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On my return trips from the beach I like to stroll through a quiet, bayside neighborhood. Growing near the curb at one of the homes is this lovely banana tree.

Since the house is currently vacant, and I am loathe to see things go to waste, I often pluck myself a ripe berry from the bunch. No, that was not a typo, I called a banana a berry. Though we tend to not eat the thick (though pliable) skin, it is edible. Coupled with the fact that the small seeds are nestled inside the flesh it qualifies as a berry, botanically speaking.

The flesh of this banana variety is creamy with a mellow vanilla flavor. I always take the peel home for proper disposal, mindful of an incident from my father’s side of the family.

My aunt had a newspaper clipping in her scrapbook printed by a small town Illinois paper over 80 years ago. A scant three lines long, the article lamented the death of man (their great uncle, if I recall correctly) who met his demise by slipping on a banana peel.

With so few details I cannot verify the veracity of this story but a part of me wants it to be true. What a unique way to go…