Walnut Tree

When I was growing up, I used to visit my grandfather's farm in Queen City, TX about once or twice a year. It was always a memorable time for me, mostly because my grandfather and I were so close, but also because I love the outdoors and wide-open spaces. I suspect this is where my desire to live in the country and own a little land started.

One particular memory I have is of a GIANT black walnut tree that grew on my grandfather's land. I have no idea how old it was, but it had obviously been growing for many years. My grandfather used to pay me $10 and send me out to that walnut tree with a wheelbarrow to pick up all the walnuts and take them to his barn. It produced so many that it would take me the better part of an entire afternoon to collect them all.

Sadly, the picture you see here is not of my grandfather's walnut tree. It was bigger than this one. I wish I had a picture of it. It's still growing out there, but someone else owns the land now.

I can remember the first time I was sent to collect walnuts, I couldn't understand what I was looking at. We've all seen the finished product that is shelled and sitting in plastic bags in the store. Some of us have seen it still in its shell and could recognize a walnut easily, but did you know that's not what they look like growing on trees?

Looks nothing like a walnut you normally see, does it? When it falls off the tree, it turns black and gets all shriveled up. It also leaches dark purple juice that stains your hands. I cherish those memories.

That's another thing about country-living that makes it so appealing to me. There are so many experiences that have been lost to our generation that I think are important. Some may see no importance in knowing what a pre-processed walnut looks like, or in getting your hands stained purple. But if that is so, why do those experiences sear themselves in our memories so concretely? There's a lot of basic knowledge that people just don't know how to do anymore. For some reason, that saddens me. It's kind of like we've lost a connection to our ancestors and our past. People used to pass knowledge and experience in things like this down to their children, but somewhere along the way, these things stop being told. I guess that's part of the reason we homestead. It's our way of trying to regain a little of our past, and the simplicity that accompanied it. There's value there for everyone who wishes to seek it.


We planted a walnut tree on our land last week. It's only a stick, and hardly looks like it has any potential. It is hard to imagine that it could some day grow into a collosal tree like the one that still grows on that farm in East Texas. Maybe someday my grandchildren will see our walnut tree, and remember it with as much sentimentalism as I remember my grandfather's.