A Pond Best Avoided?

It takes three minutes on foot from where I live to reach the south-western tip of Midorogaike pond – a modestly sized body of stagnant water, high moorland and a few islets of floating peat. The information board by the gravel footpath says, in both Japanese and English, the lake covers some 9 hectares with a circumference of about 1.5 km. About one third of the lake is made up of floating peat bog, which occupies the central part of the lake, itself practically unreachable. Apart from a couple of battered wooden dinghies buried in quagmire, as if to warn an adventurer as to the likely outcome of their potential exploit, there are no boats or vessels on hand.

One also learns from the info board that the lake is very unusual in Western Japan as it sustains a cool temperate zone, similar to upper marshland in the north-eastern part of the country. This means the lake is home to some rare aquatic plant colonies, as well as animal creatures, such as a subspecies of large hoverfly, or a diving bell spider (the only spider species known to live entirely underwater). At the same time, plants and insects typical of a warm temperate zone, are also in attendance: common reed, Japanese diving beetle, or the giant bullfrog – one unwelcome import from America.

Due to these peculiar features the lake’s plant community was designated as a national natural treasure back in 1927, the designation altered in 1988 to include the animals as well. Fascinating, I think to myself, as I walk eastward along the southern shore, secretly hoping a creature would crop up and pose for a late evening photocall. The footpath this side of the lake is well-lit by street lamps, so much so that the light spreads some distance making it possible to make out water lilies resting on dark-green scum, and even a couple of ducks mucking about in the shallows (there is a long and winding path on the pond’s surface which ducks have ploughed for their own passage through scum).

I am struck how exceptionally still it is around here. Nothing stirs. And when something does move, like a cluster of reeds swaying, or an occasional duck or carp rippling the surface, they only add to the sense of pervasive stillness. It is exactly this subdued, lusterless quietude that lends the lake the air of mystery and eeriness it is so infamous for. Rather than the pond’s extraordinary aquatic features, Kyotoites have known Midorogaike for its notorious image of one being haunted by ghosts. This fact alone puts the lake on the tourist map of places best avoided.

In local folklore spooky stories abound, old and new. Ask any Kyotoite about the pond and the odds are they will come up with a ghost tale of some kind. The oft repeated one goes something like this. A Kyoto cab driver picks up a passenger, a woman possibly in her late fifties. As the car approaches Midorogaike, the cabby turns back to speak to the woman. Lo and behold, she has vanished. All the driver sees is a damp blotch on the seat.

Another tale has a local resident who, while taking a stroll by the lake, comes across a pile of clothes discarded on the ground. At first she thinks it rude manners. Then a thought creeps in: could this be a hint of a suicide? As she does not immediately see any shoes, she instinctively starts looking for a pair (Japanese are expected to be considerate enough to remove footwear before taking own life). She is saddened, however, to discover a floating body instead. Once the police have put the case to bed, the woman returns home only to find a pair of shoes by her front door, filled with water.

I am now standing at the south-western corner of the pond. Here the gravel path ends. For the adventurous soul there is a mud path that leads up the eastern shore through the forest. As I weigh up my options, the screech of an eagle-owl pierces the air. 

A windless valley:

over the peat bog

a disconsolate screech

I walk home wondering if the horror tales about Midorogaike have been invented on purpose, with one thing in mind: to keep people away from the lake so as to preserve its unique habitat. Who knows.

Few days later I revisit the pond. This time I foot it along the east shore, a soft path of peat and clay. It leads through the woods, all the time close to water. At some places the path turns very soft, almost gooey, and if one is not careful one might slide straight down into the lake. The mostly secondary forest is dominated by Japanese red pine and deciduous oak trees that go by the name of bao li. Some trees produce beautifully semi-transparent resin that stretches down from tree barks, looking like a Christmas ornament, or an icicle.

After about a hundred meters into the forest the path abruptly ends, and with some sadness I realize that it is impossible to walk the whole of lake’s perimeter. The woods being too dense to continue (the thought of coming back with a machete crosses my mind), I start trudging back past some glistening ferns and moss.

Post scriptum

I have been meaning to post my blog entry on Midorogaike for a few days now, yet never got round to it. In the meantime I decided to pay the lake another visit – for no particular reason. I have just got back home from tonight’s outing. It is close to midnight. I am sitting in my room, still trembling with awe and astonishment at what has just taken place.

I am walking down a narrow street, approaching the lake’s southern shore. The rain drizzling, the full moon peeking through the fast moving clouds. I barely step onto the gravel that borders the shore, when out of darkness a hefty, four-legged creature is running in my direction. I freeze. In a split second I think it a mythical beast that has come to take my soul away. As the eyes adjust I am able to detect the beast: a massive stag with splendid antlers, most likely frightened by hearing my footsteps. Now he is charging just past me, hollow thuds echoing across the valley. It misses me by a meter or two, and disappears up the familiar forest path on the eastern shore.

Fast approaching

a pair of antlers –

I stand powerless

I am sitting in my room, trying to decipher my instinctive response during the close encounter. It wasn’t fear, that is for sure. It was closer to total astonishment, and acceptance. Acceptance of fate. Of whatever the stars had in store for me. I was ready.

Happy Dinoyear

“Why won't they let a year die without bringing in a new one on the instant, can't they use birth control on time?  I want an interregnum.” – said John Dos Passos in 1917. Indeed, why don’t we decide to have an intermission between two years – a few unaccounted for, ‘dead’ days ­– something like a still screen-caption in the early days of television, with soft background music, as a space to pause and reflect, or simply stop altogether, relinquishing even reflection.

But this question sounds close to absurd in this day and age. How can it have any merit when our lifestyles and social trends are pulling us in just the opposite direction, as many services and businesses are open round the clock (we need warmer shoes and cooler clothes), as people put in more working hours (more money to buy the above), hell even footballers play games on New Year’s Eve nowadays and, what’s worse, many of us are watching (humans get bored easily). On New Year’s Eve we pick a talking head, out of hundreds to pick from, to wish us a prosperous year (humans will talk, no matter what you do to them). On Facebook , we cc the NY cards to hundreds of ‘friends’ we never met (take away their warm houses and comfy chairs and humans will perish). The calendar pages must keep turning over. That’s our lot. We are the prisoners of our own misplaced imagination. And so, the New Year hols are here to stay, for now, each year’s end affording us less and less time to notice it.

Being one of the lucky ones to actually have holidays, I’ve been watching documentaries and pondering DINOSAURS lately. Yes, dinos, those losers. Except they are not, not really. They were simply terribly unlucky with that meteor that’s all. Dinosaurs are the most successful species ever. Not only were they dominant for the staggering 160 million years (compared with the paltry 200,000 years of the existence of Homo sapiens) but they still live on this planet today in the form of birds – the direct descendants of a certain type of dinosaur.

Dinosaur Revolution aired recently on Discovery Channel in Japan (and perhaps worldwide?), is a dino show with a difference: most creatures are given a 'private', commentary-free treatment, with personal dramas and challenges to contend with. The monsters, big and small, are still roaring and thudding about, like in, say, ‘Walking With Dinosaurs’, but much less cartoonishly so. The following scene shows the last hours of one of the last dinosaurs ever - troodon. The troodon gradually realizes that his days are numbered as he seeks shelter from the ubiquitous permafrost. Finally he finds one - inside the giant jaws of another long-dead dinosaur! The symbolism is obvious, yet thoroughly poignant. 

 

 Happy DINOYEAR

On the Big Island

Possessed

By the coastal road

the large trees barely stand

wrapped and stifled

by the orange cobwebs

of Pele’s hair.

Like handsome Ohi’a

the trees look helpless

forever transfigured

by the outrageous

air plant from abroad.

I listen to tree frogs’

ko-kee, ko-kee

in darkness. Like me

they are guests,

albeit permanent.

I am a man possessed,

trying hard to pinpoint

the song’s source,

detect its distant

insular dialect.

Spanish moss is an epiphyte which absorbs nutrients (especially calcium) and water from the air and rainfall. Spanish moss is colloquially known as "air plant". Spanish moss was introduced to Hawaii in the 19th century, and became a popular ornamental and lei plant. Recently it is occasionally called "Pele's hair" after Pele the Hawaiian goddess. The term "Pele's hair" usually refers to a type of filamentous volcanic glass.

When Coqui tree frogs accidentally arrived in Hawaii with shipments of plants from Florida or Puerto Rico, the response was ballistic. The mayor of Hawaii declared a state of emergency. Scientists feared the sky was falling, and that the coquis, which eat lots of insects, would decimate the insect population to the point of starving all other insectivorous creatures. The sound of the frogs, a two-toned "ko-KEE", was described as a "shrill shriek" guaranteed to keep everyone awake at night, run down property values, and drive away tourists.

Ironically, this same coqui frog is the national animal of Puerto Rico, its native land. In fact, Puerto Ricans love this frog and its chirping sound so much that it is honoured in local folklore. People describe the nighttime sound of the coqui as soothing and necessary for sleep, and Puerto Rican travellers often bring recordings of coquis with them when away from home to help them sleep. [http://www.hawaiiancoqui.org/]

Monsters & Fangs

A SAVAGE fish described as more terrifying than a piranha is on Queensland’s doorstep and authorities fear it may soon be here. The vicious giant snakehead, which has been the star of a horror movie trilogy, eats everything it comes across and has even been reported to kill people. The monster from south-east Asia has a mouth crammed with fearsome teeth, can “crawl” on land and survive out of water for up to four days.  

http://jamesboard.wordpress.com/2010/04/07/come-to-australia-you-might-accidentally-get-killed/

This snakefish was caught in England. In an article entitled Killer fish terrifies Britain News.Com (as in Rupert Murdoch) describes that snakefish as “A savage fish that eats everything it comes across, including people. The discovery of the fish is reported to have caused widespread panic among conservationists and anglers. An Environmental Agency source described the snakefish as “the ultimate invasive species”. The source said that if snakefish begin breeding in the area it will be a disaster.  

http://theframeproblem.wordpress.com/2008/02/19/the-snakefish-a-concerning-ecological-threat/272/

               The Eight-Forked Serpent (Yamata no Orochi)

‘[…] its eyes were red as the winter cherry, and pine trees and mosses grew on its back, while firs sprouted on each of its heads. As it crawled, it stretched over eight valleys and eight hills, and its belly was always flecked with blood. In seven years this beast had devoured seven maidens, the daughters of a king, and in the eighth year was about to eat up the youngest, named Princess-Comb-Ricefield. The princess was saved by a storm-god who bore the name of Brave-Swift-Impetuous-Male. This knight built a circular enclosure of wood with eight gates and eight platforms at each gate. On the platforms he set tubs of sake. The Eight-Forked Serpent came and dipped its head into each of the tubs, gulped down the sake and was soon fast asleep. Then the knight lopped all of the heads, a river of blood springing from the necks. In the serpent’s tail a sword was found…’

                                        from The Book of Imaginary Beings by J.L.Borges (pp. 55-6)

                                  Yamata no Orochi by Toyohara Chikanobu (1838–1912)

It took me couple of minutes to realize all 8 heads are in here! Click on the pic and time yourself.

* (caption taken from http://themurdochempireanditsnestofvipers.blogspot.com)

The Feather

Once a child, always a child. This morning I am drawn to a brownish feather blown over onto the balcony floor, where I’ve noticed it gently swirling. I grab it in midair, hold it up by the shaft, like a writing quill, sniff the vane, straighten out the barbs. It is a fine specimen, caramel and chocolate brown around the edges, off-white in the middle. I wonder what kind of bird it may have come from – a brown pigeon? I suddenly wince as I hear concerned voices in my head: ‘Don’t do that! It might be infected with avian flu or something!’ I am instantly ashamed by this cowardly, nonsensical thought. Anyway, even if there were any bacteria in there I already inhaled them. So, what next? For a moment I consider throwing the feather back to the winds. If only the bird would come back I’d reattach the feather to its wing. Well, it’s on my desk now, inside a pen holder. I may photograph it, or write a haiku.

Three stages of self-awareness: the child, the schooled adult, the would-be artist. Once a child, always a child.

Sunday, June 26^th, 2011

Bamboonery - Part 2

Su Shi, often referred to as Su Dongpo (1037-1101), one of the major poets of the Song era, painted bamboo and wrote his poems in praise of the plant. Said Su Shi: 'I can go without meat in my meal, yet I can't live in a place without bamboo. No meat makes people slim, no bamboo makes people meretricious. Slim people can put on weight again, but meretriciousness cannot be rooted out.’ 

Bamboo has a profound meaning in Confucian, and therefore Chinese, iconography. Bamboo for the Chinese is much more than a plant. In fact, Confucianism teaches that human characteristics correspond with a bamboo. The plant’s straight stem is the symbol of moral strength, pliant yet unbreakable by the adverse winds. Its knot represents harmonious integration with others. The branches represent flexibility. The hollow inside of the bamboo stalk symbolizes the purged clarity of mind, or the absence of chaos, that is a prerequisite for a constructive thinking. The leaves symbolize subtlety and the poetic mind. Perhaps the earliest poem about bamboo, written during the Tang Dynasty by a government official Bai Juyi (772-846), encapsulates this spirit:

Planting Bamboos

trans. Arthur Waley

Unrewarded, my will to serve the State;
At my closed door autumn grasses grow.
What could I do to ease a rustic heart?
I planted bamboo, more than a hundred shoots.
When I see their beauty, as they grow by the stream-side,
I feel again as though I lived in the hills,
And many a time on public holidays
Round their railing I walk till night comes.
Do not say that their roots are still weak,
Do not say that their shade is still small;
Already I feel that both in garden and house
Day by day a fresher air moves.
But most I love, lying near the window-side,
to hear in their branches the sound of the autumn-wind.

Bamboo painting, on the other hand, requires the mastery and control of the brush strokes in order to balance the composition. The blank of the paper signifies yin while the brush strokes signify yang. Zheng Banqiao, a poet and a bamboo master in the Qing dynasty, wrote: ‘Love to tear the white paper window, with the bamboo shadows entering the meditation bed’, touching on the poetic idea of painting the bamboo shadows reflected upon the rice paper, usually seen on Chinese windows. In 1701 the ink bamboo painter Wen Tong wrote in The Book of Bamboo: ‘The first principle of bamboo composition is, the four parts of the plant should be considered in the following order: stem, knot, branches and leaves. If the basic rule is not followed, time and effort will be wasted and the picture will never be completed.’ It was apparently said of Wen Tong that there were whole bamboos in his heart.

Here is a detail of Su Shi’s own ink-on-paper painting depicting bamboo, chrysanthemum and Tai-hu rocks (http://vc.lib.harvard.edu/). Bamboo in itself is a complete subject because it carries lasting ethical values and it commands a truly talented painter to create varying tones that never repeat — the careful placement of dark/light tones, the execution of perfectly cylindrical internodes etc..

Su Dongpo not only painted bamboo but wrote numerous bamboo poems. I will introduce them beginning with a rather unique example, unique in that it shows how one bamboo metaphor, among many others, resulted in a political intrigue, and eventually in Su Shi’s demotion and exile. The following poem is critical of the government’s stiff reforms of the salt monopoly that made salt increasingly hard to find:

An old man of seventy, sickle at his waist,
Feels guilty the spring mountain bamboo
and bracken are sweet.
It's not that the music of Shao has made
him lose his sense of taste.
It's just that he's eaten his food for three
months without salt.

(en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Su_Shi)

Notice the old man’s vicarious guilt, its transfer down the hierarchical ladder — from the bureaucrats as the real perpetrators, to the common folk as the actual victims. How Confucian was this? It somehow reminds me of the upending of the Communist ideals centuries later.

For his popular political poems Su Shi underwent numerous arrests, demotions, and spent twelve years of his life in exile. He was the main culprit of The Wutai Poem Case, a famous literary inquisition during the Song Dynasty rule. Here is Su Shi’s poem on the subject which shows that even in exile his satire hadn’t lost its sting.

On the Birth of His Son

trans. Arthur Waley

Families, when a child is born,
Want it to be intelligent.
I, through intelligence,
Having wrecked my whole life,
Only hope the baby will prove
Ignorant and stupid.
Then he will crown a tranquil life
By becoming a Cabinet Minister.

This sarcastic tone seems to be removed miles away from the Confucian formula and the ‘will to serve the state’.

Well, on a lighter note, here is a true anecdote that not only shows Su Shi in a domestic, relaxed atmosphere, but might even whet your appetites:

Huang Zhou was an agricultural heartland and as the price of pork in the area was cheap, it was a regular feature in the diet of Su Shi… One day, he was cooking pork with bamboo shoots when a friend dropped by. Switching the fire to gentle heat, he left the kitchen to play chess with the visitor. So engrossed was he with the game that he forgot the cooking. It was only at the end of the game he suddenly recalled the pork and bamboo stew and rushed to the kitchen. Expecting to find the pork burnt to crisp, he was surprised by the aroma when the lid of the pot was lifted. The edible pork had a rich red colour, tender crispy but not flaky with a glutinous texture without the greasy taste. The bamboo had soaked up excess fat. Together the pork and bamboo tasted terrific. Henceforth, it became a regular dish for himself and his guests who couldn't get enough of it. Marvelling at his creation, Su Shi composed an ode:

Huang Zhou produces excellent pork,
the price is cheap as dirt.
The rich despise it,
the poor can't cook it well.
Long on fire,
Short on water,
It will be delicious in its own time.
A bowl a day,
will satisfy a man enough to forget all cares. 

(from Dale A. Johnson: ‘Bamboo Dreams’, found on dominicanoutreach.webs.com/treeprojects.htm).

                                             Dongpo’s Pork was thus inadvertently created.

Apart from odes and political poems, Su Dongpo wrote numerous ‘tune poems’, or ‘Ci’, poetry originally written to fixed tunes, with strict tonal patterns and rhyme schemes. ‘Ci’ originated in the Tang Dynasty and was fully developed in the Song Dynasty. Here are extracts from two of Su Dongpo’s ‘Ci’, where bamboo plays a prominent role (trans. Yun Wang).

To the Tune of Ding Feng Bo [Calming the Wind and Waves]

Hear not sounds that pierce the woods beating the leaves
Why not chant a little     sing     and take it slow
Bamboo stick     straw sandals     lighter than riding a horse
Who is afraid?
A capeful of fog and rain all my life

To the Tune of He Xin Lang [To the Bridegroom]
Summer

A baby swallow flies into the splendid house
Quiet and no one around
The day retreats to shades of the wu-tong tree
I rise from a bath into the cool evening
My hands play with a round fan of white silk
The fan and the hand seem both jade
When I tire I recline
sleep alone my fresh sleep
Who pushes the painted door beyond the curtains?
Interrupting a dream of singing on terraces of jade
It is only the wind
knocking on bamboos

 
The unabbreviated poems here: http://www.nhn.ou.edu/~wang/wang_trans.html

The stone portrait of Su Shi, the original of which is kept in the Six-Banyan Pagoda in Guangzhou, Guangdong Province. Spot the inevitable bamboo stick.

Bamboonery - Part 1

Last Sunday I joined a hiking group of about 30 odd people in Yawata town in the southern outskirts of Kyoto. After a couple of hours walking along the Kizu river, the biggest challenge still lay ahead — the climbing of the Otokoyama mountain through a wonderfully thick bamboo forest. Some half an hour later we reached Iwashimizu Hachimangu shrine, one of the three great Hachimangu shrines of Japan, in the olden times the rear Demon’s Gate of the capital Heian-kyo (literally “tranquillity and peace capital”), nowadays known as Kyoto. What was equally interesting, and certainly more surprising, was to find the shrine’s wooden tablet amulets called ema, usually reserved for kanji inscriptions or pictures of horses, bearing images of what unmistakably looked like a Western face of an older, bearded man. From some distance it looked like KFC’s colonel Sanders (didn’t know the monks liked chicken burgers), but it was instead revealed to be the face of none other than Thomas Alva Edison. Soon enough we came across a black-stone monolith dedicated to the memory of Edison. Thus awoken my curiosity demanded an explanation — no notices in English though.

Edison in fact used the bamboo from Mt. Otokoyama as a filament for the production of the first ever commercial incandescent light bulb! And so, Shinto religion being polytheist, their gods were more than happy to turn the great man into a deity because, as the shrine’s unofficial homepage attests, ‘he gave light to every people in the world’. After all, ‘electricity occupies the twilight zone between the world of spirit and the world of matter’, God himself being ‘the Great Electrician’ [Elbert Hubbard, Jovian society welcome address].

Edison was experimenting with a variety of materials in order to achieve a desired length of 600 hours which in his opinion would be long enough to justify its mass manufacturing. One day he picked up a bamboo fan, took a strand from it, carbonized it, and found that it burned for 200 hours, much longer than the bristol board filament he had been using thus far. Edison then sent out researchers around the world to find the bamboo of the highest burning quality. One of the delegates ended up in Japan and was told that the best bamboo could be found in Kyoto. It transpired that the electric bulb with the Yawate bamboo filament lasted for nearly 2500 hours, which persuaded Edison, and in turn J.P. Morgan, to heavily invest in the new company Edison General Electric in order to manufacture the electric light bulbs with the sticky, durable filaments made from the Yawata bamboo. This production went on for 10 years, until it was replaced by cellulose filament bulbs in 1894.

But the tale does not end here. Edison hoped that Japanese bamboo could be bettered and sent a team of explorers to South America, who after coming upon some great bamboo, became confused by the river systems and forgot where they had found it. Edison then sent a man named James Ricalton out to the jungles of Sri Lanka, Burma, Malaysia and India. Here are a few extracts from Ricalton’s own reminiscences of his meetings with Edison (www.jamesrwilson.com/family/ricaltonmeetsedison.html). Ricalton, a village schoolmaster, is summoned to appear before the great scientist apparently without being given any hints as to its purpose.

With a quizzical gleam in his eye, [Edison] said: `I want a man to ransack all the tropical jungles of the East to find a better fibre for my lamp; I expect it to be found in the palm or bamboo family. How would you like that job?' Suiting my reply to his love of brevity and dispatch, I said, `That would suit me.' `Can you go to-morrow?' was his next question.

No beating about the bush. It took Ricalton a few days to ‘learn his new trade’ of drawing and carbonizing fibres, after which he was promptly given further instructions by the wizard.

[…] Mr. Edison came to me one day and said: ‘If you will go up to the house’ (his palatial home not far away) ‘and look behind the sofa in the library you will find a joint of bamboo, a specimen of that found in South America; bring it down and make a study of it; if you find something equal to that I will be satisfied.’ At the home I was guided to the library by an Irish servant-woman, to whom I communicated my knowledge of the definite locality of the sample joint. She plunged her arm, bare and herculean, behind the aforementioned sofa, and holding aloft a section of wood, called out in a mood of discovery: ‘Is that it?’ Replying in the affirmative, she added, under an impulse of innocent divination that whatever her wizard master laid hands upon could result in nothing short of an invention, ‘Sure, sor, and what's he going to invint out o' that?’

After a 365-day long expedition Ricalton returned believing he had found the perfect bamboo in Ceylon. Alas, his efforts turned out to be in vain as Edison in the meantime had begun using artificial carbon as filament. It is rather refreshing, however, to find not a single trace of regret or disappointment in Ricalton’s reaction to the disheartening news. Indeed, he seems to feel thoroughly in debt to the scientist. 

[…] during my connection with that mission I was at all times not less astonished at Mr. Edison's quick perception of conditions and his instant decision and his bigness of conceptions, than I had always been with his prodigious industry and his inventive genius.

Thinking persons know that blatant men never accomplish much, and Edison's marvellous brevity of speech along with his miraculous achievements should do much to put bores and garrulity out of fashion.

                                                    taken last summer in Arashiyama

Bamboo Facts:

* One out of every six people on earth lives in bamboo constructed homes.

* The fastest growing woody plant on this planet. It grows one third faster than the fastest growing tree. Some species can grow up to 1 meter per day. Size ranges from miniatures to towering columns of 60 meters.

* “I am not sure about how fast bamboo grows, but when I was in South America, we could hear it growing. We would walk past a patch and hear the creaking. Definitely a weird sound. The locals told me you could sometimes see it grow..” (MacLloyd from Arcadia, CA).

* A critical element in the balance of oxygen and carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. Bamboo is the fastest growing canopy for the re-greening of degraded areas and generates more oxygen than equivalent stand of trees.

* Bamboo provided the first re-greening in Hiroshima after the atomic blast in 1945.

* There are over 1000 species of bamboo on the earth.
* The technical name for a bamboo stem is a 'culm'.
* Most bamboos flower and produce seeds only after between 12 and 120 years growth...and then only once in a lifetime.

* An essential structural material in earthquake architecture. In Limon, Costa Rica, only the bamboo houses from the National Bamboo Project stood after their violent earthquake in 1992.

* The best gramophone needles were made of bamboo until the 1950s.

* A bridge over the Min River in China is 250 m long, 3 m wide, and built entirely of bamboo - no nails.

* A traditional kendo stick (‘shinai’) is made from dried bamboo.

source:

http://dominicanoutreach.webs.com/treeprojects.htm

http://www.qi.com/talk/viewtopic.php?p=1651
http://msgboard.snopes.com/cgi-bin/ 
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shinai