Banana tree mark making, again
THANKING
Every year at the end of autumn and before the first frost, we take down our banana tree. We must. It’s too cold to keep it through the winter. We’ve been doing this for ten years, this tending and caring.
The tree grew its tallest yet this year, with multiple shoots continuing to reach upwards throughout the summer, lazing over the neighbor’s fence and nuzzling up to the cherry tree.
The new leaves emerge in a tight spiral from the center of the stalk, growing upward and gaining strength, then whoosh and fwap, as they unfurl into big fanning leaves. Arise, emerge, reach, turn, whoosh, and fwap. We delight in watching all of this, in stages over the course of a week.
And then we know when it’s time to take it down. We wait until the last moment, feeling the weather getting cooler overnight. The leaves are darkened, some shredded, others floppy. The trunk has the scars and tattering of the season. It’s time.
It’s time to say thank you to the banana tree, too. Hugging it, I felt such respect for all that it gave us – shade, strength, and delight.
My husband reached up with his arms, exalting in its magnificence.
FELLING
Knowing that there’s a huge rhizome underground, and that it needs to go into hibernation for a time gives us the courage and peace to fell our beloved banana tree. And because every season in late spring when it’s consistently warm enough, it faithfully starts sending up shoots again.
This was the first time that the banana tree had gotten so big that it needed us both to take it down. I was honored to be a part of the whole process for the first time.
While we call it our banana tree, here’s the thing: “[a] banana tree is not a tree at all, but a herbaceous plant with pseudostems wrapped together to form a trunk-like structure.” Source
So this makes it quite easy to cut the leaves, then saw through the thick, trunk-like, stalk-like pseudostems at the base, and carry them to the ground.
It’s fascinating to see the inner structure filled with water giving it its strength, and feel the slightly sticky water dripping out.
Looking close at the spiraling corrugated pattern, I’m amazed at just how cool it looked.
MARK MAKING
A few days later I went outside to reacquaint myself with the now-cut-smaller pseudostem stalks. I sensed they were waiting for me and I bowed to them. In my hand I had carried out a pad of paper, a bottle of ink, a sponge brush, and a plate. We were going to play together in mark making.
The last time I did this was two years ago, with my friend Sush (and supporter, thank you!). It was her initiative and idea to see what marks we could make from the stalks. It was so much fun. You can read and watch it all here.
This time I was by myself, with my thoughts and mood, exploring and noticing the last parts of a greenish-yellow banana-y stalk.
Brushing the end with the sponge brush, I noticed how the ink soaked into the corrugated inner pattern, filling the spaces where the water once saturated it entirely.
I began, much like block printing – stamping, pressing, and lifting, then shift. Stamp, press, lift, shift. Again. And again.
Then I peeled off an outer layer, coiled and curved, and inked the end of that.
What marks did it wish to make, I wondered, as I held it awkwardly in my hands.
It was almost like learning a dance move for the first time. Left side, right side, shimmy shimmy step step, hop and glide. We made a beautiful dance.
I peeled away another layer, then another, until reaching the soft inner milky yellow. And there was a leaf!
A slow swish, a gentle shimmy, a tap tap, and swoosh. This leaf seemed to move with grace and agility.
All the layers were peeled, some curving in on each other, others nesting near or teetering on top.
For the last dance they all got up, giggling and jumping on the page, marks echoing in their wake.
What we need often comes from within, spiraling upward from our depths to reach the place we need, season after season.
Even when we are done, when we cut back all that is no longer necessary and seek hibernation, is there still a part of us that seeks something? Perhaps in the swoosh and tap of movements dancing in our being no matter the season...
✻
LouLou
“Banana tree mark making, again” was originally published as an exclusive post to my Patreon supporters in November 2022. Now it is public to you, too!
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