I got the news last night while I was minutes away from drifting off for the night. I was tagged in a comment by my sister in law from Arizona on Facebook. I clicked on the notification to see a picture of a bulldozer, of some sort, digging up a tree. 

  
Upon closer observation I was saddened to learn that this wasn't just any tree. It was the beloved banana tree that stood in front of Bebe's yard. In its aged-ness, its roots had reached a place not intended, causing plumbing problems thus necessitating its removal. 

Excuse my melodrama, "It's only a tree I'm sure you're saying".  In one sense you'd be right. But I'll tell you about this old tree and let you decide for yourself. 

This tree, "the banana tree" as it's fondly referred to, graced our Bebe's yard long before Bebe and Papa moved into their house on Chestnut. Its branches have held many stories, I'm sure, before the Knudson clan came along. I wish now that I knew some of those stories. No matter. Those of us who crossed under its threshold for the past twenty years have plenty of memories of our own. I'll share its most treasured secret. 

The "banana tree" wasn't actually a banana tree at all. Maybe it was a fruitless mulberry. It's kind isn't important. 

What is important is that its branches hung low, inviting little great-grands to come aboard but were also strong enough to hold the great-grandchildren who'd done a little growing. It provided the perfect shade on summer days and an appropriate amount of leaves to make a most superb jump pile in the fall. 

The fun in this tree though, would begin before our car doors would shut announcing our arrival. Our minds were focused on the banana tree as our car would turn on to Chestnut Street, where Bebe lives. Our eyes were ready to gain the first glimpse of what this magical tree always held...bananas; the perfect number, three,  which matched the number of children in our car. For my two nephews, the magic number was two bananas, just as it was for the children of Jason's cousins, two and two. 

  
 The story goes that a banana fairy would come just before our arrival leaving bananas in the tree for the children. Before Bebe could get her hello hugs, each banana was claimed and usually eaten. 

The tree wasn't magic, I don't suppose. It was rather, magic's stage. It was a place where childhood kissed us older nonbelievers on the cheek and revived our imagination and reminded us of simple delight. 

I'll miss that old tree. It's a shame that roots grow where they're not supposed to. But it's a blessing that roots have a way of sometimes growing in a place where they can't be destroyed. The roots of that old tree have taken their hold in our hearts; a place where magic carries on.  

Thanks for the magic Bebe!

  
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