The Black Walnut Tree

My mother and I debate:

we could sell

the black walnut tree

to the lumberman,

and pay off the mortgage.

Likely some storm anyway

will churn down its dark boughs,

smashing the house. We talk

slowly, two women trying

in a difficult time to be wise.

Roots in the cellar drains,

I say, and she replies

that the leaves are getting heavier

every year, and the fruit

harder to gather away.

But something brighter than money

moves in our blood–an edge

sharp and quick as a trowel

that wants us to dig and sow.

So we talk, but we don't do

anything. That night I dream

of my fathers out of Bohemia

filling the blue fields

of fresh and generous Ohio

with leaves and vines and orchards.

What my mother and I both know

is that we'd crawl with shame

in the emptiness we'd made

in our own and our fathers’ backyard.

So the black walnut tree

swings through another year

of sun and leaping winds,

of leaves and bounding fruit,

and, month after month, the whip-

crack of the mortgage.

Roots of Heritage: The Black Walnut Tree

When I first read Mary Oliver’s "The Black Walnut Tree," I felt immediately drawn to its profound simplicity. My own family has faced decisions about balancing financial pressures against preserving sentimental value, so the poem’s exploration of heritage versus practicality resonated deeply with me. Through memorizing Oliver’s lines, I gained greater appreciation for her delicate balance between literal and figurative language, each verse deepening my understanding of how family history influences personal identity and choices. The imagery, especially Oliver’s vivid depiction of nature’s intertwining with human life—such as the tree "swings through another year of sun and leaping winds"—reinforced my emotional connection to the poem.

The central theme of Oliver's poem—the struggle between economic necessity and the intangible value of heritage—is captured powerfully in the symbolic black walnut tree. Oliver’s adept use of imagery and symbolism highlights the profound emotional conflict experienced by the mother and daughter as they consider selling the tree "to the lumberman, and pay off the mortgage."

Oliver employs vivid, tangible imagery to present the tree as a living embodiment of family legacy. She describes "Roots in the cellar drains," leaves that are "getting heavier every year," and fruit "harder to gather away." These details portray the tree as both burdensome and integral to their lives, capturing the tension between practical considerations and deeper emotional bonds. Oliver’s language transforms the tree into a symbol of familial continuity, reflecting how legacy persists even amid hardships.

A particularly compelling device Oliver utilizes is metaphor, most strikingly in the line: "something brighter than money moves in our blood–an edge sharp and quick as a trowel that wants us to dig and sow." Here, Oliver powerfully equates heritage to an instinctive, almost visceral compulsion to nurture and protect rather than exploit or abandon. This metaphor elevates the family’s connection to their ancestry, suggesting an inherent, inescapable bond that transcends monetary value. It implies a sense of duty or even destiny, as removing the tree would be akin to severing ties with their ancestral past.

The poem’s conclusion, where the speaker dreams of her ancestors from Bohemia "filling the blue fields of fresh and generous Ohio with leaves and vines and orchards," further enriches the metaphorical significance of the tree, explicitly linking it to her family’s immigrant history and aspirations. The final acknowledgment—that selling the tree would make them "crawl with shame in the emptiness we'd made"—illustrates how closely identity and memory are entwined with physical symbols of the past. Thus, Oliver deftly illustrates the human struggle to preserve connections to heritage in the face of modern economic realities.

Memorizing this poem deepened my appreciation of Oliver’s ability to distill complex emotional truths into clear, concise language. Her subtle craftsmanship helped me realize that the black walnut tree is more than just a plant; it embodies resilience, continuity, and the enduring pull of family legacy. Like Oliver's mother and daughter, who recognize that "Likely some storm anyway will churn down its dark boughs," we all must confront how we balance past and present, sentiment and survival, making decisions that shape our identities.

Ultimately, Oliver’s poem underscores the profound truth that heritage is not simply about preservation, but about recognizing the depth of our roots, however tangled they might become. As the tree swings through another year, despite the mortgage’s relentless "whip-crack," Oliver’s imagery poignantly reminds us that the true cost of cutting ties with our past is far greater than any monetary relief could justify.