Savannah Bananas at Indianapolis Clowns

The Last Banana

Dear journal,

Last night, I dreamed the bananas were gone. Not just scarce—extinct. Like some golden species of bygone eras, they had slipped quietly out of existence, leaving only yellowed memories in fruit bowls and cereal ads.

In the dream, I met a man who had made it his life’s purpose to bring them back. He carried a canvas satchel stitched with patches from every corner of the world. Inside it: vials of soil, hopeful clippings, sun-faded photographs of vanished groves. He said he’d once eaten a banana as a child, and the taste had never left him—sunlight wrapped in softness. Now he wandered from jungle to marketplace to seed bank, chasing a memory. He believed the seed still existed somewhere, just hidden, waiting to be found.

We spoke in a ruined greenhouse overtaken by moss. I asked him why he cared so much about something so simple, and he looked at me as though I’d asked why stars should return after night.

When I woke, I remembered that old clip of Kirk Cameron explaining—with divine confidence—that God had designed bananas to fit the human hand. As if modern fruit came pre-packaged by Providence, not by human cultivation. A joke, almost. One that lingers. The banana he held was a Cavendish—sterile, seedless, mass-produced. Not a gift of Eden, but the product of convenience, design, and the slow erasure of what once was wild.

And then I thought of banana pudding. Not the store-bought kind, but real pudding layered with vanilla wafers, whipped cream, and slices of fresh banana—soft, cold, and sweet. How would we remember bananas if they were truly gone? Not through memories of pudding or afternoon snacks or the bruised fruit in school lunchboxes—but through the artificial echo in something like a banana Runts candy. That neon, chemical tang. A parody of fruit. All that would be left is a ghost of the flavor, floating in the aisles of gas station candy racks.

Maybe the dream is about more than fruit. Maybe it's about the quiet extinction of the simple, the real, the once-vital things we no longer notice until they're gone. Or maybe it's about the seekers—the ones who go looking anyway. The man in the dream might be a part of me, or the kind of person I want to be. Someone who believes the seed is still out there.

It’s strange how a dream can feel like both a joke and a pilgrimage. A reflection of how we mourn what we didn’t realize we loved. Or maybe it was just about bananas.

Hard to say, 

Dave

Blue Springs Cafe

Blue Springs Cafe

Home of the Foot High Pie

Banana Cream Pie and Coffee

Baseball Caps

Dear journal,

I didn't start out intending to collect hats from all the places I've visited, but it's turned into a fun past time and one I especially enjoy now that I have a way to display my hats as a memento of this baseball pilgrimage. Here's the lineup, in order of my visits:

1. Kansas City Royals - Kauffman Stadium
2. Arkansas Razorbacks - Baum–Walker Stadium
3. St. Louis Cardinals - Busch Stadium II
4. New York Mets - Shea Stadium
5. New York Yankees - Yankee Stadium (1923)
6. Springfield Cardinals - Hammons Field
7. NW Arkansas Naturals - Arvest Ballpark
8. Kansas City Monarchs - The Field of Legends
9. Chicago Cubs - Wrigley Field
10. Savannah Bananas - The Field of Legends
11. Washington Nationals - Nationals Park
12. Quad Cities River Bandits - Modern Woodmen Park
13. Omaha Storm Chasers - Werner Park
14. Joplin Outlaws - Joe Becker Memorial Stadium
15. St. Louis Cardinals- Busch Stadium III
16. San Diego Padres - Petco Park
17. Colorado Rockies - Coors Field
18. Birmingham Black Barons - Rickwood Field
19. Cincinnati Reds - Great American Ball Park
20. Cleveland Guardians - Progressive Field
22. Pittsburgh Pirates - PNC Park
23. Forbes Field - Pittsburgh, PA
24. Exposition Park III - Pittsburgh, PA
25. Doubleday Field - The Baseball Hall of Fame

I still need to pick up hats for a few other teams: the Carthage Tigers, MSSU Lions, Joplin Eagles, and Tulsa Drillers. And, expand my hat wall again!

Ready for the next game,

Dave 

Banana

 

Banana for Scale

 

Lincoln's Waffle Shop

Banana Pancakes! 

Historic Downtown Stauton, VA

Historic Downtown Staunton, VA: A Saturday in the Queen City

I arrived in Staunton on a Saturday, just as the town had thrown open its doors—quite literally—for Shop and Dine Out, their weekly invitation to slow down, savor, and stroll. The brick-lined streets of historic downtown pulsed with a lively hum. Restaurants and shops spilled onto the sidewalks, their tables and wares extending into the open air, as if the buildings themselves had exhaled and relaxed into the weekend.

Staunton is a town that feels comfortably worn in, like a well-loved book—its pages dog-eared, its spine softened by hands turning through time. The architecture tells stories in red brick and intricate cornices, from Victorian facades to the sturdy storefronts that have watched over Beverley Street for a century or more. It is, in every sense, a city built to be walked, its history not just displayed in plaques but in the rhythm of footfalls on cobblestones.

I wandered past open-air diners clinking glasses over farm-to-table meals, past bookshops and boutiques, past a bluegrass duo plucking a tune in the shadow of the clocktower. For all its charm, Staunton does not feel curated—it feels lived in, a place that has found harmony between its past and present.

The Split Banana – A Sweet Pause

At some point, the day demanded ice cream. The Split Banana is a narrow shop with a neon sign that beckons like an old friend. Inside, a row of silver tubs gleams under the glass case, each filled with gelato in flavors that are anything but ordinary. I could have been practical, but who is practical when faced with 24 choices? I sampled a spoonful of Stracciatella, then hesitated at Honey Lavender before settling on a cup of Espresso Bean and Dark Chocolate Sorbetto—a combination as rich and deep as the history outside.

Seated on a bench, I let the world pass by as I took small, deliberate bites. There are few pleasures as perfect as good ice cream on a warm day, the kind that melts faster than you expect, forcing you to stay present. I watched children tug at their parents' hands, pointing at a street performer. A group of cyclists leaned against a wrought-iron railing, laughing over pints. An older couple strolled hand in hand, the familiarity between them as natural as the hills that roll around this town.

It was a moment of simple contentment. Staunton does that—it slows you down, just enough to notice the way the sunlight catches in the stained-glass windows of Trinity Church, or how a breeze carries the scent of something good roasting in a nearby kitchen.

Reflection

Cities like Staunton remind me why I love traveling—not for the rush of a new place, but for the rhythm of it. The way a town breathes on a Saturday afternoon, the way its people gather and linger, the way history and daily life intertwine so effortlessly.

I left with the taste of dark chocolate still on my tongue and the feeling that, if I had the chance, I would return. Not for a checklist of attractions, but simply to be here again—to sit, to watch, to wander.

Savannah Bananas at Kansas City Monarchs

 

Magnolia Bakery Banana Pudding