Continue reading “Hands of Frogs and the Innocence of Babies”
Hands of Frogs and the Innocence of Babies
Autumn leaves whisper,
By the calm inlet they dance,
Maple’s red embrace,
History in every branch,
Nature’s heart in silent chant.
Category: Adventure
Harvest of Memories: A Finger Lakes Leaf Gathering Tale
A child and grandfather create lasting memories during a post-Thanksgiving leaf gathering ritual.
In the gentle embrace of the Finger Lakes region of New York State, the crisp post-Thanksgiving air is a mix of woodsmoke and the faint whisper of winter on the horizon. The earthy scent of fallen leaves, damp from the morning dew, begins to permeate the atmosphere, beckoning families outdoors to partake in the timeless ritual of leaf gathering.
The landscape is a canvas of russet and gold, painted by the hands of autumn. In one of the many serene backyards, framed by the skeletal silhouettes of trees now slumbering after their fiery display, a mound of leaves becomes the center of joyous activity. Here, a child, bundled in the cozy layers necessary to fend off the chill, is immersed in the simple, yet profound act of play. The leaves, a tapestry of oaks and maples, become her castle, her sea, her world to explore.
Her laughter rings clear, a melodic counterpoint to the rustling leaves as she is lifted high by loving hands only to descend into the crunchy embrace of her leafy playpen. A grandfather, his face etched with the smile lines of countless summers and autumns past, becomes the orchestrator of this joy. His flannel shirt, a patchwork of reds and greens, reflects the colors of the season, and his hands, weathered from years of tending to the earth and its cycles, now tenderly guide the child in her play.
The rake, usually a tool of labor, becomes a wand of magic, directing the leaves into heaps that rise and fall with each jump and dive. The child’s mittened hands grasp at the leaves, each one a different hue, a different shape, a different story. They fly up around her like a flock of birds taking flight, then settle back into their collective, creating a soft rustling symphony that speaks of the changing season.
As the sun begins to dip lower, casting elongated shadows across the yard, the child’s energy wanes. The vibrant activity gives way to tranquil moments of rest, with the child now lying still among the leaves, her eyes reflecting the vastness of the sky above, clear and blue, a window between the earthly and the infinite.
The day wanes, and the leaf-gathering winds down. A final tableau shows the child, now indoors, cocooned in the warmth of a blanket that mirrors the plaid of her grandfather’s shirt, the same colors now muted and soft. Her eyes are heavy with the weight of a day well spent, her dreams surely filled with the laughter and the leaves and the boundless love that turns even the simplest act into a treasure of memories.
This is the essence of leaf gathering in the Finger Lakes after Thanksgiving – not just the collection of what has fallen, but the gathering of family, of joy, and of moments that will be cherished and recalled long after the last leaf has been tucked into the earth’s winter bed. It’s a time when the harvest is not just of the land’s bounty but of the heart’s. Each leaf, a reminder that even as the world prepares to sleep beneath the snow, life is rich, full, and evergreen in the hearts of those who share it.
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Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved http://www.MichaelStephenWills.com
A Visit with Tom and Hen Turkey
Happy Thanksgiving
The Catskill Mountains are not mountains. The Catskills started as a high plateau. Over eons, before the first humans, water, the sun, and wind carved high steep peaks: rounded, forested and teeming with life.
October 2008, on a return trip from family on Long Island, we traveled the winding road called “Route 17”, through the high autumn hillsides.
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Fishs Eddy
As the sun passed over the western hills we stopped to explore a place called “Fishs Eddy”, a town on the banks of the Delaware River.
On the east side, facing sunset is a formation that would be a cliff if it was not for the hardwood trees growing from every available nook, crevice. Everywhere a root could be sunk, roots fed trees that, one late October afternoon, made a hill bright with autumn.
Turkey Habitat
Turkeys live in this type of habitat. We took a trail, barely a road that climbed past failed farms and hunting shacks.
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The Hens Flee
On a level place, in front of a ruined home, we came upon a Tom (male) turkey and his four hens. The hens fled at the sight of us.
With barely time to raise the camera I caught Tom and the last hen as she fled into the bushes.
Tom Turkey Defiant
I say she, because Tom stayed behind. He stood erect, all three feet of him, defiant and strutting in a direction opposite from the hens.
This is the bird Benjamin Franklin proposed as the national emblem of the new United State of America (the bald eagle won that competition).
Hunted into almost oblivion, across the United States the wild turkey is making a dramatic comeback in many places, including the forests and farmland of rural New York State
This fellow made no noise. His strutting posture and head bobbing said it all.
We left Tom Turkey in peace to his domain and hens.
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Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved http://www.MichaelStephenWills.com
White House Ruin
In 2003 and 2008, the author visited and photographed White House Ruin in Canyon de Chelly, observing changes in landscape.
In November 2003, my son Sean and I journeyed up Route 191 from Petrified Forest National Park, arriving in Chinle on a crisp autumn afternoon. My photography equipment at the time was modest: a Sony Point and Shoot 5 MP camera with filters, a purse-like over-the-shoulder bag, and a basic tripod from Kmart.
We reached the White House trailhead in Canyon de Chelly and began our hike. The trail was quiet, and as the sun set at 5:20 pm, we found ourselves virtually alone. A dense growth of Russian Olive trees dominated the wash at that time. In the dimming light, I captured a distant shot of the White House Ruin, whitewashed, set against the backdrop of autumn-hued Russian Olive foliage. Nearby, a grove of Cottonwoods, still green, stood near the canyon wall.
By the time Pam and I returned in July 2008, four years and nine months later, the landscape had changed. The invasive Russian Olives had been removed, and the White House Ruin was no longer painted white.
The same Route 191 that Sean and I had taken in 2003 led us through the Four Corners region of Northern Arizona. Pam and I had traveled from Colorado, arriving in the late afternoon. This time, the Navajo Reservation’s adherence to daylight savings time meant the sun wouldn’t set until 8:33 pm. My aim was to photograph the White House Ruin that I had missed years earlier.
That July day the sun set 8:33 pm as the Navajo Reservation observes daylight savings time. My goal was to photograph the White House Ruin I missed in 2003. We arrived at the trail head. My photography kit was expanded from 2003, now included a Kodak DSC Pro slr/C, the “C” meaning “Canon” lens mounting, a Sony 700 alpha slr (I only use a variable lens), Manfrotto tripod with hydrostatic ball head, and the backpack style Lowe camera case. With the tripod it is over 25 pounds.
With this on my back I was prepared to boogie down the trail. At the height of tourist season there were many more people at the trailhead. Pam, being a friendly person, started a conversation while I ploughed ahead along the flat canyon rim. It is solid red sandstone, beautiful, generally level with enough unevenness to require attention. When Pam saw how far ahead I was she tried to catch up, tripped, fell hard.
I backtracked to Pam and we decided what to do. She thought, maybe, the fall broke a rib. We decided to proceed and descended, slowly, together. Here we are in front of the ruin. The sun, low in the sky, is moving below the south canyon wall. This is a perfect time, and I used both cameras.
The sweep of cliff and desert varnish was my intent to capture. Here it is through the Canon 50 mm lens.
Click link for this White House photograph in my Online gallery.
I captured this version with the Sony Alpha 700 slr, the variable lens set to widest angle.
Click link for this White House photograph from my online gallery.
Here the camera setup waits out the sun…..
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Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved http://www.MichaelStephenWills.com
Grandson Sam is Eight!!
In a heartwarming YouTube video, Samuel Jack Wills and his grandmother Pam turn cake-making into an adventure in celebration of his Batman-themed birthday. The video captures endearing family traditions, from a talking doorbell to playful gift unwrapping, and culminates in the creation of a Bat-Signal adorned cake and joyous birthday song.
🎉 Get ready for an extraordinary adventure into the world of cake-making with our superstar, Samuel Jack Wills, and his magical sidekick, Grandma Pam! 🍰✨ It’s a special day just before Halloween, and the excitement is as palpable as the crisp autumn air. 🍂
🦇 In our latest heartwarming YouTube video, witness the grand entrance of our birthday hero, Sam, as he strides through the gate with his dad, Sean Wills, to a chorus of giggles and gasps, thanks to our quirky, talking doorbell that’s become an outrageous family tradition. 🎈
Join us in the celebration as Sam unwraps wonders from Grandma Pam and Grandpa Michael: from a thrilling Batman-themed birthday card that lights up the room with a Bat-Signal magnetic sticker, to a fleet of Gotham-inspired toys including an aircraft, the Batcave, and even miniature treasures like a suitcase brimming with play 100 dollar bills. 🏰💰
Sam and Grandma Pam put on their chef hats, discussing and designing a cake that’s not just a treat but a superhero saga! 🎂 With buttercream as smooth as velvet and chocolate layers that whisper ‘indulge’, they create a masterpiece adorned with blue and yellow frosting, featuring the iconic Bat-Signal.
And what’s a Batcave without boulders? Watch them skillfully make Rice Krispy treat boulders to scatter around their edible Batcave — a feast for the eyes as much as the taste buds. 🍫
The grand finale is a chorus of joy as Sam, surrounded by his loving family, basks in the glow of birthday candles and the warmth of the Birthday Song. 🎶 It’s a day where memories are made, laughter is shared, and love is multiplied.
So grab your capes, click on our video, and be a part of our delightful celebration that’s sure to lift your spirits sky-high! 🚀 Don’t forget to like, share, and subscribe for more family fun with the Wills clan! #SuperSamCakeAdventure 🥳👨🍳
Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Right Reserved http://www.MichaelStephenWills.com
Travelog to Neverland
Welcome to The Hole – don’t bother looking for the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s probably just another train coming to run you down.
The first light of dawn hadn’t yet dared to creep through the dense overhang of the Queens sky as I rolled my Chevy into the kind of neighborhood where hope seemed to have packed up and skipped town – The Hole, New York’s forgotten stepchild. A scrap of no-man’s land straddling the invisible line between Queens and Brooklyn, it was the kind of place that cabbies avoided after the sun punched out for the day.
The Hole had a reputation that’d curl a mobster’s hair. It was a dank underbelly of the city, sitting thirty feet below the rest like a dirty secret. It was the city’s afterthought, a neighborhood swallowed by the infrastructure and indifference, where houses teetered on the brink of collapse, the law was just a rumor. Where even water has nowhere else to go.
My ’63 Bel Air came to a rest outside an all-night diner that looked like it served more trouble than coffee. The sign out front flickered a sickly hue of orange, a weary beacon to the lost souls seeking refuge from their own bad decisions. Inside, the air was a cocktail of grease, tobacco, and the tang of desperation. I slid into a booth that had seen better nights, my back to the wall, always facing the door. You learned to watch your own back in The Hole.
The waitress, a broad with more miles on her than my Chevy, slid over to me. “What’s it gonna be, mister?” she asked, her voice husky from too many cigarettes and not enough dreams.
“Coffee, black,” I replied, scanning the room for the face I was supposed to meet. He was a two-bit informant with a rap sheet longer than the Brooklyn Bridge. But he had a line on what was going down in The Hole, and I needed the inside scoop.
The Hole didn’t do gentle wakes; it was a sledgehammer of reality from the get-go. This was a corner of Queens that spat out the bones of the American Dream like it was chewing tobacco. The buildings, adorned with the scars of graffiti, stood like a row of rotten teeth, and the streets had potholes big enough to bury a body in. And bury they did; the marshy grounds were rumored to be a final resting place for those who crossed the wrong people, where wise guys played hide and seek with a .38.
I sipped my coffee, hot and bitter as the wind that whistled through the bullet holes of the stop sign outside. The streets were quiet, but that kind of quiet that screams trouble, like the breathless calm before a storm. The Hole didn’t do sunshine and rainbows. It did rain that fell like tears of the angels too drunk to care anymore, soaking through your coat and into your bones.
The door creaked open, and in walked my informant, Joey “The Snitch” Wakovski. He scanned the room with eyes that darted like roaches when the lights flick on. Spotting me, he shuffled over, each step a testament to a life misspent.
“You got something for me, Joey?” I asked without pleasantries. Time was a luxury in The Hole. It had a habit of running out, often along with your luck.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the swirling black depths of my coffee. “There’s talk, see. The Kamorovs are moving in on the Guerreros’ turf. Gonna be a bloodbath.”
The Kamorovs and Guerreros were The Hole’s version of royalty, if royalty’s crowns were made of brass knuckles and their scepters were Tommy guns. A war between them would turn the streets into a butcher’s shop.
“Any idea when?” I pressed.
“Soon,” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder. “They’re loading up. Guns coming in from upstate. It’s gonna be big.”
The waitress sauntered over, eyeing Joey with suspicion before she asked, “You havin’ anything?”
He shook his head. “Nah, just the news.”
She shrugged and walked away, her interest in our conversation as dead as my third-grade goldfish. I dropped a few bills on the table. “Thanks, Joey. Keep your head down, huh?”
He snorted. “In The Hole, better to keep it up. That way, you see the reaper coming.”
I left him there, nursing the paranoia that kept him breathing, and stepped back into the streets. The sun had finally broken through, casting a light that seemed almost indecent against the grime. But it did little to warm the chill that had settled in my gut.
The Hole was about to explode, and blood was going to flow through these streets like a biblical flood. The Gavellis and the Morans would dance their deadly dance, and The Hole would swallow up the losers, no questions asked.
As I headed back to my car, the city was waking up, the sounds of life starting to bubble up from the cracks in the pavement. But The Hole remained asleep, dreaming its dark, twisted dreams. It was a place out of time, a relic, a ghostly echo of New York’s dirtiest secrets. And I was knee-deep in its muck, trying to stay afloat.
The first chapter of my day was coming to a close, and I knew the rest of the story was going to be written in blood and bullets.
Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved http://www.MichaelStephenWills.com
Gateway to the Universe
Hartung–Boothroyd Observatory is a leading educational facility, aiding in the study of astrophysics, tracking asteroids, and fostering diverse academic collaborations.
Perched on Mount Pleasant in the town of Dryden, New York, the Hartung-Boothroyd Observatory (HBO) stands as a testament to the celestial curiosity that Cornell University has nurtured for decades. It is a gateway to the stars, a place where the heavens unfold in wondrous detail to the eyes of astrophiles and the lenses of powerful telescopes.
The observatory is home to a reflecting telescope, one of the largest in New York State dedicated to both education and research. This remarkable instrument, housed under a retractable dome, has provided students and researchers with direct experience in astronomical observations since its establishment in 1974.
HBO isn’t just an observatory; it is a bridge between the terrestrial and the cosmic. It represents an educational philosophy that values direct engagement with the subject of study. Undergraduates, graduates, and faculty members flock to the facility to engage in projects that range from studying variable stars and exoplanets to tracking asteroids. Here, theoretical astrophysics meets the tactile world, allowing for an integrated understanding of the universe’s complexities.
It is used mainly as a Cornell University (Ithaca, New York) teaching facility for upper-level astronomy classes. The observatory is named financial contributions of M. John Hartung ’08 (chemical industrialist and donor) and in honor of the labor of Samuel L. Boothroyd (founding professor and chairman of astronomy 1921–1942). The telescope construction began in the 1930s and the observatory was dedicated in 1974. It contains the James R. Houck 60 centimeter telescope and various instruments.
The James R. Houck telescope at HBO was a project initiated by its namesake in 1972, using optics and a lightweight tube which had been fabricated in the late 1930s by Samuel T. Boothroyd, Cornell’s first astronomer, and a mounting constructed by George Gull ’72 as his senior design thesis in Mechanical Engineering.
The telescope, control electronics and instruments are largely the result of work done by undergraduates since 1970. It was manufactured by the students at the Tompkins, Tioga and Seneca BOCES and by Therm, Inc., with mirror coatings by Evaporated Metal Films corporation, all in Ithaca. The latter corporation was founded by members of Boothroyd’s scientific team, as he pioneered the use of evaporated metal coatings in astronomical optics. The telescope and observatory were dedicated in 1974.
The primary mirror is made of Pyrex from the Corning Glass Works and is in fact from a 1/8-scale test pour by the Corning company in preparation for the making of the 200″ Palomar mirror. It is 0.635 m (25 inches) in size, but the outer half inch is masked. The focal length of the mirror is 2.5m (100″) or f/4.
The Cassegrain design of the James R. Houck telescope is a combination of a primary concave mirror and a secondary convex mirror, often used in optical telescopes, the main characteristic being that the optical path folds back onto itself, relative to the optical system’s primary mirror entrance aperture. This design puts the focal point at a convenient location behind the primary mirror and the convex secondary adds a telephoto effect creating a much longer focal length in a mechanically short system.
The secondary is an 8″ mirror made of Cervit (a low thermal coefficient material). In combination with the primary, it yields a final f/13.5 beam to the nominal focus, which lies 18.5″ behind the primary mirror’s vertex. At nominal focus, the plate scale is about 24 arcsec/mm, with an effective focal length of 8.57 m.
The telescope, control electronics and instruments are largely the result of work done by undergraduates since 1970. It was manufactured by the students at the Tompkins, Tioga and Seneca BOCES and by Therm, Inc., with mirror coatings by Evaporated Metal Films corporation, all in Ithaca. The latter corporation was founded by members of Boothroyd’s scientific team, as he pioneered the use of evaporated metal coatings in astronomical optics.
The dome itself, like all professional observatories, is unheated. The telescope and instrumentation can be controlled from a neighboring control room which is heated and offers standard amenities plus several computers for simultaneous data reduction.
The observatory was founded by James Houck and managed by him through 2006. The principal contact is Don Barry, who managed the facility from 2006-2015, and taught Experimental Astronomy using the facility.
“Graduates” of the HBO project are now senior engineers and technical managers as well as graduate students, research associates and faculty at major universities.
Moreover, the observatory is a beacon for interdisciplinary collaboration. It’s not uncommon to find astronomers working alongside computer scientists, engineers, and educators. This cross-pollination of ideas enhances the potential for innovation, fostering new techniques in data analysis, instrument design, and educational methods. The observatory’s role extends beyond its primary function; it is a hub of convergence for diverse academic disciplines, all under the umbrella of exploring the unknown.
HBO also contributes to the global astronomical community through its research. The data collected here feed into larger networks of observation and analysis, aiding in the collective endeavor of mapping and understanding the universe. Its strategic location in upstate New York, away from the light pollution of large urban centers, grants it relatively clear night skies, making it an invaluable resource for both optical astronomy and astrophotography.
In an era where space exploration has captured the public imagination like never before, observatories such as the Hartung-Boothroyd are more crucial than ever. They serve as terrestrial launchpads, propelling minds into the realm of scientific inquiry. Here, the vastness of space becomes approachable, the mechanics of the cosmos decipherable, and the mysteries of the universe a little less mysterious.
As the night falls and the stars emerge, the Hartung-Boothroyd Observatory continues its silent vigil over the heavens. It stands as a beacon of knowledge and discovery, an educational catalyst, and a gateway to the stars. For the students and astronomers who work from this dome on Mount Pleasant, HBO is more than an observatory—it is a vessel navigating the infinite ocean of the night sky, a journey that begins in the heart of Cornell University and extends to the edges of the observable universe.
Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved http://www.MichaelStephenWills.com
Hayrolls
Haymaking, an ancient practice of harvesting and storing feed for livestock, faces modern challenges like climate change and urbanization.
Dry grass gathered for winter feed on Durfee Hill.
Click image for a larger version.
Haymaking, the age-old agricultural practice of harvesting, drying, and storing grasses and leguminous plants, has been central to sustaining livestock throughout history, especially during seasons when fresh pasture is not available. This practice, rooted in necessity and refined by tradition, embodies the intersection of human ingenuity with the rhythm of nature.
Origins of Haymaking
The origins of haymaking can be traced back to a time when early agricultural communities recognized the need to store feed for animals during lean seasons. While the exact timeline of its inception is hard to pin down, ancient texts and artifacts suggest that the process of drying and storing grass as hay has been practiced for millennia. Early haymaking was predominantly manual, relying heavily on the natural process of sun drying.
The Process of Haymaking
Haymaking usually begins with mowing, the act of cutting down the grass when it has reached its peak nutritional value, just before or as it starts flowering. After mowing, the grass is left on the field to dry, a process known as ‘tedding’. The drying process is crucial as it prevents the growth of mold and bacteria which can spoil the hay and make it unsafe for consumption.
To facilitate even drying, the cut grass is often turned over, or ‘tedded’, using specialized equipment or manually with pitchforks. This ensures that the moisture from the bottom layers of the grass is exposed to the sun and air. Once dried, the hay is raked into rows to prepare for the final stage of baling. Baling involves compacting the dried hay into bundles, making it easier for transportation and storage. Over the years, bales have evolved from simple tied bundles to more compact and uniform shapes, thanks to modern machinery.
The Importance of Haymaking
Haymaking is more than just a routine agricultural activity; it’s a lifeline for livestock farmers. Properly made hay provides essential nutrients to animals like cattle, sheep, and horses during winter months when fresh grass is scarce. Moreover, for dairy farmers, the quality of hay can directly impact the quality and quantity of milk produced.
Furthermore, the economic implications of haymaking are significant. A successful haymaking season can mean the difference between a profitable year and financial strain, especially in areas heavily dependent on livestock farming.
Modern Advances and Challenges
With the advent of technology, the haymaking process has seen numerous advancements. Modern machinery, from mowers to balers, has made the process more efficient, reducing the time and labor required. Advances in weather prediction tools have also assisted farmers in choosing the optimal time for haymaking, maximizing the chances of getting dry weather which is crucial for the process.
However, haymaking, like many agricultural practices, faces challenges in the modern era. Climate change and its resultant unpredictable weather patterns pose significant risks. Unexpected rains during the drying phase can severely affect the quality of hay. Moreover, urbanization and changing land use patterns are reducing the available land for hay cultivation.
Conclusion
Haymaking, as an agricultural practice, exemplifies the human endeavor to harness nature’s bounty for sustenance. From its ancient origins to modern implementations, it remains a testament to the farmer’s deep understanding of the land and its cycles. In a broader sense, haymaking underscores the importance of preparedness, of looking ahead and planning for the future, a lesson that resonates well beyond the confines of agriculture. As we face contemporary challenges, revisiting and valuing such practices can offer insights into sustainable and harmonious living.
P.S. Reader BigSkyBuckeye offered this insight, “Having lived many years in rural, ranching communities, one sees the lifeline of hay for winter feeding of cattle. One important note–most ranchers separate their stacks of bails with some distance, so a lightning strike doesn’t consume every bail.”
Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
more Jennings Pond IV
Still life and stillness
I described Jennings Pond to Pam and we returned together. Here is a photographic essay from that day, one of a series.
The first image is the small concrete dam, taken from the footbridge over the pond outlet, source for Buttermilk Creek.
Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
more Jennings Pond III
Picnics on the berm
I described Jennings Pond to Pam and we returned together. Here is a photographic essay from that day, one of a series.
Michael Stephen Wills Photography 