










































Sweet Bedfellows 
Continuity, Change, and Terroir in Maple Syrup 
By: Michael Lange 

 
The making of maple syrup is an important part of the livelihood and identity of many people in 
Vermont. It is almost impossible for a Vermonter to think of their home state without eventually calling 
to mind images of a stand of maples or a sugarhouse. Even for outsiders without personal experience of 
the state, Vermont is consistently linked to images of maple syrup, maple trees, and the maple leaf, 
even if the bottle of Vermont maple syrup on the kitchen table is their only connection to the state. 
Often, the image of maple syrup conjures up tropes of rurality and an old fashioned way of life. A 
sense of purity and authenticity is connected to the syrup, and eventually to Vermont itself. This 
article explores the connections between maple and the state, and between notions of purity and 
authenticity. I have been conducting ethnographic fieldwork with sugarmakers all over Vermont for the 
past two years, meeting them in storefronts, in sugarhouses, in kitchens, and in their woods. I have 
spoken with people running operations of various sizes, from a hundred taps up through the tens of 
thousands. 1 Sugaring is done in every county of Vermont, on rigs from an open tub in the back yard to 
a fifteen-foot tall evaporator in a dedicated sugarhouse. Sugarmaking is woven throughout the 
landscape of Vermont, both conceptually and geographically, and maple connects inhabitants from all 
across the state. My ongoing fieldwork with sugarmakers delves into those connections. I have been 
asking sugarmakers themselves how purity and authenticity play a role in their own understandings of 
what they do and what they make. I have been learning from them how they see stasis and change as 
an inherent part of their lives. In this article, I explore the evolving nature of maple as a part of 
Vermont’s identity in the face of technological, social, and economic change. 
 
The sugarmaking process 
Sugarmaking was handed down to settlers in what is now the northeast US and eastern Canada by the 
various Native American and First Nations indigenous to the area. 2 These groups practiced maple 
production for centuries before European contact. In Vermont, the Abenaki are considered the 
indigenous people of the region, and they are the ones who taught sugarmaking to the incoming 
settlers. The maple syrup production process, called “sugarmaking” by those in the know, is 
deceptively simple. Sugarmaking involves one ingredient, the sap from maple trees, and one process, 
boiling. There are many variations within that framework, but the basics of sugarmaking always include 
these two elements. 3 The sap used for sugarmaking is most often from the sugar maple (Acer 
saccharum), although other Acer species (silver maple, swamp maple, red maple) are sometimes used, 
depending on the region and local environment. The sap of the maple tree typically contains between 
1% and 4% sugar in solution. The sap must have its water removed until the liquid is approximately 66% 
sugar in solution, 4 requiring approximately 40 gallons of sap to make one gallon of syrup. The sap is 
collected by boring holes in the maple trees and catching the resulting sap flow in either buckets or a 
network of tubing. The collected sap is centralized in a sugarhouse, 5 a specially designed building 
dedicated to sugarmaking, where it is boiled in a large apparatus called an evaporator to remove water 
and concentrate the sugar. 6 Maple sap only flows in enough quantity for sugarmaking at a short time of 



the year, typically late winter and early spring, in February and March. The flowing of the sap is 
entirely dependent on immediate weather conditions. Sap flows when the air temperature swings 
between freezing at night and above 40 degrees during the day. This relative unpredictability means 
that sugarmaking carries few guarantees from year to year in terms of yield. 

 
Vermont produces the lion’s share of the maple syrup made in the US, averaging better than double 
the amount from New York or Maine, its closest competitor the last four years. 7 The most recent USDA 
Census of Agriculture, tabulated for 2007, 8 records 1310 total sugaring operations in Vermont, with 
923 of those having fewer than 2000 taps. Sugarmakers gauge the size of their operations by the 
number of taps, a tap being the physical spout inserted into the tree. Multiple taps can be placed on a 
tree, depending on its size, age, and ability to produce. There is no hard and fast standard, although 
rules of thumb abound, about how many taps equate to how many trees. Sap is measured in fractions 
of a gallon per tap, so the number of taps is the best benchmark for the size of a sugarmaker’s stand. A 
sugaring outfit with fewer than 2000 taps would be considered a small operation by most sugarmakers. 
In 2007, only 135 sugarmakers (10.3%) set more than 5000 taps, but these large operations produced 
371,891 gallons (57.7%) of the syrup made in the state. 
 
Even in the case of some of the largest operations, sugarmaking in Vermont is mostly done by individual 
sugarmakers on a relatively immediate scale. Large-scale sugarmaking in Quebec is generally controlled 
by a cooperative and exists on a larger, more industrial scale, but all save the largest Vermont 
producers understand their sugarmaking as a personal process. While there are a handful of producers 
who employ large numbers of workers, the vast majority of sugarmakers work alone or nearly so, with 
at most the family and an immediate circle of friends involved. Stands of maple trees are not planted 
in any organized way because a maple tree can only be tapped when it is decades old. It is not a crop 
with quick turnover from planting to harvest. Because the sugarmakers go to the trees, rather than 
bringing the trees where they would like to be, sugarmaking is conducted mostly in rural areas where 
the trees grow. Historically, sugarmaking by European Americans has been undertaken by farmers, who 
utilized the maple trees near their cultivated fields and pastures, both to extend the productive cycle 
of the year and to maximize the harvests and income to be drawn from their land. Recent increases in 
price have drawn more people in Vermont into sugarmaking as a hobby and income source, so the 
demographics of the sugarmaker have expanded to include “the IBMer” 9 as well as the traditional 
farmer/sugarmaker. The demographic shifts aside, in the popular conception, sugarmaking still belongs 
in a rural setting, performed by old Vermont farmers in a traditional manner. 
 
The twin idylls 
Sugarmaking is strongly connected with a sense of rural tradition. This connection is not entirely 
without basis because many sugarmakers in Vermont are, indeed, farmers making syrup on their own 
property, with long family histories behind them. Despite the widening of the demographics of 
sugarmaking, though, the popular image of the Vermont sugarmaker is fairly uniform, as is the popular 
understanding of the sugarmaking process. Both exist in a pastoral idyll, where verdant fields abut 
majestic stands of maple that roll over hillsides. Two idyllic tropes are in play here: the pastoral and 



the traditional. The pastoral idyll holds that Vermont is a clean, green, and serene place, 10 while the 
traditional idyll maintains that Vermonters do things in substantially the same manner that they’ve 
done them for years and generations. The traditional idyll is a far cry from the actual processes of 
tradition, of course. The popular understanding of tradition as a repeated artifact of the past is given 
lie by Henry Glassie, who reminds us that tradition “is a temporal concept, inherently tangled with the 
past, the future, with history” (2003: 180-181). The pastoral idyll of a clean, green, and serene place 
stresses the cleanliness of Vermont in terms of the purity of its land, its soil, and its products, but this 
idyll is no less complicated than the traditional (Howell 1994). The greenness of the place is indicated 
by its naturalness and uncorrupted physical environment. 11 The serenity is marked in the 
harmoniousness of the state, where everything works together in the oikos of the ecosystem. These 
traits are presented as both the epitome of Vermont and the antithesis of modernity, which is 
mechanistic, artificial, and fractured. Both idylls are intertwined, almost inextricable. Vermont is 
green and natural, whereas the modern (understood as represented by New York City, Boston, and 
other urban places) is somehow a departure from a more natural, more authentic place and way to 
live. The traditional is not simply tied to the pastoral; the two are nearly the same. Vermont is a clean, 
green, place because the people who live there are imagined as living in a non-modern way, without 
the fractious and corrupting influences of the modern world. Vermont is understood as a sort of 
ecosystem fixed in time (Howell 1994: 133). 

 
As every good scholar of culture knows, authenticity is a hugely problematic concept. Regina Bendix 
explores how authenticity is artificial in her book, In Search of Authenticity (1997), wherein she argues 
that a place may construct a narrative historical justification of importance or validity. In a tourist 
situation, or any situation where those inside an identity and those outside an identity are interacting, 
the authenticity supplied by a narrative may be employed strategically. 12 There is a pretty 
straightforward process of romanticization here. I do not mean to imply that such narratives are false, 
but they are employed strategically to elicit a reaction from the other side of the boundary between 
the inside and the outside. This is no less true for Vermont, where sugarmaking straddles lines between 
Vermont and the outside world. Sugarmakers, and to a certain extent, all Vermonters, construct a 
narrative of cleanliness, greenness, and serenity, which bolsters people’s expectations for the state 
and maple syrup as a product. Likewise, they emphasize in subtle and overt ways, the traditional 
aspects of Vermont, that the state does things an older, and implicitly better, way. If Vermont is clean, 
green, and serene, and if it keeps its traditions – if it is authentic – then the maple syrup that comes 
from the state is worthy of trust as a product of a simpler, more traditional place and way of life. 
 
Reading the material culture of sugarmaking 
A quick look at the literature of the maple industry or the material culture of maple syrup 
demonstrates the ways the pastoral and traditional idylls are maintained. The Vermont Maple 
Foundation, an independent, non-profit organization that promotes and educates about maple, 
produces a small cookbook, The Official Vermont Maple Cookbook, currently in its third edition. Inside 
the front cover, it proclaims: 



Pure Vermont maple syrup is 100% natural and the official “flavor of Vermont”. It is a 
delicious pure food product to cook with and to enjoy. Vermont has the ideal climate 
and soils for growing sugar maple trees […] Maple season in Vermont is a special time 
and steam billowing from sugarhouse roofs all around the state is a sign that sap is 
boiling. From the Abenaki to the modern operators of today, Vermont sugar makers 
have been refining the maple sugaring craft for centuries. 

Likewise, a pamphlet produced by the Vermont Maple Sugar Makers’ Association (the umbrella body for 
the Vermont Maple Foundation) states that “The tree and the farmer are partners in producing maple 
syrup” (“The Story Time of Maple in Vermont”). These pieces of text emphasize the clean, green, and 
serene image, using words like pure, natural, ideal, and special, and they stress tradition by moving 
Vermont sugarmaking directly from the Abenaki to the “modern operators of today” (although it should 
be noted that there are plenty of Abenaki people living in Vermont right now). Harmony is evident in 
the trees and the farmers working together to make syrup. It is not a product of the land, or a product 
of human labor, but a result of the harmonious combination of the two. 
 
The bottles in which maple syrup is packed for sale tell the same narratives of purity and tradition. 

 

As can be seen in the photographs, red-checked flannel coats are evident on both bottles. Horses draw 
a sledge and a cart. Sap buckets hang from trees. The rustic sugarhouse sits among maples, and both 
bottles proclaim “Pure Vermont Maple Syrup”. One bottle even has the state of Vermont itself being 
tapped, with sap running into a wood stave bucket nestled against the state’s western border. The 
immediate connection between sugaring and Vermont could not be more obvious. The image of a 
pastoral, traditional idyll is made clear and uncomplicated by these visual depictions. Not only are the 
people inhabiting an idealized landscape of trees and rolling hills, but they are engaging in old 
fashioned sugaring processes, such as gathering sap by hand and hauling it by horse. 
 
The technological and marketing realities 



The actual processes of sugarmaking in Vermont are, unsurprisingly, more complex than the idylls 
might imply. A great deal of technology has always been incorporated into sugarmaking, as with all 
agricultural processes. Many sugarmakers are farmers, and farmers are often quick adopters of new 
technology, especially when that technology promises increased efficiency in an occupation with razor-
thin margins. Plastic tubing now replaces most buckets, and sap drains to centralized collection points, 
instead of needing to be hauled away from every tree by horse and hand. Vacuum systems impart a 
slight negative pressure to tubing systems, urging more sap from the trees, instead of allowing gravity 
and xylem to do all the work. Check valves prevent sap from flowing back into the trees, keeping the 
bore holes from healing too soon, and reducing infections in the trees. Reverse osmosis (RO) rigs 
concentrate the sap before it ever hits heat, reducing the amount of water in the fluid and reducing 
the time and fuel needed to boil it down to syrup. Sugarmakers all over the state use these new 
technologies to increase their production, their efficiency, and their yields, while packing their syrup 
in containers bearing pictures of horse sledges and buckets. There is no hypocrisy on the part of the 
sugarmakers. They understand the pastoral idyll, and they employ that narrative in selling their syrup. 
For most sugarmakers, the authenticity of maple lays not in the sledge or the bucket, but in the purity 
of the two essential ingredients: sap and heat. Other trappings may come and go, but those two 
ingredients do not change. While many sugarmakers have a sense of nostalgia for “the old ways”, they 
understand that the old ways are just that – old. Nostalgia may be fine for dinner table conversation, 
but not for the bottom line. As one sugarmaker expressed, 

There’s the technology out there to get half a gallon of syrup per tree, and within 
reason, I’m able to put that together in my setup here. Ideally, the cheapest way is 
with buckets, wood evaporator, no RO, heck – you could make it in a sugarhouse with 
no electricity if you want and all that. And that’s fine, you know, and that’s a very 
traditional way to do it and some people, you know, that makes them happy. And I 
enjoy parts of that, but I also like the idea, if I can produce 300 gallons of syrup off my 
land instead of 20, with paying the same amount of taxes, with investing $20,000 to do 
it, you figure 300 gallons of syrup at fifty bucks a gallon, there’s $15,000 [per year]. 
(tl-H07012011) 13 

The traditional aspects of sugarmaking are always balanced with the bottom line because sugarmaking 
is not an activity of nostalgia. It is an economic activity. It is a hobby for some, but it is an income 
source for almost all sugarmakers. Whether that means enough money for heating oil in the winter, 
profit to plow back into their sugaring operation, or just disposable income on the side, I have met no 
sugarmaker who doesn’t cast at least a casual eye at their production efficiency. Indeed, conversations 
about amount produced per tap and amount produced per unit of fuel are commonplace among 
sugarmakers. A certain coyness is sometimes involved, with questions about the amount of syrup 
produced being answered with vague replies, such as “a good bit” or “enough”. However, just as often, 
I heard sugarmakers exchanging hard numbers with one another when describing their output. An 
overall sense of friendly competition pervades the sugarmaking community, and they talk to each other 
of different setups and systems, as well as the success, or lack thereof, they have had with different 
options and combinations of factors. 



 
Sugarmakers are acutely aware not just of the efficiencies involved in making syrup, but also the best 
ways to sell their syrup for the highest prices. Again, sugarmaking as a farming activity is made 
obvious. Long gone are the days when farmers paid no attention to commodities markets, both near 
home and around the world, and sugarmaking is no different. Many, many sugarmakers talked to me 
about the state’s efforts to promote maple and expand to new markets. More than a few talked to me 
about the rising interest in maple syrup as a product in Japan, for example. Maple syrup is only made in 
a small part of the world, and smack in the middle of that maple-producing part sits Vermont. This fact 
is not lost on any sugarmaker. Expanding markets outside of that small maple-producing range is a 
necessary process to keep Vermont maple viable. One of the ways Vermont is doing that is by 
reinforcing the valid connection between Vermont and maple, both practically and conceptually. 
Vermont promotes its maple with the traditional and the pastoral idylls. The literature and material 
culture of the maple industry draws heavily on those tropes, in order to meet the narrative 
expectations of the potential maple syrup consumer. By employing the idyllic narratives strategically, 
Vermont places itself at the center of the maple world in people’s minds. 
 
Selling syrup is not the only way Vermont connects idyllic narratives to income. As Tom Slayton 
explains, “much of Vermont tourism is based on the pastoral landscape and image that farmers have 
provided us (at no charge), along with the milk, cheese, apples, and maple syrup they 
produce” (Bellerose 2010: 13). Tourism is a significant part of Vermont’s economy, and maple 
producers have made themselves a significant part of Vermont tourism. As Urry (2002) reminds us, 
tourists want to see a narrative that meets their expectations, while providing them with the novelty 
of first-hand experience. Vermonters are well aware of this seemingly contradictory desire on the part 
of visitors. One sugarmaker, who derives his income primarily from tourists visiting his farm and 
sugarhouse, rather than selling syrup he produces directly, discussed with me at length the necessary 
tensions between providing the tourist with what they want and giving them a “real” Vermont 
sugarmaker: 

You gotta sell, but you realize that, at least if you’re me, you realize that too hard a 
sell is not going to enhance the promotion. You gotta be a back to the earth, Vermont 
stereotype, old hick farmer. So that necessitates putting on a show sometimes. You 
can’t be hokey with it though, you gotta be real. They’ve got to believe you’re making 
syrup, you’re just a farmer making syrup here. You want to promote if you’re smart, 
not just you but Vermont, because if we lose the Vermont image of maple, we’ve had 
it. All those things are equally important. (tl-M27052010) 

There is a conscious appeal to authenticity involved here. He recognizes that tourists want a “more 
direct, visceral experience” by coming to his farm and seeing the story of maple (Robinson and 
Hartenfeld 2007: 166). They want to attach to the pastoral, traditional idyll because it feels more 
authentic to them. More than simply aping the role of the Vermont bumpkin of popular imagination, 
this sugarmaker is actively re-creating himself as a part of these idyllic narratives for the tourists. His 
juxtaposition of the “stereotype, old hick farmer” with being real is not a lack of understanding of the 



seeming contradiction on his part. Indeed, it is a sharp awareness of the dual nature of the tourism 
relationship. He is able to provide the tourist with that old farmer because he is that old farmer. He is 
playing a role, but he is playing himself and the Vermont farmers and sugarmakers he represents, and 
he knows very well the complexities involved with inhabiting these multiple identities. By maintaining 
these roles and constructing the narrative in a way that feels more honest, he is doing his part to keep 
Vermont’s maple industry viable. He knows that if the narratives are damaged, “we’ve had it.” If a 
tourist’s or a consumer’s narrative expectations for pastoral, traditional Vermont and maple are 
violated, then the narrative loses meaning, and that dollar gets spent somewhere else, or on another 
product. In both instances of change, technological and marketing, sugarmakers have consistently 
adopted and adapted the new, making it a part of the old and keeping sugarmaking an evolving 
process. Interestingly, the tropes of authenticity that this sugarmaker uses are not unique either to 
Vermont 14 or to sugarmaking. 15 
 
Modernizing the market – terroir 
Sugarmakers are constantly balancing between the purity and tradition of their process and product 
with the economic demands of the market and the industry. Rather than simplistically rejecting the old 
for the sake of the new, they deftly meld the two into a complex understanding of the roles of 
tradition and modernity. In so doing, they maintain and bolster their product and their own long-term 
viability. The negotiation of the old and the new, the pastoral and the technological, the traditional 
and the modern, is not a problematic thing for sugarmakers because it is a constant and a norm. 
 
Many changes and improvements have been absorbed by sugarmakers since sugarmaking began 
thousands of years ago. On the technology side, tubing has been around for decades, and RO and 
vacuum systems for quite a few years as well. Pushing markets into far away countries has been a part 
of sugaring at the highest levels for many years. At each turn, sugarmakers negotiated the new 
additions while keeping the essential aspects of sugarmaking intact. I would like to turn to one of the 
most recent changes in sugarmaking, to explore a different type of negotiation with modernity. 
Recently, a collaborative research effort between the University of Vermont’s Nutrition and Food 
Science Department and the state of Vermont’s Agency of Agriculture, Foods and Markets has resulted 
in a “Map of Maple.” This research project is an outgrowth of the research of Dr. Amy Trubek, and it 
has resulted in, among other things, a tasting chart specific to maple syrup. 



 

This tasting chart resembles diagrams created for wine, which is no coincidence. Dr. Trubek has been 
working with the notion of terroir and applying it to various American food production and consumption 
processes. 16 Terroir is a term from the French culinary world that defies simple definition. The word 
literally means “land” in French, although it also carries the meaning of “authenticity” when 
describing agricultural products. The concept encompasses the idea that the taste and flavor qualities 
of a food are direct reflections of the immediate environment in which it is grown. The mineral content 
of the soil, the slope, the sun, the moisture in a particular spot, all ultimately become elements in the 
flavor of a food item grown there. 
 



When the French take a bite of cheese or a sip of wine, they taste the earth: rock, grass, hillside, 
valley, plateau. They ingest nature, and this taste signifies pleasure, a desirable good. Gustatory 
pleasure and the evocative possibilities of taste are intertwined in the French fidelity to the taste of 
place.” (Trubek 2008: 9) 
 
The French culinary world has long held the notion of terroir as an inherent aspect of understanding 
and appreciating food. In many ways, it is only natural to apply the concept of terroir to maple 
because sugarmakers pay very close attention to the immediate environment of their trees: 

Oftentimes, when we’re in the woods, my brother and I, and sometimes my father, we 
can talk about different areas, every section of our woods has a different name. We’ve 
got places like the snake run or the brown bucket run, and that all represents 
something that was passed down […] The snake run, I think, you know its name 
probably derives from the little gathering trail, it’s very twisted, it follows a brook, 
very snakey-like, I think. It’s also kind of a southeast exposure, with a lot of ledge, and 
in the spring of the year, besides peepers and some other things coming to life, snakes 
get active. (tlB11062010) 

Sugarmakers know their trees and the land in which they sit. Often, a sugarmaker would explain to me 
the slope, the soil, and the amount of sunlight a particular tree would get at a given time of year or 
day. Even the wildlife living around the trees is part of a sugarmaker’s attention. That level of 
knowledge, of detail about the trees makes a concept like terroir a natural fit for sugarmaking. If 
terroir is a taste of place, then sugarmakers’ intimate knowledge of their places has much to offer 
when trying to understand the tastes of maple syrup. 
 
The “Map of Maple” chart is an attempt to capitalize on just that intimate knowledge. Introducing the 
idea of complex flavor notes and comparative tasting to maple expands the traditional (and legally 
prescribed) system of grading syrup as it currently exists. Vermont maple is divided into several 
categories: Fancy (the lightest in color, and generally the most delicate in flavor), A-Medium Amber 
(darker, with a more pronounced maple flavor), A-Dark Amber (deeper color and denser flavor), and B 
(the darkest syrup typically sold to the consumer, with a rich, powerful maple flavor). Interestingly, 
the grading is done entirely on the color of the syrup. Flavor differences are tendencies and generally 
correspond, but tasting is not a part of the legal grading process. Introducing complex tasting notes to 
maple syrup serves a two-fold purpose. On one hand, the air of sophistication and elegance that is 
often attributed to wine, especially to French wine, is attached to maple, raising the profile of the 
product. On the other hand, finer gradations of difference allow the creation and proliferation of the 
maple equivalent of the oenophile. In today’s foodie-culture world, with celebrity chefs and multiple 
cooking-themed cable channels and blogs, both of these processes help to increase the marketability of 
maple. Words that appear on wine labels, such as “grassy”, “buttery” and “floral”, now can be used to 
describe maple syrup. Trubek explains how terroir becomes tasting note in a conversation with a friend 
named Mark, as the knowledge of the food comes to include the knowledge of its provenance: 



 
 

“By now this French orientation has moved far beyond France, and it has become a 
method for people like Mark to explore and explain taste experiences. According to 
Mark, if I wanted to understand the unique terroir found at Mas de Daumas Gassac in 
the Languedoc (one of Mark’s favorite vineyards), I need to be where the grapes are 
grown and the wine is made. I need to go to France” (2008: 9-10). 

Insider knowledge of source and product is prominent in her description, and the connection between 
the generation of a food item and its resultant flavor is made explicit and concrete. The best way to 
experience and understand terroir is to visit the place from which the taste comes. The same 
understanding can be applied to Vermont’s maple tourism. As tourists visit a sugarhouse, they hear the 
story of maple and experience the traditional, pastoral idyll. It is not hard to understand that idyllic 
narrative as a part of the place. For Trubek, experiencing the terroir of a wine is not simply about 
where the grapes were grown, but also where the wine was made. The sugarhouse is the field where 
maple syrup is made. A visit to the sugarhouse is, at least in part, a journey in search of terroir. 
 
By emphasizing the connection between place and taste, the new “Map of Maple” is trying to bolster 
Vermont’s maple economy on the world scale. In terms of sheer volume of syrup, Vermont can never 
compete with Quebec as a worldwide exporter. The state must market itself and its maple as a 
specialty, niche product to convince the customer outside the area to purchase Vermont, rather than 
Canadian, syrup. Quebec’s immense maple co-op system actually helps Vermont in this regard, as most 
Quebec maple that is exported is blended to produce consistency and a reliable flavor. The small-scale 
producers in Canada often market directly to the tourist industry, much as Vermont’s sugarmakers do, 
but the majority of syrup exported from Canada comes through the Quebec co-op. Many Vermont 
sugarmakers sell their syrup wholesale to bulk packers, but Vermont has nothing on the scale of 
Quebec’s co-op, and many Vermont producers sell their syrup directly to the consumer, both locally 
and abroad. Because a higher percentage of Vermont’s exported maple is from smaller producers, the 
sugarmakers could advertise their eastern slope, their lime-rich soil, or whatever is particular to their 
sugarbush. Quebec syrup cannot do this sort of marketing internationally because the syrup from 
producers across the province is blended together. An easy parallel can be drawn to Scotch whisky, 
with blended whiskies being produced on a larger scale, while single malt whiskies are produced in 
smaller amounts. Blended whisky fans appreciate the consistency and reliability, while single malt 
aficionados tend to enjoy their particularities and unique aspects. By applying terroir and capitalizing 
on the current foodie trends, in terms of both health and specialized knowledge, Vermont maple can 
compete and remain viable against the overwhelming economic force of Quebec by marketing itself as 
a niche product through terroir. 
 
A mixed reception 
The reception of ideas of terroir within the sugarmaking community has been mixed, surprisingly 
enough. While many sugarmakers spoke to me of the potential to help the bottom line by using terroir 



as a marketing tool, there was sometimes hesitance surrounding this shift. To be sure, some 
sugarmakers have dived headlong into terroir as a marketing tool. A small consortium of sugarmakers 
have even launched a marketing campaign under the heading of “Vermont Terroir”, and a look at their 
advertising demonstrates the degree to which they have integrated the old culinary notion into their 
current advertising: 

…distinctly rich, creamy, buttery, and full of maple warmth. Notes of brown sugar and 
medjool dates back up the sweetness that lingers on the palate. 
 
…hints of vanilla, nutmeg, and sweet melon. 
 
…the Dopple Bock of maple syrups. German dark wheat bread, molasses, burnt sugar, 
raisins, dates, and smoke. 
 
…baked apple and golden sugar notes are backed by a subtle but clear maple flavor. 

Clearly, some sugarmakers are utilizing terroir to present their syrup as unique, special, and valuable 
to potential customers. While the example above is extreme, and the vast majority of sugarmakers are 
taking a “wait and see” approach to terroir as an advertising tool, it is indicative of the willingness on 
the part of sugarmakers to adopt that which they see as useful. Interestingly, the hesitance I have 
heard about terroir is not necessarily related to its being a new idea for maple. Indeed, terroir is a very 
old idea, with long tradition of its own, albeit a tradition not native to Vermont. That non-native status 
plays a small part for some, and terroir is almost seen as an invasive species (a concept sugarmakers 
are keenly aware of, with such threats as the Asian long-horned beetle). While not understood as 
destructive, the foreign concept of terroir is something to be at least wary of. More directly, though, 
terroir is understood by sugarmakers to be a part of the foodie movement, which is a phenomenon of 
the city. A parallel is drawn between terroir and the urban outsider who moves to Vermont for the 
“good life” without fully understanding all that life in Vermont entails. It is not modernity that makes 
terroir suspect, but urbanity. The ideas behind terroir are often explained as an already existing part 
of Vermont’s understanding of itself and its maple. The notion is not a threat; it is merely the 
importation of a foreign version of the notion. The foreignness comes not only from its French heritage, 
but also its perceived city roots. Indeed, Frenchness in Vermont is not that foreign, with Francophone 
Quebec at the northern border, and many people in the state having French ancestry. 17  
 
Conclusions 
Vermont sugarmakers have a fine grasp on the intricacies of their state’s and their industry’s identity. 
Many theorists and ethnographers have discussed the groups they examine as employing notions of 
identity and face in almost unconscious terms. Sugarmakers, though, are very conscious of their role in 
creating and maintaining the integrity of maple syrup, both as a product and as a narrative. 
Sugarmakers across the board, from small backyard producers to large commercial operations, spoke to 
me of being conscious of the role purity and authenticity play in the quality of Vermont syrup. The 
quality itself and the perception of quality were both vital players in protecting their product’s 



integrity. The pastoral and traditional idylls are an inextricable and vital part of that integrity, even as 
modernity and change are persistent parts of maple production and marketing. Through it all, 
sugarmakers have the constant of the syrup’s two ingredients – sap and heat. Glassie warns us that 
tradition is a moving target, but sugarmakers know it, too. The constant tension between maintaining 
something that is essential and applying innovations that improve efficiency and profitability means 
that sugarmakers are always negotiating a balance. The balancing act is a constant, too, though. 
Terroir is, in this way, no different from, say, vacuum systems. When vacuum was first introduced into 
sugarmaking, there were a few early adopters, and the industry watched curiously and cautiously at 
the results of these early adoptions. Terroir has been accepted by a few sugarmakers, but many are 
waiting in the wings to see what happens. The concept of “organic” has been employed in the foodie 
world for a while longer than terroir, to the point that it is overused and beginning to lose meaning. 
Organic labeling has become a part of maple syrup as well, although there is much discussion of both 
the value and the validity of organic certification for one’s syrup. For some sugarmakers, “organic” is 
simply a marketing term. Perhaps there is trepidation that terroir is simply another marketing tool. If 
this imported French culinary concept helps maple’s bottom line though, chances are it will be 
incorporated into the traditional and pastoral narratives of Vermont’s maple syrup industry and 
identity. 
 
Notes 

1. The distinction between “commercial producer” and “backyard sugarmaker” is nebulous at best. 
While there are certainly a few operations that derive the bulk of their income from syrup 
production, and there are certainly a handful of people who produce syrup strictly for their own 
consumption, these sugarmakers are a minute fraction of the producers in Vermont. The vast 
majority of producers, regardless of the scale of the operations, sell some of their syrup, even if 
only to friends and neighbors. Many sugarmakers derive income for only a portion of the year, 
having another money-making occupation (farmer, trucker, college professor, woodworker, 
merchant, and the list goes on) in addition to harvesting sap. Many sugarmakers (hobbyists and 
retailers alike) spoke to me of sugarmaking as a “way to pay the property taxes” on their land, 
house, and/or sugarbush. Sugarmakers themselves make distinctions mostly on the number of taps 
they set, and my fieldwork spans the range. Thoughts about the meaning of maple to the state are 
remarkably consistent, regardless of the size of operation. 

2. There has been some debate among archaeologists whether Native North Americans made maple 
syrup or sugar before contact with Europeans. The debate is summarized in Thomas, Jackson, and 
Guthrie (1999). One of the recent antagonists to the idea of pre-European contact sugarmaking, 
Carol Mason, “stressed a more vigorous use of ethno-historic accounts as the sources of 
information” about Native North American sugarmaking pre-contact (Thomas, Jackson, and Guthrie 
1999: 14), but decreed that “arguments from folklore are unacceptable” as evidence (Mason 1993: 
291, quoted in Thomas, Jackson, and Guthrie 1999: 15). As someone who has made a living as an 
anthropologist, a folklorist, and an archaeologist, I find Mason’s arguments interesting but 
ultimately unconvincing. 

3. I have been told by some sugarmakers that, in addition to boiling with heated stones, some 
Native American groups used to concentrate the sap by freezing it and removing the ice, which 
would be mostly water, then re-freezing the remaining fluid and removing more ice, until the 
water content had dropped significantly. This same method is described in Deerr, reported from 
the middle of the 18th century: “Concentration of the [maple] juice was also effected by freezing 



and throwing away the crust of ice that formed on exposure” (1950: 515). As far as I know, no one 
is practicing this method of syrup production in Vermont today. 

4. More precisely, the syrup needs to be a certain number of degrees on the Brix scale, which 
measures sugar content as a percentage of the mass of a liquid. The exact numbers and 
percentages of what constitutes maple syrup vary slightly from standard to standard. Canada and 
the US each have their own regulations, while the state of Vermont has yet another set of 
standards, slightly more strict than either country’s rules. 

5. Other terms for this structure are known, such as sugar shack, sap house, or sugar shanty (in 
Quebec, the term is cabane à sucre, which translates literally to “sugar cabin”). While such terms, 
including the French-language version, are known varyingly widely among Vermont sugarmakers, 
the term “sugarhouse” is the name given to their structure by nearly every person I interviewed. 
Therefore, it is the term I use here. 

6. There are many variations in evaporator technology, as well. Oil burners versus wood burners, 
steam injection, different sizes and styles of flue pans, even steam evaporators that function 
similarly to giant double-boilers…the variety is impressive. All of the variations achieve the same 
goal, however: the removal of water from the sap by converting it into steam, while leaving the 
sugar and other inclusions behind. This is not a technology unique to maple syrup production, of 
course. Deerr (1950) attests the use of evaporators in cane sugar and beet sugar production for 
centuries. The technology of evaporating the water portion of sugar-bearing liquid is old, and 
appeared in several places independently, including Native North America. 

7. Production of maple syrup by state, in gallons: 2011 – Vermont, 1.14 million; New York, 564,000; 
Maine, 360,000. 2010 – Vermont, 890,000; New York, 312,000; Maine, 310,000. 2009 – Vermont, 
920,000; Maine, 395,000; New York, 362,000. 2008 – Vermont, 710,000; New York, 328,000; Mine, 
240,000. (New England Agricultural Statistics, 2008-2011 reports. Compiled and issued by the New 
England Agricultural Statistics Service, in cooperation with the United States Department of 
Agriculture. Concord, NH) 

8. The United States Department of Agriculture produces its nationwide Census of Agriculture every 
five years. The next Census is due out in 2013, tabulating data from 2012. Because of recent 
increases in the price for bulk maple syrup, the numbers of producers and the sizes of operations 
have doubtless increased from 2007 to today. The information in footnote 4, above, demonstrates 
the large and steady increases in yield in Vermont’s maple crop, with 2010 a slight dip across the 
board. The season in 2010 was universally acknowledged by sugarmakers as a particularly bad year 
for maple. Regardless, many people have become newly involved in sugaring in Vermont in the past 
five years, and many existing sugarmakers have increased their operations during the same period. 

9. IBM opened a large production facility in Essex Junction, Vermont in the late 1950s. The plant 
brought many new workers to Vermont, and provided new disposable income for newcomers and 
locals alike. The IBM worker who decided to take up sugarmaking as a backyard hobby became 
paradigmatic for the johnny-come-lately to sugarmaking, as opposed to the old-timer, whose 
family had been sugaring on the farm for generations. 

10. I am borrowing this phrase from the head of the Orkney Tourist Board. Orkney, a small set of 
islands off the north coast of Scotland, also trade on a pastoral idyll. A peripheral place 
geographically, Orkney relies on that pastoral image to bring in tourists to sustain the economy. 
The parallels between Orkney and Vermont, in terms of population density and the understanding 
of the role of the places in relation to modernity and urbanity, are striking. For a fuller discussion 
of Orkney, see Lange 2007. 

11. That “green” has become synonymous with “environmentally friendly” is not lost on 
Vermonters. Bumper stickers and t-shirts proclaiming “We were green before it was cool” are easy 
to find in many Vermont shops. To be fair, there aren’t many places where “green” is ensconced in 
the name – the word itself, Vermont, comes from the French for “green mountain”. 



12. Goffman’s discussions of “face” and the presentation of the self are both enlightening here, as 
are Urry’s “tourist gaze” and Hewison’s discussion of heritage. 

13. Ethnographic interviews are cited according to my cataloguing system, to provide anonymity to 
my interviewees. The choice to keep the people who spoke with me anonymous is mine. While no 
one I have spoken with has wanted to hide themselves, I have kept everyone anonymous because 
Vermont is a very small state, and sugarmakers are a very close-knit community. I do not want to 
disrupt those bonds because they are an integral part of the identity of the place. 

14. Many food industries in Vermont, such as Cabot cheese and Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, trade on a 
perception of the verdant hills and more natural atmosphere of the state. 

15. Likewise, the images of the sugarhouse and sugaring process are evoked in Quebec as much as 
in Vermont: “la cabane à sucre et les travaux du temps des sucres ont été des themes souvent 
exploités par les représentants de l’art pictural” (Dupont 1975: 11). There is much shared culture 
across the mostly arbitrary border between Vermont and Quebec, so the sharing of sugarmaking 
tropes should come as no surprise. Quebec’s small-scale sugarmakers, who also market more 
directly to a tourist audience, try to provide an authentic experience to their customer as well. 
While I have not yet done any fieldwork among Quebec sugarmakers, they doubtless would see 
much to agree with in my interviewee’s discussion. What constitutes an authentic experience can 
vary in the two places, though. Techniques such as hanging bacon or lard over the evaporator are 
apparently still practiced by small-scale sugarmakers in Quebec. The dripping fat rendered from 
the hanging meat helps control foaming and boiling over, while simultaneously perfuming the meat 
with maple aroma and flavor: “Cette petite branche était suspendue juste au-dessus de la 
bouilleuse, et dès que le gonflement du sirop avait lieu, elle avait la vertu d'arrêter le 
débordement. Une petite couenne de lard salé, de même que l'eau, le beurre, le lait ou la crème 
pouvaient aussi contrôler l'ébullition” (Dupont 1975: 77). In Vermont, strict hygiene regulation of 
even the smallest producer means that this technique has been replaced with a newer (perceivable 
as therefore less authentic) method of using chemical defoaming agents or a few drops of 
vegetable oil to achieve the same effect. 

16. See Trubek’s illuminating volume, The Taste of Place, for a fuller discussion of American 
terroir. 

17. For another exploration of the complicated understandings of Frenchness in Vermont, see my 
article, “Teaching Identity through Ethnic Jokes: Shifting Cultural Touchstones in the Classroom”. 

Works Cited 
Bellerose, George. 2010. Forty-Six Years of Pretty Straight Going: The Life of a Family 
Dairy Farm. Middlebury, VT: Vermont Folklife Center. 

Bendix, Regina. 1997. In Search of Authenticity. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. 

Census of Agriculture, 2007: Vermont, State and County Data. Issued February 2009, 
updated December 2009. United States Department of Agriculture. Vol. 1: Geographic 
Area Series, Part 45. AC-07-A-45. 

Deerr, Noel. 1950. The History of Sugar, Vol. 2. London: Chapman and Hall, Ltd. 

Dupont, Jean-Claude. 1975. Le Sucre du Pays. Ottawa: Lemeac. 

Glassie, Henry. 2003. Tradition. In Eight Words for the Study of Expressive Culture, ed. 
Burt Feintuch. Chicago: University of Illinois Press. 

Goffman, Erving. 1973. The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. New York: Overlook 
Press. 



Hewison, Robert. 1987. The Heritage Industry: Britain in a Climate of Decline. London: 
Methuen. 

Howell, Benita. 1994. Linking Cultural and Natural Conservation in Natural Park Service 
Policies and Programs. In Conserving Culture, ed. Mary Hufford. Chicago: University of 
Illinois Press, for the American Folklife Center. 

Lange, Michael A. 2007. The Norwegian Scots: An Anthropological Interpretation of Viking-
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______. 2011. Teaching Identity through Ethnic Jokes: Shifting Cultural Touchstones in the 
Classroom. Scandinavian-Canadian Studies 21: 92-100. 

Mason, Carol I. 1993. Still More on Maple Sugar: Comments. Journal of Ethnobiology 13(2): 
288-292. 

Robinson, Jennifer Meta, and J. A. Hartenfeld. 2007. The Farmers’ Market Book. 
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The Official Vermont Maple Cookbook, 3rd ed. [n.d.] South Royalton, VT: Vermont Maple 
Foundation. 

The Story of Maple Time in Vermont. [n.d.] South Royalton, VT: Vermont Maple Sugar 
Makers’ Association, published in cooperation with the Vermont Agency of Agriculture, 
Food, and Markets; the University of Vermont Extension; and Perceptions, Inc. 

Thomas, Matthew, Kelly Jackson, and Marcus Guthrie. 1999. An Archaeological Overview 
of Native American Maple Sugaring and Historic Sugarbushes of the Lac du Flambeau Band 
of Lake Superior Chippewa Indians. State Historical Society of Wisconsin, Lad du Flambeau 
Tribal Historic Preservation Office, and George W. Brown Jr. Ojibwe Museum and Cultural 
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Trubek, Amy. 2008. The Taste of Place: A Cultural Journey into Terroir. Berkeley: 
University of California Press. 

Urry, John. 2002. The Tourist Gaze, 2nd ed. London: Sage Publications. 

Vermont Terroir. N.p., n.d. Web. Accessed 24 January 
2012. http://www.vermontterroir.com/index.php 

 


