Letting Go: A Story About a Tree, Time, and Trust
How a beloved backyard tree became a teacher in grief and surrender
Seventeen years ago, we moved into our New Hampshire home. Nestled against the back stone wall was a black walnut tree, a quiet, unassuming presence that had been there long before us. Its sparse branches gave it a sculptural beauty, and though it wasn’t the healthiest tree, it thrived in its own way, offering a perch for birds and a playground for squirrels.
We lovingly dubbed it the “self-trimming tree” as branches would drop off over the years, leaving it ever more weathered, yet still standing. It was my daily reminder of resilience, persistence, and the quiet elegance that comes with imperfection.
But time, as it does, wore on.
Recently, a new tree company came to address the pine threatening to topple onto our little barn. While they were there, I shared the story of our black walnut, confessing our attachment but wondering aloud if it might finally be time to let her go.
The tree expert, a kind man with a long beard and a sweet smile, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes carried the wisdom of someone who understands the cycles of nature. “It’s time,” he said softly. “She’s reached the point where she’s dangerous now.”
And just like that, the decision was made.
Or so I thought.
The morning of the removal, I stood in the backyard, camera in hand, taking pictures of the walnut tree for the last time. The hum of the chipper truck and clatter of machinery filled the air as the team prepared to work. I asked them to save as much of the wood as possible - my sister knows someone in Vermont who makes beautiful furniture, and I imagined pieces of the tree living on in a new form.
But before I left for yoga class, I walked up to the tree and placed my hand against its bark, a final goodbye. And that’s when it happened.
I started weeping.
The tears came unexpectedly, and even now, as I write this, they threaten to fall again. I’m not sure what I was crying for - the passage of time? The memories rooted in that tree? The way it stood witness to 17 years of our lives, of our children growing up, of everything that had changed since we first moved here?
I texted a photo to a dear friend, a fellow self-proclaimed tree hugger, knowing she would understand. Her response was gentle and affirming: “Oh, this reminds me of your story about Andie and her special Sequoia tree."
Letting go is hard. Watching time pass is hard.
But as I sit with this grief, I am also comforted by what letting go makes possible. Letting go creates space - space for newness, for growth, for opportunities we can’t yet imagine.
I don’t know what will fill the empty space where our black walnut once stood, but I trust something will. For now, I’m allowing myself to feel the loss, to honor the years and memories this tree carried with it.
I wonder: Is there something in your life you’ve been holding onto? Something it might be time to release?
Letting go isn’t easy, but it opens the door to what comes next. And sometimes, that’s where the magic lies.