Homemade Syrup

I miss the Saturday mornings when my dad would make us homemade syrup for our pancakes or french toast*. I remember him getting out the little sauce pot (hardly ever used because my mom normally cooks for an army!) and would put in some water and measure out some sugar. Then he’d separate it and make different flavored syrups, maple, orange, or even just plain, once in a while. I think he may have even put in a little food coloring just to make it interesting.

(I snagged this photo off the web w/o permission,
i.e. it's not a photo of my own!)

It seems like such a simple thing now, but I remember it made those mornings feel special – I suppose because it was out of the ordinary. And not only did he not do it often, I never knew of anyone else who could do that at all. Just one more of those surprising things that my dad knew how to do. He seemed so average most of the time and then out of nowhere he’d whip out this special skill he’d been hiding – who knows from where and who knows from how long ago. In fact, in a way, it seemed like these secret things he knew how to do were just a part of him, somehow written into his DNA, patiently waiting for the day they were needed. I bet he had a whole lot of other useful knowledge tucked away in secret corners of his mind, just waiting to be needed for special occasions. He knew how to make syrup. He knew how to make bullets. He could build a camp fire out of almost nothing. He always knew what was wrong with my car. I miss the things he could have taught me, but I’m also grateful for the memories I have of the ordinary days he made special with just a bit of syrup.

*Occasionally we made the "poor man's snow cone," by going outside to make snowballs, then bring them inside and pour on the syrup (we let the syrup cool a little so it didn't melt the snow all at once!).