Recurring year after year
Collecting black walnut has become more than just a seasonal task for me: it is a tradition. Every October I return to that historic building, basket in hand, knowing I will leave with more than just nuts. I leave with the quiet satisfaction of having participated in something timeless.
There is a rhythm now: walking the same paths, noticing the first green husks, pausing to watch a squirrel dart away with its prize. I move slowly, letting the fresh air and the smell of fallen leaves surround me. It’s unhurried work, and I think that’s part of the magic of it.
As I gather it, I imagine all the hands that have done the same: centuries of people who valued this tree not only for its food and medicine, but also for the shade, sturdy wood, and shelter it provided. Somehow I feel connected to them, continuing the thread of the relationship between people and place.
In the coming weeks, as I crack open those salted nuts, I’ll think of that cool October morning: the golden light filtering through the branches, the crunch of the leaves underfoot, the history humming softly in the air. And I will be grateful – not just for the harvest, but for the land itself and the stories it still holds.
So if you happen to come across a black walnut tree this fall, stop for a moment. Look up into the branches, see how the light catches the last leaves and notice what is scattered at the base. Maybe you’ll be inspired to collect a few and start a tradition of your own.