Walnut Ink

Making Black Walnut Ink

Each autumn, I forage black walnut hulls along Walnut Avenue in Dorset, gathering them when their pigment is at its richest. Most are found scattered on the ground –some still bright green, others softened and darkened as they begin to decay.

I leave them for several days in a large bowl outside in the garden, then cut or press them open and simmer them gently in water for three to four hours. The result is a deep, mahogany liquid – almost black – that holds the essence of the season. I often repeat the process over several days, allowing the colour to deepen and the scent to settle.

Making walnut ink is a meditation. Sometimes I leave the mixture to steep, letting time do part of the work. When ready, I strain the liquid and pour it into small glass jars. Occasionally a soft layer of mould appears, but I’ve learned that placing a clove in each jar keeps it at bay. When I open a new jar, the air fills with the earthy, comforting scent of walnuts and cloves – a quiet reminder of the landscape that made it.