When I was a kid I loved climbing the dogwood trees in our yard. I’d sit on a limb and play little tunes on my harmonica and plastic recorder. Those dogwoods had been planted by my Cypriot Greek Grandfather who was an avid hobby horticulturalist. His passion for plants flowed into my father, and eventually into me. Out of all the instruments and plants that surrounded me in childhood, the one that stood apart was my Dad’s bamboo flute which hung from his closet door on a colorful strap.
Once in a while I’d beg him to play it for me, though he always warned me it was “very difficult” and he might not get a sound. I remember watching the visible concentration on his face as he coaxed tones from it. He told me it was made of a “precious plant” called bamboo. We didn’t have any in our yard but he pointed out to me whenever we ran across it.
The combination of a challenging flute and a precious plant made it magical to me back then. Years later I finally learned that it was root end bamboo nan xiao from southern China.
That flute was my first encounter with bamboo instruments, a seed planted that eventually grew into a lifelong passion for crafting and playing them. By the age of fifteen I was already making my own bamboo flutes.
A forced separation
Since I began making bamboo flutes I had never been without one, until recently. When my partner and I moved to Spain in the fall of 2023 I only brought along a single plastic resin shakuhachi. It’s not one of my Bell Shakuhachi as I didn’t want to risk losing one since I’m no longer making them. I thought the move would be relatively quick, so I packed my bamboo instruments away with everything else.
What I didn’t expect was an odyssey stretching into nearly three years, eventually carrying us to Toulouse, France. Living out of suitcases, I found myself separated from all of my bamboo flutes. Just last week, we finally decided to have our belongings shipped from Spain, despite living in a tiny 17m² apartment (just about 6m² free floor space to work within).
Living without bamboo flutes, with only one plastic instrument to play, has been both difficult and transformative. That separation forced me to reflect deeply on my relationship with music, bamboo, and breath. I learned things I never would have otherwise. And then, over a week ago, the thought came to me that the first bamboo flute I wanted to play again wasn’t one of my own, but my Dad’s old nan xiao!
I wrote to my Dad asking him if I could have this xiao, and he gladly agreed. Just a few hours ago the flute finally arrived in my hands all the way from Norfolk, Virginia.
Finally! my breath met bamboo again with this precious family heirloom. The bore is unlacquered so there was nothing between me and the bamboo. After so long, it was a profoundly meaningful homecoming. I hope a single day doesn’t go by without a bamboo flute in my hands.
My Dad’s story
My Dad bought this flute in 1969 on a trip to New York City, Manhattan. I moved there in 2005 to study shakuhachi at nineteen. Serendipity, as he would say.
Below is my Dad’s story of the flute, along with a picture of him where it can be seen hanging on the wall in the background. (I’ve transcribed his handwritten letter at the very end of this entry for ease of reading.)
(click images to enlarge)
The Transcribed Letter from my Father, Harry Kypros
August 31, 2025
Serendipity, yes, it was serendipity that led me to my flute. When I was seventeen, I met a girl at Seashore State Park. I was camping there with some friends. We decided to camp there for the Memorial Day weekend so that we could be close to Virginia Beach because we wanted to surf all day, and not have to drive back and forth from Norfolk. I met a girl. Her family lived on Staten Island.
They too were camping at the park. Her name was Kathy, I called her Katina! “Cherish” became our song, also “Guantanamera”. We would keep in touch with letters. Even when I was in the Army [during Vietnam], we would write. One time, she sent me a box of chocolate chip cookies, with a surprise inside, and she also wrote down the words to “Mrs. Robinson,” Hippie Girl! Serendipity, was just beginning—
On September 4, 1969, the Army let me go! I wasn’t supposed to get out until December 4, 1969. But I managed to get a three month “early out”, in order to attend college. I applied to and was accepted to “Chesapeake Community College”. The only problem, was that the school had to be accredited, and this one wasn’t. They even sent me a letter stating that fact. But after being in the Army for almost 3 years, I learned how to get past “regulations” — so I just threw the letter away, and the Army never saw it. Serendipity, weaving in and out.
So, instead of still being in the Army, I took a bus to Staten Island to find Katina. It was Thanksgiving weekend. I found her. She decided to take me to Manhattan because she had a girlfriend who owned a really nice place in the city. We spent the night together. The next day she wanted to show me around the city. We were just walking around. We went into a hippie type clothing store, and I bought a multicolored cloth belt (the strap [on the flute]).
Later, as we continued walking, I heard this beautiful music, sounded like a flute. We stopped to listened, and noticed a sign on a door that said, Music Store, Upstairs. We went upstairs, the music still playing, and when we entered the open door to the music store, we saw a man playing a flute made from bamboo. He played it well! I asked him if the flute was for sale, he said yes, I said how much, he said, six dollars, I said, I’ll take it!
When I think about all the things that just had to occur, in order for me to be on the sidewalk, outside the music store, while a man was playing that beautiful music, on that particular flute — what else could it be? Serendipity —
Love you –
Dad
P.S. It was that same night, that Katina introduced me to Leonard Cohen, she had his record “Leonard Cohen”, we listened to that album all night — a nice memory.
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