One of my favorite meals is brunch. And this Mother's Day, we're heading to the sugar bush (even though we've missed the prime tree-tapping-maple-syrup time). Wheeler's, which is just outside of Perth, Ontario, serves a delicious breakfast every day except Christmas Day! What draws me to their lodge pancake house is not the pancakes but their maple sausages. Yup. Best sausages ever. And the taffy on the snow is a treat. It's a spring tradition to trek out of town to this destination. But if you can't get to Wheeler's, these pancakes will work in a pinch. But I wish I had the recipe for Wheelers' maple sausages!!


Recipe for Spicy Pumpkin Pancakes

Makes 9 4-inch pancakes


2 cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground nutmeg
¼ teaspoon ground ginger
1¾ cups milk
½ cup pumpkin purée
1 large egg
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
maple syrup

Whisk together flour, brown sugar, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger.

In a separate bowl, whick together the milk, purée, egg and oil. Add to the first mixture, stirring until smooth.

Spoon about ¼ cup batter onto a hot nonstick griddle or nonstick skillet sprayed with cooking spray. Turn pancakes when tops are covered with bubbles and edges look cooked. Serve with maple syrup.

I know why the caged bird sings

A free bird leaps on the back of the wind
and floats downstream till the current ends
and dips his wing in the orange suns rays and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
can seldom see through his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.

- Maya Angelou

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