Vermont maple syrup is delicately heated and stirred until reaching a creamy thickened texture to make the classic and beloved maple cream, and here natural, organic extracts of those old time flavors cascade over medium roasted, premium, single origin, Arabica coffee beans

With each sip you’ll experience the best flavors of both the mountainous Nicaraguan rainforest and the maple tree covered landscape of northeastern America, a union of delicacies, tradition, and unparalleled flavor!


Low Acid Medium
Roast Coffee Beans (Specialty Arabica Beans)

Shade And Elevation Grown
(Slow Grown In The Mountains Of Nicaragua For Optimal Flavor And Low Acidity)

Single Origin From Small Farms In A Nationally Protected Area

Fairly Traded (Our Coffee Farmers Are Paid A Fair Wage)


  • Derived Only From Their Natural Sources And Ingredients.

  • Zero Added Sugar.

  • Zero Added Calories.

  • We Use Only The Highest Quality Essential Oil Extracts.

  • Natural Oil Based Extracts Versus Artificial/Chemical Extracts

Vermont Maple Cream

My fondest memories of my grandfather center around the sights of the Vermont countryside and the aromas that filled our adventures.

My mother would bundle me up in my warm, puffy, winter coat, my boots stretching up over my thick pants, mittens covering the outer layer of my coat sleeve, and my toboggan covering my head, ears, and sometimes even my eyes!

In the chilly early morning, I’d wait by the door to hear the sound of my grandpa’s truck rumbling into our driveway. He always tells me that when I would walk out to greet him all he could see was my big smile peering out from the thick bundle of winter attire.

He’d lift me up into that old blue truck, and as he was buckling me in, the door still open, I would lament over just how awful the exhaust smelled as he grinned in silence.

Then, as soon as he closed the door, those awful exhaust aromas would turn both familiar and wonderful as the delightful scent of his freshly brewed, still hot, coffee wafted up from his mug.

As soon as we drove out of the sight of my mother, peering from our front door waving goodbye, my grandpa would grin and say “you’re just roasting under all those layers, aren’t ya.”

And, as I’d nod fast and furiously, he’d lift my toboggan from my head while I simultaneously removed my mittens and unzipped my coat.

Driving through the countryside, my grandpa would slowly sip his coffee, and I’d watch as the steam still rose from the warm mug when he’d place it back into the cupholder.

Though I’m sure there were years when the scene wasn’t as pleasant, my memories exiting the truck to begin our trek on foot paint a single picture: the sun shining high in the sky, the leafless trees covering the countryside, my small hand in my grandfather’s large one, and fallen leaves crunching beneath our feet as we trekked.

I knew which trees belonged to my grandfather because his buckets had worn wooden handles. The other trees, and buckets, clearly belonged to my grandfather’s friend, Jerry.

I know this because our adventures weren’t complete without my grandfather exchanging hellos with the man as he, too, collected sap.

“Well, how are ya, Jerry?”

“Can’t complain, Chuck, can’t complain.”

“I see you’ve got your little helper.”

“Couldn’t do it without him.”

I always smiled at this part...because I knew I was the little helper to whom they were referring.

Our buckets full of sap, my grandfather would remove the spile...with my help of course.

He’d lift bucket after bucket into place in the back of his truck.

And, though they were too heavy for me to lift alone, my grandpa always said he couldn’t lift them without my help. So, my hand never left the thin but firm wire stemming from one side to the other of those shiny buckets.

As I grew older, of course I was able to do a lot more to help my grandpa, but these younger years were among my favorite times spent with him.

The buckets of sap we’d collected were only for the use of our family. “We’re not running a big production here,” my grandpa would say.

So, we’d return our collections to my grandma, who would work her magic in the kitchen, heating the sap to remove the water and create the sweet, warm, delicious syrup. I can still smell the aromas coming from that kitchen even today.

My grandpa would always brew another pot of coffee upon delivering the sap to grandma, a reward for his labor he’d say.

And then, as the afternoon stretched on, my grandpa would rest in his chair, sipping his bold, dark coffee with me by his side in front of the fireplace while the house slowly filled with scents of creamy, rich, sweet Vermont maple syrup thickening on the stovetop.

When I was just a boy, I’d enjoy the classically sweet syrup on homemade waffles and pancakes, but now, I prefer adding a spoonful to my own freshly brewed, piping hot coffee...thinking of my grandpa as I view the steam rising from my mug, and my grandmother with each creamy Vermont maple syrup sweetened sip.


A portion of the profits are donated to Rainforest Trust and Project Alianza for conservation of the wild life and to build schools in local areas for the farmers children.

The #1 Low acid coffee on! and Coffee Channel!