Nut: the seed dreaming of growing into a forest. Locked firmly in its shell, it holds the plan for a whole oak, a walnut tree, a vast chestnut. Waiting for the ideal time to erupt into life, nature's time capsule.
We crack them open at Christmas, their shells strewn over tables like miniature shattered skulls. Obsessively hoarding squirrels bury half their supply and unintentionally plant tomorrow's woodlands. Made by species with three-second attention spans, the ultimate long-term investment.
You're nuts, we remark, which means unhinged, mad, gone to seed in the brain. But maybe being crazy a little bit ain't bad, to have a hard exterior that's protecting valuable thing inside, thigh with growth that have potential to wild.
Nuts are legumes covered around, not even nuts. Seeds have almonds. Cashew makes nature's afterthought. Still, we call them all nuts, this family of hard-shelled possibilities, each one holding forests, oils, and the patient expectation of becoming something bigger.