Weaver's Sugarbush (song)

Song: Weaver's Sugarbush
Music & Lyrics: AI

[Verse1]
In Lake Pleasant, where the maples stand,
A whisper wakes across the frosted land.
The late-winter sun, a warming grace,
Starts the sweet cycle in this storied place.
Through Weaver's woods, the lines are hung and tight,
To catch the morning's flow and cold of night.
[Verse2]
The old sugar house, a beacon in the thaw,
Honors a heritage that many did call.
Here, generations of the Weaver name
Stirred boiling sap above a burning flame.
The sweet steam billows, a sugary perfume,
Dispelling winter's long and frosty gloom.
[Verse3]
From tap to tank, a liquid, clear, and thin,
The patient boiling makes the magic begin.
The fire's fierce heat, the evaporator's song,
Concentrates a sweetness, pure and strong.
From many drops, a golden stream is born,
A gift of sunlight on a cool spring morn.
[Verse4]
Outside the shack, the snow and mud combine,
As proof of seasons crossing, a good sign.
Buckets of old stand witness to the new,
A testament to all the Weavers do.
Their family task, in this north country high,
Is written in the Adirondack sky.
[Verse5]
The final syrup, amber, dark, and deep,
A liquid jewel for the family to keep.
To taste the wild and woodland, rich and true,
A pure delight from Lake Pleasant's morning dew.
In every jug, a season's patient yield,
The heart of Weaver's in a maple-tapped field.