Dear Black Walnut Tree,

You are inconsistent, unpredictable, and simply destructive … yet I love you. You sit perfectly positioned in the front of my driveway. In between my house and all the others. Our neighborhood is one of close proximity. Nothing separates the lives of the residents except for wooden fences that have stood for a century. Vines creep up garden gates, flowers are planted and windows opened wide. You hold us all accountable for our dent-inclined surfaces. You’ve cracked window shields, bruised heads and made people slip on evening walks. I’ve circled the blocks that surround you an infinite amount of times. Using you as my corner escape, just at the end of my driveway, you act as the beginning of the rest of the world.

Your toxicity is endless. The Black Walnut tree produces chemicals that do much more harm than good. You only act for yourself, and yet I love you. You move as if your distress dictates the world, the stable part of the garden. Through the seasons, flowers come and go, vines and berry bushes falter, but you stay standing. I can’t put into words just how much responsibility I feel for you. Cars park down the street in the fall to dodge you, but I’d rather stay near. Something about your messiness makes me feel close to you. Nothing is clear-cut; your branches bend in every direction and your bark is made of deep ridges. You stain every surface you surround.

For years of my life, I lived inside a bubble. The map of my world could have been drawn on the back of a napkin, the borders were four blocks that surrounded you. You begin and end my constant circling. I walk around my block and try to find something else that holds as much as you do, but I can’t. You are a reminder of where I come from and where I’m going. Although you stay right in front of my home, your leaves and fruits roll down the street, carrying with them pieces of familiarity.

I’ve spent hours running around your roots. Me and all the other kids in the neighborhood would dodge your falling fruits. We would use the walnut-stained sidewalks as stomping ground and move with your leaves as if we too were dictated by the wind. We would catch and throw the walnuts as if they’d been made for us. As we all grew, the endless hours spent tagging each other under your shade came to an end. You stayed standing. Although we broke out of our roots, yours stayed steady.

You leave little pieces of yourself everywhere, making it impossible to forget you. But your evil, your poison and stains have led to your end. Everyone in the neighborhood has had enough. Done with your destruction and inconvenience, they cut you down.

I love you because you made a place for yourself in this world. I love you because you consist of things beyond just your origin. I love you because even when chopped down, your roots stay so deep within the earth. Now I pass the spot you used to grow and am reminded of the inconsistent love I feel for you.

Thanks again,
Claire Lewis