A Walnut tree named Wally

Though the ground lay frozen under a cover of snow and my favorite trees have traded in their folaige for a vacation of dormancy, my yard still whispers to me "I'm beautiful." I love trees, I love to garden.

Last fall my husband bought and planted for me an English walnut tree. It was hard to find. The first few nurseries we went to said they no longer carry walnut trees because no one wants them--too much work, too messy. Well, I wanted one. We finally found one at Tri-city nursery in Kaysville. When we asked if they had an English Walnut, some of the employees shook their heads, "I don't think so," they said. But one young man spoke up. "Wait a minute, I think I saw one this morning." He took us in his golfcart-come-tree-finder to the far side of the nursery. There he moved aside the low-lying branches of an aspen and a birch to reveal the distinctive broad, compound leaves of an English walnut. It was almost as if that tree was hiding there, out-of-place and forgotten, waiting for me. The price on the tag revealed the cost of a tree much younger than the sturdy three inch diameter trunk that wore the tag like a fat lady in a size 4 dress.After some major work uprooting it from it's "temporary" location in the nursery, we took it home, pruned its roots and branches, soothed the tramatized roots with a cocktail of plant hormones, and planted it in the middle of our north lawn. I named him Wally. It was so enjoyable naming him a common name. Sure, he already had a name, Juglens regia, given to him centuries ago by some taxonimist, but naming it Wally made him mine. I had so much fun I gave all of the other trees in my yard their own personalized name. My kids thought I was nuts. I didn't care. I had fun. Nature is a joy. Gardening is just another creative outlet for me. Wheter it's through the miraculous science of plants, the creation of beauty through the placement of petals on a canvas of soil, or through the personification of trees named Wally, Jim, Semour, and Ashley, I enjoy my garden.  With that I want to leave a thought I found somewhere ages ago--I can't remember where.

If one isn't willing to turn the soil; to do the work or make an effort; if one doesn't plant the seeds for success, fertilize, weed, and water them, then life just passes him by. / Failure, as much-if not more than success is the apprentice to wisdom, for wisdom comes not from age (as so many think). Rather, it comes from experience (living life). We do grow wiser as the years accumulate, not because we have grown older, but because we have had time to experience more.