Our collection of ferns gets all the credit for the tranquility they conjure even on the hottest summer days, the same magic could be claimed by the fountain bamboo, which cradles raindrops and morning dew in exquisite beauty to rival the finest fern. When Andy and I first moved into our home in 2002, I promptly planted two fountain bamboo plants. It took a couple years, but they eventually grew into the gracefully arching clumps for which the fountain bamboo is rightly renowned. They softened the corners of our new house, each creating a calm turn along the garden border. It was a marvelous effect, but it was not to last.
The fountain bamboo flowers once in its lifetime, then promptly fades out from all the effort. This bloom cycle only happens after about 100 years, and it turned out that the plants we had were from this batch. The flowering happens across the world, and masses of fountain bamboos were dying off in a period of a few seasons. It was sad to see them go, and I waited a few more years before trying to plant new ones, in the hope of avoiding such a scenario for another hundred years.
The bamboo evokes centuries of history, as it should considering it’s once-a-century blooming cycle. Some plants have memories that stretch back longer than the lives of most people. They have seen the world in all its iterations, and they watch silently, without judgment or condemnation. I like such history, and such knowledge. It lends the garden a certain gravitas that should be respected. Plants are so often much more resilient than people. It is unlikely that we will be alive when these bamboos flower, and there is acceptance and resolve in that if you remain calm about it. The good part about planting new fountain bamboo is that we are just at the start of another hundred-year-journey. There’s all the hope in the world when you put it into that perspective.
