Walnut Wars

I don’t know who started the war.

Maybe no one did. Maybe it just… happened.

Bruce and I had wandered behind the house into the walnut grove when we discovered something amazing—walnuts. We didn’t know what they were at first, but we did know one thing: they were perfect for throwing.

So we threw them.

For a while, that was all we did—tossing them at trees, trying to outdistance each other, testing our aim. We didn’t think much of it until we went back inside.

Mom took one look at us and asked, “How did your hands get so black?”

We looked down. Sure enough, our hands were stained dark, and no amount of scrubbing could wash it off. That’s when we found out what they were—walnuts.

Mom was thrilled and sent us back out to collect more. “Peel them and crack them open,” she said. So we did. We ate some, saved some in a bowl, and later found out what they were really good for when she baked a walnut pie.

From that day on, walnuts became a regular part of our lives. Some we gathered for Mom. The rest? We threw.

And then, one day, we weren’t the only ones throwing.

Through the trees, we spotted other kids in the distance. They had walnuts too. At first, we were just showing off—seeing how far we could throw, watching as they did the same. But gradually, our throws aimed closer. Then at each other.

The war had begun.

Neither side ever got too close—both keeping just out of range. I don’t remember if anyone ever got hit. Maybe we didn’t want to actually hit each other, just prove we could. Words were exchanged in earshot, but I don’t remember what was said.

The war finally ended, not with a surrender, but when we moved away, permanently out of range.

Would you love to hear more of these childhood misadventures?