A latecomer to the party

Leaf detail of a black walnut (Juglans nigra).

If you look around right now, it appears that spring has finally, fully arrived. But if you look a little more closely, you’ll see that while most trees are fully leafed out, some are just now getting their green on. These latecomers are black walnut trees, in our area the last trees to put out leaves and the first to lose them in the fall.

Some years ago while I was cleaning up the breakfast dishes, I looked out across the backyard and saw my new back-door neighbor and another fellow standing under the giant black walnut tree that straddles the property line. It was early May and there were no leaves on it yet. The men were looking up. Pointing. “Uh-oh,” I thought. I quickly dried my hands, slipped on my gardening clogs, and headed outside.

Smiling my best neighborly smile, I called out a cheery “Hello!” We exchanged some pleasantries, and then I observed, “Isn’t it interesting how black walnut trees always look like they’re dead when all the other trees have their leaves out?”

It turned out that neither of them knew that detail. "Really?" my neighbor responded. "I was thinking it was going to have to come down." I left the conversation hoping that I wouldn’t hear the sound of tree-felling within the week. Many seasons have gone by and the tree is still standing.

I don’t know if there’s an ecological reason for this late-early leafing cycle of black walnut trees. I’ve just noticed it in our own tree and all the others I see while I’m out walking or driving. The leaves begin to emerge toward the middle of May, grow fairly slowly, and with the way they tend to grow in clumps, they can look like illustrations from a Dr. Seuss book, especially on younger trees.

New leaves emerging on a black walnut tree.

The Arbor Day Foundation website tells us that “Native to the eastern United States, the black walnut is one of the most sought-after nut trees in the world. With a gleaming dark wood, edible nuts, longevity—living up to 200 years [and beyond]—and fragrant leaves, this tree is one of the country's most prized possessions and economic products.” For my part, I love the shade that our maybe 100-year-old tree casts on hot summer days, the intricate pattern of the branches, its beauty throughout the seasons, and how it provides a jungle gym for the squirrels.

Our black walnut tree in winter.

It also provides me with food for thought. In our culture there’s a lot of emphasis on being first—first across the finish line, first in your class, first in business, even first in love. “Tough luck, man. I found her first.” And while being first is important and competition makes life interesting, in most things “first” doesn’t matter, especially since only one person can truly be first at something.

Watching the black walnut leaves finally join the spring celebration, I'm reminded of an opportunity I once had to walk a large outdoor labyrinth at a retreat center. There were already a few folks out walking. Although I was attempting a meditative, introspective state I couldn't help but notice where the others were amidst the twists and turns. Sometimes we were so close that we could have reached out and touched one another. A few moments later we were far apart again.

At any given time, where were we, exactly, on this one path? How was it possible to be far, near, and far again? But that’s part of the purpose of walking a labyrinth, isn’t it—to be able to see that even though we’re essentially all on the same path of life, we each come to things at different times? Being ahead or behind, first or last, can be an illusion. And ultimately it doesn’t really matter, as long as we’re walking.

#BlackWalnutTreeLeavesInSpring, #WalkingALabyrinth, #LabyrinthMeditation, #InsideTheAncientPracticeOfLabyrinthWalking