Shortly after I’d started working in zoo horticulture, my dad picked me up from work. It was the peak of summer and – not being used to working outside all day at the time – I was an exhausted, sweat-soaked mess of a kid. As we drove home, my dad hinted that he wouldn’t mind some help that evening with mowing the lawn. The thing is, I’d already spent all day cutting the grass. The chief difference was that I hadn’t been able to use a lawnmower. I’d had to use a saw.
Metaphorically and literally, few plants loom taller in zoo horticulture than the bamboos, a subfamily of towering grasses that grow across much of the world. Although they will grow readily in temperate ecosystems (part of their appeal to zoo staff), they are readily associated with the tropics, and many zoos plant them heavily to create the impression of jungles. Many species have the tendency to grow in dense, wall-like formations, which are ideal for providing visual screens both around animal habitats to promote privacy as well as to hide holding buildings and other off-exhibit areas from public view.
When visitors see bamboo (as they will at virtually every zoo, so universal is it), one of the first things they will often ask is, “Are there pandas here?” In the eyes of most visitors, the two – pandas and bamboo – are instant association (the name “panda,” first applied to the smaller red panda, actually translates as “eater of bamboo”). The fact is that lots of animals will happily eat bamboo and it is one of the favorite browse plants of zoos (it isn’t for everyone, however – some bamboos have cyanide and other poisons in them, which only some species can successfully digest). Nor is bamboo only from China. The Nashville Zoo features a Bamboo Trail, highlighting animals from bamboo forests around the world, including clouded leopards, lemurs, rhinoceros hornbills, and, of course, red pandas.
Personally, I found bamboo to be a giant pain in the butt. It can be very difficult to get it established in some places – at one zoo where I worked, each stalk of bamboo was treated like a national treasure, and my boss would have executed anyone who dared to cut a stalk for a purpose as wasteful as giving a treat to the kangaroos or giraffes. Once it takes off, however, it really takes off – and it can be very hard to control, and even harder to remove altogether. It can destroy paths and pavements, damage utilities, or block views of enclosures quickly. A stalk can grow to be several times longer than the bed of our trusty zoo pickup truck, meaning that each one has to cut into several sections , so it only takes a few stalks to equal a full load. The thick, straight bases may stack easily, but the springy, leaf-bearing tops don’t, and have an obnoxious habit of slapping you smartly in the face as you try to pack them down. Nor is it compostable – which means you need to find a place to dispose of what usually amounts to be a mountain of the stuff.
Granted, those stalks – especially the biggest ones – can come in handy. I’ve used them for fencing projects, enrichment puzzle feeders, sounding poles for working in water, and, at least once with a very long piece, for knocking down a wasp nest that I really, really didn’t want to get close to.
Bamboo may be a pain to work with, but it can be a beautiful addition to any landscape, especially Asian-themed gardens. If I have a complaint (besides all of the ones that I just made), it’s that I feel zoos rely too heavily upon it. I’ve had coworkers who thought bamboo was the answer to every landscaping challenge. The thing is, if we’re saying that plants help set the scene for our animals, we have to realize that not all scenes are the same. We should use different plantings to help create the impression of different habitats – how else can we really convey that a rainforest animal, a desert animal, and a grassland animal are from different habitats.
Bamboo is a remarkable, effective, and often irritating tool that horticulturalists can use to enliven a zoo. It shouldn’t be the only tool.
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