There is a grove of old walnut trees, standing tall in the Alice Hill Reserve. Some stopped bearing nuts, and there is word of felling them, stirring my unease. I, too, feel the weight of withering, and it pains me to see a tree cut down or a person discarded for they outlived their usefulness.
Some Saturdays, I wander over from the pottery studio, to press small porcelain patches onto their bark, capturing the intricate patterns left by weather and years. Fired in the kiln, these patches become brooches and pendants, carrying the memory of a still-living creature.
Avice’s gift to Christchurch was more than land—it was a vision of enduring creativity. She transformed a family property into the Avice Hill Community Reserve and Arts and Crafts Centre. The walnut trees, though withering, still offer their nuts to those who gather them. Just as these trees nourish us with their quiet persistence, the reserve feeds something deeper: a place for hands to shape clay, for minds to wander, and for art to bloom, a reminder that usefulness doesn’t fade with time—it simply changes form. Her legacy, like the trees, lives on, sustaining us in ways both seen and unseen.
When I manage to gather some nuts—or a generous friend shares the bounty of their own trees—I bake a walnut cake, spiced with plenty of nutmeg according to an Armenian Recipe. I use an easy recipe that makes quick work with a kitchen machine, and the result is always a delight. It’s not the walnut cake my grandmother Fanny used to make—the recipe went to the grave with her when I did not know the importance of asking our elders for their knowledge. Yet, in turning those nuts into something warm and fragrant feels like a quiet nod to the trees’ persistence, a way to carry their gift forward. With each bite, I taste a thread of continuity, a reminder that what we create and share, endures, even when the original form is lost.
Here is where you can find some walnuts if you are very lucky Walnut Grove at Avice Hill Reserve
