloudy, our own little wives’ tails keep us all entertained.
We were lucky to gather enough sap this year to pass by a few gallons of syrup after choosing to not tap trees last year due to the abnormally warm and dry winter we had. With how warm the spring was in 2024, something just didn’t feel right about asking the trees to support us when they put through such severe weather changes, so we went down to our Iskigamizigan and we feasted our trees as a family instead. Although our 2025 season felt a little short with the fluctuating weather patterns, we are thankful to the trees for providing life and good food to our family.
Watching the children run around the woods, learn to navigate downfall and uneven terrain, and learn to appreciate and understand the hard work it takes to make syrup gives life more meaning. Seeing four generations of Anishinaabe people gather every spring is what makes Iskigamizigan so special. Flaming hot coals, rolling boils, steam carrying into the distance with the wind, the sound of coyotes singing in the distance, laughter, and storytelling fills the air around the fire.
The moments that live on forever are in every one of those children playing with their cousins, getting covered in mud, roasting hotdogs over the coals, and in adults’ reflection of childhood memories that brings out the kid in every one of us. The stars and moon shine a little brighter this time of year, the sun rises a little earlier and goes to bed a little bit later, and the earth shifts from winter to spring before our eyes.
We count our blessings by the dozen with every year that passes by as we close up sugarbush soon. And if we’re lucky, we may have another boil yet to come. Don’t forget your tobacco, don’t forget to thank those trees that take care of us, and above all else, always remember that Iskigamizigan means family time well spent.
