Counting Walnuts

With the purchase of our house its previous owners threw in a black walnut tree at no extra cost. It is a tree that stands over 30 feet tall in our backyard and has a trunk almost 24 inches in diameter. According to the property survey, the tree is ours because its trunk is contained on our side of the property line (barely)...and that couldn't make me happier.

Our majestic black walnut tree sprouts with leaves later in the spring than most trees, but blankets 2/3 of our backyard with shade throughout the summer. It starts to drop walnuts in late August, and is completely bare by mid-October (I don't touch a rake after the third week in October). I love our beautiful black walnut tree and, sadly, I am not completely joking when I say that I have developed a bit of a Jonah-style crush on our tree (see Jonah 4). I did not plant the tree and in my 1.5 years serving as Head Groundskeeper at 30 Broad Street I have done nothing to cause the tree to improve in any way--I haven't even named it (Editor's note: it is an unproven fact that the life expectancy of a car, machine, or other large, complex, inanimate object increases dramatically if that object is referred to by name. For example, Becca and I, not wanting to take the risk of having our boiler unexpectedly burst into flames, have named him Brutus the Boiler). I merely pick up walnuts before I mow, spend a few hours raking leaves in October, and I am otherwise hands-off when it comes to the tree.

But about those walnuts...

I wish I had an excuse better than 'curiosity,' but I don't. I wish I could say that I counted each and every walnut that fell from our tree this year because I want to be able to document and track the health of the tree by comparing walnut crops from year to year. I wish I was following through on a promise to a deceased relative, or because I lost a bet, but no. I counted every single walnut that fell inside the bounds of our fences this year for no other reason than BECAUSE I WANTED TO.

Our town collects vegetative waste every Tuesday, so as I gathered the walnuts, I loaded them into my garbage pails in increments of 500. The number 500 was chosen both as an aid to help me remember, but also because 500 walnuts is nearing the maximum amount of walnuts that can be dragged across a lawn by a 175 white boy.

Of course, after I had counted a few hundred, I was bound to keep counting by the same powerful internal forces that won't let me start reading a new book until I have finished reading the book that I am currently in. It's the same force that made me cry and pout as a 13-year old boy when my parents decided to take the family away from home over Thanksgiving weekend instead of hosting Thanksgiving at our house. It's the force that makes it so that when I start in motion on a task, it takes a significant effort to get me to divert from that path.

Any walnuts that fall in August usually only come loose because of a strong storm. There is a gradual progression in size to the walnuts that fall naturally throughout September and October, from the size of golf balls to the size of racquetballs. From what my eyes can tell, my tree is officially bare for the year, and I have reached my total for the year 2008.

In 2008, I collected a total of 4,773 walnuts which fell from my black walnut tree. Keep in mind that approximately 35% of the tree's branches reach over into the backyards of my neighbors. There were probably at least another 1,500 walnuts that fell outside of our fences.

The sum of the story is that our tree produced a lot of walnuts. The moral of the story is that I am weird and counted each and every walnut. The lesson learned is that I probably could have read a book or two in the time wasted by dragging out my autumn yardwork by counting walnuts one at a time.

4,017...

4,018...

4,019...