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Tree Syrup Best Practice Demonstration Sites

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Heasley Homestead Maple

heasleyhomesteadmaple.com

The Cheat River’s whitewater lured Keith and Kelly Heasley to West Virginia in 2001 from Pennsylvania by way of Pittsburgh. The Cheat River was familiar territory. From the age of 18 to 50, Keith worked as a river guide and was an avid whitewater kayaker. He spent many of his weekends on the water while keeping a nine-to-five job as a mining engineer during the week. After 18 years as a researcher for the United States Bureau of Mines, Keith experienced a “midlife crisis.” He began to question whether or not to continue with the Bureau of Mines and started looking for opportunities elsewhere. The opportunity of a faculty position at West Virginia University (WVU) in the Mining Engineering Department for Keith and a staff position for Kelly with WVU’s University Relations Office sealed the deal. Looking for a place “to land” after years of living “near work,” they built a home and raised their son on top of a rolling hill not far outside the town of Bruceton Mills.

Looking at a map of the area, Heasley Homestead Maple is at the intersection of a right-angled triangle that connects Bruceton Mills, the city of Morgantown and home to WVU, and the town of Albright where Cheat River whitewater rafting companies operate. Bruceton Mills is nearly equal distance to the university and the whitewater. The sugar and red maples on the property were not considered and went unnoticed until 2015. The first sugarbush to be tapped at Heasley Homestead was the stand of widely spaced maple trees on Kelly and Keith’s manicured front lawn. The maples that they passed by countless times for 14 years suddenly piqued Keith’s interest after a day of teaching Senior Design, his laboratory course. From a side conversation with a student, Keith learned that the student had tapped a red maple tree outside his college apartment to collect sap. Unable to identify a red maple from a sugar maple at the time, Keith began to research maple trees and later ordered an Amazon tapping kit for twenty of the trees in the front yard.

After that first year of making two and a half gallons of syrup and spending 75 dollars on propane to boil, Keith told himself, “I can do better than this” and set his sights on the 250 trees across the road. Today, Heasley Homestead Maple taps 350 trees on their 50 acres, leases 1900 other taps from five surrounding neighbors (for one dollar per tap per year that he pays in maple syrup and maple sausage). Heasley Homestead also buys sap from Paul, an old friend and river guide who Keith knows from his Cheat River rafting days, who is also compensated in syrup. Based on previous years of sap production, Keith hopes to produce approximately 550 gallons of maple syrup this season from his 2250 taps and Paul’s sap.

For the first six years of production, Keith boiled sap in front of the garage of the Heasley’s home. “Embarrassed [of] boiling in [his] garage and on [his] driveway,” Keith hesitated to welcome the public for the first Mountain State Maple Days. Heasley Homestead eventually upgraded to a three foot by 12-foot oil-fired evaporator and signed a contract to have a proper “sugar shack” built for a retired engineering professor. Although construction of the 50-foot-by-70-foot “sugar shack” with an attached commercial kitchen was delayed by the COVID-19 pandemic, Keith was finally boiling in the “sugar shack” in 2021. (It should be mentioned that Heasley Homestead’s “sugar shack” warrants quotation marks to suggest irony. The building is less “shack” and more of a pristine manufacturing facility.)

At Heasley Homestead you are greeted with a sense of precision that radiates from inside the sugar shack. The feeling continues during an afternoon of observing Keith’s day-to-day operations during maple season. Buckets are lined up in straight rows next to the evaporator filled with last night’s syrup waiting to be boiled. Promptly after Paul’s arrival with two tanks of sap on a trailer, Paul and Keith start to report numbers back and forth to each other which they record on their respective smart phones. “Hauling history,” “brix,” “temperature,” “sugar content,” and “gallons” are some of the metrics recited and documented. With frequency Keith bends over to read the thermometer on the outside of a large stainless-steel pot measuring the temperature of the syrup inside and the hydrometer reading as they adjust with time. To verify the reading of the hydrometer after adding a cup of permeate to dilute the sugars, Keith removes the hydrometer and rinses it in the sink, simmers the pot once more, and returns the hydrometer to the pot for a final, accurate reading he can “trust.” Every vein of the maple leaf candies is evaluated by Keith to determine its molded quality for either grade A maple candy or sample. Keith admits he’s not a farmer. He’s an engineer. He shares his frustrations with the “broad generalizations” made on the science of tubing across various maple blogs. “They’re talking like farmers,” he laughs, “not an engineer” who “calculates precisely.”

The mining engineering background is evident to say the least and Keith acknowledges some crossover. Filter presses, for one, are used in mining operations for sediment, albeit significantly larger. “I design my own pumps,” Keith explains. Because his sugar shack sits on top of a hill, he “pumps a lot” and hauls a lot to transport the sap up to the large storage tank next to the evaporator. Paul’s skills as a school bus driver navigating the mountain state’s narrow and curvy country roads are put into use at Heasley Homestead. Paul is hired every season to haul sap from the remote sugarbush up to the sugar shack. High schoolers in the area and WVU students are also hired every season to help. Although Keith retired from his faculty position in 2018, he’s “teaching the [next generation] how to work.”

Before Kelly and Keith’s son left home to attend college, making maple cream was a family affair. Their son helped in the woods with tapping, tubing, and general forest management, and joined Keith at the West Virginia State Fair to set up and staff the maple cotton candy booth. Kelly is responsible for most of the tasks that involve getting the syrup into the hands of the customers. Kelly manages online orders, shipping and handling, and bakes various treats, like the Nestlé Tollhouse “maple” chocolate chip cookie, that showcase the flavor and versatility of the maple syrup at Mountain State Maple Days. Her professional career in media production debuts in Heasley Homestead’s branding, marketing, and Heasley Homestead staff gear: t-shirts, water bottles, hats, and the forthcoming Carhart overalls.

Bottles of maple syrup, maple cream, maple sugar, and boxes of maple candies with the Heasley Homestead logo can be found in “quick stops,” small retail shops, and on the menus of restaurants and breweries around most of North Central West Virginia. “Going into business” with these wholesale and consignment accounts started the year that Heasley Homestead had its “biggest year” of production and minimal sales. The COVID-19 pandemic caused Mountain State Maple Days and the West Virginia State Fair to be canceled, two of Heasley Homestead’s largest markets at the time. Keith drove through Preston County stopping at “little crossover gas stations” and three out of four agreed to buy and sell Heasley Homestead Maple products.

The vendors he’s “gone into business with” are able to absorb the roughly 500 gallons of syrup he produces. By the time December or January comes back around, his supply is dwindling and it becomes more difficult to fulfill those orders. Keith’s eagerness for the sap to start running again is due to a sense of obligation to be able to supply his vendors. “I do it for the vendors. We went into business together. And they’re hard working people,” he expresses. This is the first year Heasley Homestead Maple did not expand the number of taps. And there is no plan to increase production. Keith’s loyalty to his vendors will continue to “keep [him] out of trouble” until Kelly retires and they will “go sailing for a year.”

By: EVELYN HARTMAN

Southfork Farm

Southfork Farm is the farm of their dreams from 18 years ago when the Hubbards moved to Brian’s great aunt and uncle’s property. While renovating the farmhouse built in 1894 and raising their son, they started to “talk about starting a farm one day.” That day arrived seven years later when Brian chose to leave his profession behind as a certified welder working on strip mines for blueberry farming on top of a reclaimed mine site.

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The story of Appalachia that is published by mass media, represented in population data reported by the Census Bureau, and suggested by the scattering of vacant buildings across the landscape tells us that people are leaving the region. Brian and Amanda Hubbard of Southfork Farm in Pound, Virginia are an exception to this popular story. Eleven years ago, Brian was laid off by a coal company along with 249 of his colleagues. Amanda lost her job at the bank when the bank closed the local branch. Regardless, they stayed, and the Hubbards, born and raised in southwest Virginia, realized their dream of starting a farm. Southfork Farm is the farm of their dreams from 18 years ago when the Hubbards moved to Brian’s great aunt and uncle’s property. While renovating the farmhouse built in 1894 and raising their son, they started to “talk about starting a farm one day.” That day arrived seven years later when Brian chose to leave his profession behind as a certified welder working on strip mines for blueberry farming on top of a reclaimed mine site. In the same decade that the farmhouse was built, outside investors were purchasing mineral rights across the region leaving landowners without ownership of the ground beneath them. A century later, in 1980, Brian’s great aunt and uncle’s hill top was strip mined and later reclaimed. The original dream envisioned an apple orchard, but after Brian tested the soils he found the high acidity levels to be perfect for blueberries. He “didn’t have to amend the soil” and he “didn’t know anyone with a blueberry farm.” A steep, all-wheel drive road through the dense forested hillside ends where the trees and undergrowth open to a grassy plateau with an unexpected mountain vista of the Cumberland Mountains in Virginia and Kentucky and rows of blueberry bushes. Two thousand freshly pruned blueberry bushes representing six varieties stand in neatly mulched rows on the hill top of Southfork Farm. The bucolic landscape created by the Hubbards in a wilderness setting makes a dark, industrious strip mine forty-three years ago unimaginable. The team of two didn’t stop at blueberries. Inspired by his dad’s observation that, “nobody around here does it anymore,” Brian seeded his first crop of sorghum. In the front of the farmhouse, Amanda and Brian seed one acre of sorghum every June. Three additional acres are grown on the land of Brian’s childhood home about three miles away. In October, they press the cane and boil the juice to make sorghum molasses. Six years ago, Brian and Amanda’s son, Wesley, talked them into tapping ten maple trees. Brian tagged along to show support and to keep him interested and ended up “liking it more” than his son. The next year, Wesley went away to college and left the ten buckets for his father. Brian did away with the buckets and expanded the operation to 300 taps. By year three, Brian bought a reverse osmosis “to keep up” with 600 taps. Southfork Farm completed their sixth season in March with 800 taps and their sights are set on the less accessible, untapped sugarbushes for next season. The bottomlands, the forested hillsides, and the hill top at Southfork Farm provide a year-round income. Brian and Amanda welded together (pun intended) three independent enterprises that flow with the rhythm of the seasons. The calendar year commences with tapping maple trees on January 1. Brian explains, “March 1 is a hard stop no matter what. [I] need to switch to pruning blueberries and [the maple] trees begin to bud mostly.” Brian and Amanda pick the last of the blueberry crop at the end of July. In between seeding the sorghum and processing the juice into molasses, Brian and Amanda “take a break in August.” And the cycle begins again. It doesn’t take an expert to notice the precision, attention to detail, and care for “do[ing] it the right way” at Southfork Farm. A team of researchers from Future Generations University assessing the sugarbush confirm “you’re not going to see it this good [elsewhere]. Clean. Tight.” Brian and Amanda are putting into practice the research of extension agents from Cornell University, University of Vermont’s Proctor Maple Research Center, and Future Generations University. Southfork Farm is textbook perfect. Aside from the few stories told by Brian’s father who remembers tapping a few trees as a kid and making maple sugar, Brian “didn’t know anything” about maple syrup. At the Summersville Syrup Symposium in 2017, Brian went to learn about sorghum syrup and met extension agents from universities in the Northeast and researchers from Future Generations University and West Virginia University who were presenting on maple syrup. Back at the farmhouse, Brian began to research, “read, read, and read” online publications by the same institutions. “Someone else is doing the research,” Brian emphasizes. “Let other people take the me to figure out the right way.” Brian’s determination and inventiveness paired with Amanda’s financial record keeping and accounting skills and willingness to “pitch in wherever can be helpful” prove to be vital to the sustainability of Southfork Farm. “I spend the money,” says Brian. “She [Amanda] keeps the receipts and tells me when to quit spending money,” he adds. “Better watch what you spend on the equipment. It’ll nickel and dime you. You better be creative around here,” he warns while sitting inside the sugar shack. “You don’t get rich doing this,” he affirms. Loyal customers travel from nearby and across Kentucky and Tennessee state lines for Southfork Farm’s blueberries, maple syrup, and sorghum molasses. “They come for the blueberries,” Brian says, and they’ll end up buying ten gallons of syrup. The blueberries are the most me consuming of the three enterprises. Brian and Amanda hand pick every berry. But “that’s my money maker,” Brian says. Brian keeps a notebook with customer’s contact information to “call them when [he] has [the seasonal product available].” Many customers first learn about Southfork Farm through word of mouth or after witnessing a spectacle in the front yard while driving by the farm. Depending on the me of year, “people slow down and watch” Brian turning the cane press or they’ll notice the billowing steam from the sugar shack. “Someone drives by and talks to someone else and they say, ‘oh, it’s Southfork.’” Southfork Farm has been a place of refuge for several generations of Hubbards. For Brian and Amanda, the land presented them with the opportunity to stay and make a living. While television and movies provide solace to many, Brian and Amanda prefer to go for a hike. “We enjoy our woods,” Amanda says with a strong sense of affection. As a kid, Brian would “spend the day exploring” this land. There are no trails. “We know where we’re going,” says Brian. Amanda admits, “I play follow the leader.” Although Brian spends many hours inside the sugar shack boiling, he’d rather be in the woods. “Boiling is the boring part,” he expresses. Standing among the blueberry bushes, Brian points off into the distance to show where the trees his father tapped that may or may not still stand. Today, his father’s childhood home is on George Washington & Jefferson National Forest land and under “Pound Lake,” a reservoir built by the Army Corps of Engineers in 1966, authorized by the Flood Control Act of 1960. After being displaced, Brian’s grandparents built a house next door to the farmhouse at Southfork Farm. The property remained in Brian’s great aunt and uncle’s name until they passed the property onto their nephew, Ralph, named after their only child who died in WWII. Brian’s father was a “midlife baby” who missed the opportunity to meet his cousin and namesake, but still lives up to his name today. Brian and Amanda will inherit Southfork Farm, and maybe, one day, the mountains will call Wesley back home to Southfork Farm from the wide-open Midwest. By: EVELYN HARTMAN

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