Congo Bunny And Maple Spring

Lina followed the tracks with her eyes. They led between the trees, past a row of buckets, and into a drift that reached her knees. From there, the trail turned toward a muddy patch where the snow had melted around the tree roots.

A sweet, wet smell rose from the ground.

Lina took one step forward. Her snowshoe sank with a soft gulp.

“Stop there,” Dad said.

She pulled back. Brown mud showed beneath the thin snow. “I almost went in.”

Dad set down the pails. “That spot is not safe for walking. We will stay on the packed trail.”

“But the tracks go that way.”

“We have work to do,” Dad said. His voice was firm, but his eyes were kind. “You can study them after the pails are full.”

Lina wanted to ask more, but Milo had already lifted his first pail. Together, they moved along the safe path.

At each maple, Lina checked the bucket. Clear sap dripped from the small metal spouts. Plink. Plink. Plink. The sound was bright and steady.

She poured the sap into her pail. It was cold enough to sting her fingers through her mittens. Milo did the same at the next tree.

Then Lina noticed an empty bucket.

She tapped its side. It made a hollow sound.

“That one should have sap,” she said.

Milo peered inside. “Maybe someone forgot to put it under the spout.”

The bucket hung correctly. A thin line of sap still ran from the tree, but the bottom was nearly dry.

Lina looked at the snow. A few giant tracks circled the bucket.

“Milo,” she said, “the rabbit was here.”

Milo’s eyes grew wide. “Maybe it drank the sap.”

Lina bent closer. A little white hair clung to the bucket rim. The hair was much longer than the soft fur she had seen on small rabbits near the barn.

She touched it with one mitten. “It really did.”

Milo turned toward the sugar shed. “We should tell Dad.”

They hurried back, carrying the half-full pails. The fire crackled as Dad lifted the lid from the boiling pan. A cloud of warm steam curled around his face.

“Dad,” Lina said, “one of the buckets is almost empty. We found huge tracks around it.”

Dad set the lid aside. “How huge?”

Lina held her mitten beside her palm. “This huge.”

Dad frowned. “A rabbit drinking from our buckets could empty them before we collect the sap.”

“It may only be thirsty,” Lina said.

“It is taking what we need,” Dad replied. He picked up a rope from beside the shed. “I will tie the buckets higher.”

“But the rabbit might still reach them,” Milo said.

“Then I will cover them.”

Lina watched Dad pull a wooden cover from the shed wall. He moved quickly, and his boots pressed dark marks into the snow.

The tracks had made her curious. Now they made her worry.

Dad walked toward the nearest maple. Lina followed, but he raised one hand.

“Stay near the shed.”

“I can help,” she said.

“You can help by staying where the ground is firm.”

Lina stopped. She did not like being left behind, but she knew the muddy patch was close. She watched Dad lift the bucket and tie its handle to a higher branch.

A sudden flutter came from the trees.

Lina turned.

For one quiet moment, nothing moved. Then a huge brown rabbit stepped from behind a maple.

Lina forgot to breathe.

The rabbit was taller than Milo’s snowshoe when it sat up. Its ears rose like two soft flags. Snow dusted its back. Its nose twitched at the smell of warm sap.

“Dad,” Lina called.

The rabbit hopped toward the boiling pan.

Dad spun around. “You there!”

The rabbit paused beside the shed. Its eyes were bright and gentle. It did not run. Instead, it stretched its neck toward a small wooden cup near the pan.

That cup held sap Dad had set aside.

The rabbit took a long sip.

Lina saw the cup tip. Sap spilled onto the snow in a shining line.

Dad strode forward. “No, you don’t!”

The rabbit hopped back, but it did not go far. It looked from Dad to the cup, then toward the trees.

Lina stepped between Dad and the rabbit. “Wait.”

Dad stopped. “Lina, move aside.”

“He is not trying to hurt anything,” she said.

“He is stealing our sap.”

The rabbit lowered its head. Its nose pointed toward the trees. Then it looked back at the cup.

Lina remembered the giant tracks circling the empty bucket. She remembered the muddy place where the trail disappeared. She looked at the rabbit’s round body and the thin snow clinging to its fur.

“Maybe he has a family,” she said.

Dad’s hand tightened around the rope. “We have a family too. We need this sap for our syrup.”

“I know,” Lina said. “But we can find another way.”

Milo came up beside her. “What if we leave one little cup away from the buckets?”

Dad shook his head. “Then he will keep coming.”

“What if we put it near the trees?” Lina asked. “Far from the boiling pan and the full buckets. We can fill it with sap we choose to share. Then he will not need to drink from our work.”

Dad looked at the rabbit. The rabbit sniffed the spilled sap, then lifted its head toward the deep snow.

Lina followed its gaze. Two more huge tracks showed near the tree line. Beside them were smaller marks, close together.

“Dad,” she said softly. “Look. There are more tracks.”

Dad walked only as far as the packed snow allowed. He bent over the trail.

Milo pointed. “Little ones.”

The big tracks led toward a hollow beneath a fallen tree. The smaller tracks went in and out of the same place.

Lina’s worry changed shape. The rabbit was not just drinking because it liked the sweet sap. It was carrying food home.

Dad stood quietly for a while. The fire popped behind him.

At last, he lowered the rope. “We will not leave sap in the boiling pan for him.”

Lina nodded.

“But,” Dad continued, “we can set a small cup beside the far maple. One cup. The rest stays covered.”

Milo smiled. “That sounds fair.”

Dad looked at Lina. “You found the better way.”

Together, they filled a wooden cup with a little sap. Lina carried it over the firm snow while Milo walked beside her. Dad watched from the shed, ready to help if the ground softened.

They placed the cup beneath a maple, well away from the buckets and the fire.

The huge rabbit waited near the trees.

Lina stepped back. “You can have this.”

The rabbit’s nose twitched. It hopped forward, took a sip, and then another. Its long ears tipped toward the hollow under the fallen tree.

Lina smiled. “Take it home.”

The rabbit drank until the cup was empty. Then it picked up a thin strip of bark in its mouth and hopped toward the trees. At the edge of the deep snow, it turned once.

Lina raised her mitten.

The rabbit disappeared between the maples.

Dad covered the sap buckets, and Milo carried the full pails to the boiling pan. Lina looked again at the huge tracks. They no longer seemed like a mystery. They were the tracks of a rabbit with a home and a hungry family.

Milo nudged her. “We need a name for him.”

Lina glanced at the wide prints. “Congo Bunny.”

Dad lifted an eyebrow. “Congo Bunny?”

“He has huge tracks,” Lina said. “Huge as anything.”

Milo nodded. “Congo Bunny it is.”

Dad poured sap into the pan. Steam curled upward, warm and sweet. “Then remember,” he said, “we can share a little and still care for our own family.”

Lina watched the fire glow beneath the pan. The sugar camp was busy again, and the snow around it felt safe beneath her snowshoes.

She knew one warm cup of sap would not fill every bucket.

But kindness could make room for more than one family.

End of chapter one. 4 more chapters and about 8,509 words in the full book.