Poor Richard’s Almanac

Here at Hawk’s Haven, we are blessed with nut trees: many black walnuts, a huge shagbark hickory, an enormous butternut, and the two filberts (aka hazelnuts) I planted seven years ago. (If you’d like to count the red oak seedling I transplanted to the front yard three years ago, you certainly may.) Needless to say, the squirrels have a field day here caching nuts for their winter larders. And about this time of year, our friend Ben is typically pulling walnut seedlings that have sprouted from nuts the squirrels forgot.

Fortunately, unlike the horrific Norway maple seedlings, young walnut seedlings are extremely easy to pull. I was out last week pulling a few stragglers by our little creek, Hawk Run, when I suddenly saw the gift: a beautifully variegated walnut seedling. The cream leaves are gorgeously marked with light and dark green patterning. I have never heard of a variegated black walnut, and here one was in my own yard.

Then came the hail (see my earlier post, “Ice cubes from heaven,” for more on that). I was terrified for the well-being of my newfound treasure. Sure enough, the largest leaf had been torn away, leaving only the two tiny leaves with their even tinier leaflets. Our friend Ben knows that any variegated plant, because it’s comparatively chlorophyll-deprived, must work harder to stay alive than its all-green counterparts. I’d already been worried about the walnut seedling’s chances of survival. But by God’s grace, it seems to be perking along.

However, it’s beside a walkway next to our creek. It could never reach maturity there, so I need to transplant it. Will it survive the transition to a container? And then what?

Our friend Ben thinks that others should be allowed to grow this beautiful tree in their own yards. But I’m no plant propagator. Apart from some perfunctory grafting in grad school, our friend Ben has no experience propagating trees. So I’m inclined to pot up my incredible seedling and hand it over to Bob Seip of Lennilea Farm Nursery, an incredibly gifted plantsman, to nurture it and bring it into commerce. If anyone could do it, he can. And maybe he could even call it Juglans nigra ‘Hawk’s Haven’ in our honor.

Something this special should be shared. Like all gifts, it’s enjoyed most when it brings pleasure to others as well as to us. Our friend Ben feels fully cognizant of both the privilege and responsibility that such a miracle entails. I’m sure we’ll miss it while it’s growing on at Lennilea. But in time, we’ll get the original back, even as others get grafts of this amazing plant. I hope it thrives and lives to beautify many yards!