Gathering black walnuts stays an Ozarks tradition

GOODWIN, Mo. -- Terry Crocker's mother, Jearldean Shelton, was proud of her black walnut trees.

Every fall, as a child, Terry would collect the green globes off the ground for her mom, spread the nuts on the driveway and crack them open with a hammer.

Her mom used the nuts to make fudge and fruit salads throughout the year.

But the tradition was short-lived. Jearldean died when Terry was only 13.

"Nothing ever tastes as good as mama's cooking. She'll have to cook for me when I get to heaven," Terry said, on a crisp autumn morning while she collected black walnuts in Phelps Grove Park in Springfield, Mo.

Many people in the Ozarks remember collecting -- or still collect -- black walnuts.

Amie Breshears, a mother of three, picked the nuts with her parents. Her grandparents in Marshfield, Mo., picked for years and would throw the nuts in the driveway and run them over with the car.

Sometimes, Breshears, who lives in Warsaw, Mo., used money from the nuts for Christmas gifts.

"I remember being in the Bolivar Wal-Mart with my dad and going through and picking a little kitchen sink thing with a stove on top. We got plastic food that went with it. That is a neat memory. I remember thinking it was the greatest day of my life because we had money and we had helped pick up walnuts," Breshears said.

Every October, the nuts rain down on city parks, farms and neighborhoods. Some people find the nuts a nuisance; some collect enough for holiday baking; others see them as an opportunity.

"It's like money that grows on trees," said Shaun Crocker, Terry's husband, who collects black walnuts with her. "This looks like a good year."

This is supposed to be a good harvest, and Stockton-based Hammons Products -- a leading commercial processor of the nuts -- is paying $13 per 100 hulled pounds.

The busiest Greene County hulling station is at the Ozark Empire Fairgrounds North Gate.

This year, the Crockers have collected more than 5,200 pounds.

They are so well-known that when they approach the hulling station, the "huller" starts writing the check, said Terry.

In their worst year, they made $400; in their best, they pulled in $1,400.

For 2013, they've surpassed last year's earnings, but 2012 was a bad year.

They work through the wind and rain because that's when the black walnuts get knocked off the trees.

If they don't collect, other harvesters will.

They start at city parks, which are first come, first served, said Shaun.

"If I see someone picking nuts over here, it's common courtesy to go over there," said Shaun, after he dumped another bucket of nuts in the back of his pickup truck.

The heavier the load, the more the tires sink.

The Crockers started collecting in parks, but they've also cultivated clients.

Realtors will call when there's a house for sale and the nuts are falling in the yard; lawn services ask them to collect nuts before a job; elderly people who are afraid of tripping on the nuts ask for help; and random people stop them, too.

"I had a gal the other day who said, 'You have to come get my nuts.' People just want someone to haul them off," said Shaun.

Shaun and Terry count on the annual harvest to buy Christmas gifts for their three children, seven grandchildren and one great-grandchild.

"There wouldn't be Christmas in our home without it. We're on a fixed income and the government doesn't give us more for Christmas," said Terry. "This is the only time we get extra income."

While both of them collected black walnuts when they were children, the Crockers started collecting together nearly a decade ago, after Terry had a heart attack.

She weighed 220 pounds.

Both obese at that time, they started walking constantly and getting outdoors. They saw this as a way to keep fit in addition to earning extra money.

"We get a lot of good exercise doing this," she said.

They use a Nut Wizard -- a contraption that resembles a broom with a round wire net -- and sweep it along the grass. The nuts roll up into the Wizard as the Crockers move across the lawn.

They've come to know the parks around Springfield and venture out to other cities, too. At Phelps Grove Park on this morning, they end at the "money tree," which was full of nuts, said Shaun.

One year, they made a killing on this tree, which is why they call it the money tree. But this year, it's holding on to a lot of its nuts.

Still, they manage to fill a couple of buckets before moving on.

They'll be back.