Bamboo Bliss

Do you believe if you put your wishes “out to the universe” you can somehow make them come true? Lately, I’ve been sending out a very specific wish: Bamboo.

Let me explain.

When we bought our Marin County house in 2008, I discovered a small pile of very old, very weathered bamboo poles strewn in a messy pile along the side of the house. The one- to two-foot-long poles, no doubt the remains of a dismantled decorative garden fence, were cobwebbed and dirty. Every time we cleaned out the yard, I debated whether I should keep them or toss them. But each time I picked up one to throw it in the green bin, I stopped myself.

“One day,” I told myself, “I’m going to do something with this bamboo.”

Shortly after making one of these silent declarations, I set off on my daily walk through through a nearby neighborhood surrounded by towering Redwoods and dense ferns. I passed by a house where extensive yard work was taking place. The next day, walking the same route, I discovered a sizable stack of bamboo poles – the same dimensions and weathered look as my own stash – outside the fence, free for the taking. For the next few months, I walked past the bamboo, which is actually a type of grass, several times a week. I’d pick up a piece, hold it gingerly with my fingertips to avoid stray spiders and dusty webs, and hike with it a ways. A tiny spark of creativity would ignite as I held it, but for some reason, I’d always return the pole to the pile before I headed home. Many more months passed, and one day, the bamboo was gone.

Fast forward to the beginning of 2012. I’d recently seen a glorious Picasso exhibit at the de Young Museum and was awed by the artist’s flexibility and fluidity as he moved between vastly different mediums, from canvas to stonework to metal sculpture and beyond. Suddenly inspired, I walked out of my little studio and rounded the corner to the back of the house. My bamboo, still gathering webs and dirt, was waiting for me. I selected a few poles and hosed them down. After a light sand, I primed them and then added a layer of gesso. Once I had a clean, smooth surface, I was ready to paint. Working on a new 3D canvas seemed to open previously closed doors in my creative brain. I loved holding the sturdy forms — some pieces heavy and solid; others light, almost porous – in my left hand while painting with my right. After the acrylic dried, I added several layers of shiny varnish. The whole process, from hosing and sanding to adding the final gloss — was energizing and creatively stimulating. And I particularly loved finding – and inventing – a purpose for this backyard debris.

Several months later, three of my bamboo towers had been exhibited in a gallery. Others had sold outright. I was delighted with the response to my 3D creations, but suddenly, I felt anxious. My stockpile had dwindled to just a few pieces, and those that remained were the least sturdy of the lot. My anxiety led to a new determination – bordering on obsession – with finding a new supply of old bamboo. I posted ads on Craigslist and Ubokia; I called landscapers and garden supply stores; and I scoured the backyards of Mill Valley, desperate to glimpse a pile of discarded grass – your trash, my treasure. When I passed the house where the free bamboo had been piled up for months, mine for the taking yet long ago discarded, I cursed silently.

I was starting to despair.

Then, about a month ago, something amazing happened. I was searching Etsy for a friend’s contact information when I noticed an email waiting for me at my own Etsy site. Here’s the gist of what it said:

Willow,

I have an interesting situation you might be able to help me with. I work for Cali Bamboo, one of the nation’s biggest suppliers of bamboo building materials. We sell eight-foot bamboo poles. Since they come in ten-foot lengths, we’ve been chopping off the ends and tossing them out. I started collecting the two-foot pieces in hopes of using them for something.

Interested?

Sincerely,

Walker

Was I interested? I was beyond interested. Terrified that I’d missed this opportunity (the email had arrived several days earlier), I dialed the number for the company. Directed to Walker’s voice mail, I left a message assuring him of my extreme interest in helping him with his “situation.” When we connected by phone the next morning, I told Walker the short version of my bamboo saga. “Finding a supply has become a bit of an obsession,” I confessed. Walker laughed.

“You’re helping me out, too,” he told me. “I’ll send you a box and you can see if it’s what you’re looking for.”

As soon as I paid the cost of shipping, Walker put together a box of bamboo and sent it on its way. When it arrived at my house – the deliveryman groaning under its weight – I could hardly wait to rip it open. I hooted with delight when I discovered more than a dozen pieces of beautiful, solid, sturdy, sand-colored bamboo. There wasn’t a cobweb in sight.

That was a couple weeks ago. I haven’t started painting the new bamboo yet, but I can’t wait to get started. I find myself thinking constantly about what designs I’ll explore, and I love telling friends about the happy ending to what could have been my tale of woe. Once I get painting, I’ll send a finished piece to Walker, a tiny token of my enormous thanks to him and the team at Cali Bamboo. And just in case my heartfelt efforts to buy bamboo were realized by sending my wish “out to the universe,” then here’s my next message:

“Wanted: vintage Canadian sap buckets.”