Category: American

Beauty and Struggle: Flowering Rush in Stewart Park

Crossing the footbridge in Stewart Park, I encountered the graceful yet invasive Flowering Rush. Its delicate beauty hides a deeper story about nature’s resilience, human impact, and the fragile balance of our ecosystems.

MichaelStephenWills2 Comments

While crossing the suspension footbridge over Fall Creek in Stewart Park, there’s a sense of stepping into a world that’s more peaceful and attuned to nature. The bridge is familiar to me—a steady, quiet companion—but each visit feels new, as though the park has secrets it only reveals in small whispers. In this photograph the green steel beams rise like sentinels, standing tall against the backdrop of shifting autumn colors. Below, the water reflects the vibrant reds, golds, and greens of the trees, creating an illusion of depth that draws me in.

Footbridge to the Fuertes Bird Sanctuary, Stewart Park, Ithaca, New York, October 2012

This past summer I stopped midway across, leaned against the railing, just listening. The creek moved slowly, like time itself decided to pause here for a while. That’s when I saw them: delicate pink blooms rising up from the water’s edge, their petals small and star-shaped, catching the light as they sway in the gentle breeze. There’s something striking about these plants—graceful, elegant, almost otherworldly in their simplicity. They reach up, as though trying to escape the confines of the water and the muddy banks.

My subsequent research revealed these to be Flowering Rush, or Butomus umbellatus. I often see them now, their soft pinks and slender leaves creating a quiet beauty that’s hard to ignore. They’re beautiful, but I have come to know they don’t belong here. This is one of those moments in nature that gives me pause—a reminder that not everything lovely is innocent.

Flowering Rush Growing in Fall Creek, Stewart Park, June 2024

Flowering Rush, a European import from centuries ago, was not meant to take root here. Brought to North America for ornamental ponds, its allure quickly became its danger. It spread, silently, like a secret carried on the wind, slowly overtaking the native species that have long called these waters home. And yet, standing here now, I cannot help but admire its tenacity, its quiet determination to thrive. Nature, in all its forms, has this incredible will to survive, even if that survival sometimes comes at a cost.

My mind drifts to the plant’s history. In its native lands Flowering Rush, or Grass Rush, was useful—its roots, though bitter, were harvested for food, and its fibrous stems woven into mats and ropes. How interesting that something as delicate as this has a rugged, practical side. This contradiction makes perfect sense when I think of the plant’s journey across continents, carried over oceans by human hands and curiosity. We are responsible for its presence here, and now, like so many other invasive species, it’s become a fixture of this landscape.

I think about the dual nature of this invasion. Flowering Rush is beautiful—there is no denying that. Its soft, pink flowers contrast sharply with the darker tones of the water and the dense green of the grasses that surround it. But its beauty masks a quiet destruction. It chokes out the native plants that once thrived here, altering the ecosystem in ways we cannot always see. I wonder what fish and aquatic life struggles beneath the surface, their food sources slowly disappearing. What birds find fewer insects and fewer safe places to nest?

And yet, is this plant a villain? Flowering rush is doing what it was meant to do—grow, spread, survive. That is what everything in nature does, after all. It does not have malice or intent; it just is. It is humans who have changed the balance, who introduced this species to a place where it didn’t belong, setting off a chain reaction we’re still trying to fully understand.

Today, as I walk across the bridge, heading toward the Fuertes Bird Sanctuary, path ahead invites quiet reflection, the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves providing a peaceful soundtrack. But the Flowering Rush lingers in my mind. It reminds me of how interconnected everything is, how one small action—a plant brought from a distant land—can ripple out and affect entire ecosystems. It’s a lesson in responsibility for those willing to listen.

As I step into the sanctuary, the air feels lighter, filled with the sound of birds that dart between the trees. I think of the delicate balance of life here, and how easily it can be disrupted by the presence of something foreign, something invasive. Yet, there is a strange comfort in knowing that nature, for all its fragility, has its own resilience.

The Flowering Rush, with its roots deep in the muddy banks of Fall Creek, is a testament to that resilience. It may not belong here, but it has found a way to adapt, to make this place its home. And in that, I find both a warning and a kind of hope—hope that we, too, can learn to live more thoughtfully, more in tune with the world around us, before we upset the balance any further.

For now, though, I simply walk, grateful for the beauty around me, even if it comes with complications. Each step takes me deeper into this world, and I am reminded once again of the profound connection we have to the land, the water, the plants, and the creatures that share this space.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

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The Majestic Cottonwoods of Stewart Park

Discover the timeless beauty of two towering Cottonwood trees along the shores of Cayuga Lake. Explore their natural history, cultural significance, and how they’ve shaped the landscape of Stewart Park for generations.

MichaelStephenWills13 Comments

Walking with Pam in Stewart Park, the shores of Cayuga Lake shimmer under the bright September sun, offering a serene setting for reflection. Ahead, two towering Cottonwood trees stand in quiet majesty, their branches spreading wide, casting long shadows over the grass and walkway. Drawn toward them, I find myself in awe of their presence—these two trees, ancient sentinels by the water, who have silently borne witness to the changing world around them.

View Facing East/Southeast, September 10, 2024

Cottonwoods, scientifically known as Populus deltoides, are members of the poplar family and are among the tallest trees in North America. The ones before me have thrived for decades, their thick, furrowed trunks a testament to the endurance of life on the edge of the lake. It’s remarkable to think of all the storms and seasons they’ve weathered—their roots digging deep into the moist earth, nourished by the lake’s constant ebb and flow. I feel as though these trees, standing side by side, companions, connected through the unseen networks of roots beneath the soil. Their relationship to one another seems profound, they have grown up together, providing support and strength as they aged. Their canopies overlapping as though embracing one another.

There’s an undeniable symmetry to their relationship, both in form and function. One can imagine them as silent witnesses to the changing landscape around them—the gradual expansion of the park, the families that come and go, the laughter of children playing nearby, and the quiet conversations of couples walking hand in hand. These trees have become part of the fabric of Stewart Park, deeply entwined with the human history that unfolds here every day.

View Facing East, September 10, 2024

The branches reach skyward, their leaves shimmering in the breeze, producing the characteristic fluttering sound of Cottonwoods. There’s something deeply soothing about this rustling—the way the wind seems to dance through the leaves, creating a rhythm that feels eternal. It reminds me that these trees have long been part of human experience, a backdrop to countless strolls, picnics, and quiet moments of contemplation here at Stewart Park.

Cottonwoods are fast-growing, often found near bodies of water where their shallow roots can tap into consistent moisture. And yet, their rapid growth comes with a trade-off; their wood is soft and brittle, prone to breaking in high winds. But in Stewart Park, these two trees have found a perfect balance, their large, sweeping canopies offering shade and shelter without suffering too much damage from the storms that blow through the Finger Lakes. Their resilience is remarkable—a reminder of nature’s ability to thrive in challenging conditions.

Historically, Cottonwoods have played a significant role in the lives of the people who encountered them. Native Americans once used the bark for medicinal purposes and fashioned the wood into canoes. Early settlers appreciated the trees for their rapid growth and ability to provide shade and timber in otherwise open expanses of the Midwest and Northeast. Even today, their legacy endures as they continue to offer shade and shelter, albeit more for leisure than for survival.

I notice how the pathway itself bends gently to accommodate the Cottonwoods. The paved trail, so clearly designed with these majestic trees in mind, arcs around their broad bases as if to honor their presence. In a world where nature is so often bent to human will, it’s refreshing to see this small, quiet gesture of deference—a reminder that in our modern parks, nature can sometimes lead the way.

View Facing West, June 25, 2024

The path doesn’t cut through or impose upon these trees. Instead, it respects their claim to the land, curving around them in a way that feels organic, almost reverent. The roots of these Cottonwoods must reach far beyond what I can see, extending outward in all directions beneath the soil, beneath the path itself. It’s as though the trees and the human-made elements of the park have reached a compromise—a harmonious balance where both can coexist without either having to sacrifice too much.

In their wisdom, the planners of this park understood that these trees had already laid their claim long before the park’s paths were laid out. It’s a small but profound testament to the enduring power of nature and the foresight of those who designed this space. As I walk along the path, I feel the subtle shift in the landscape—the way the curve of the trail encourages a more leisurely pace, inviting visitors to pause for a moment and take in the grandeur of these ancient trees.

The curve itself creates a sense of flow, as if the path is gently nudging us toward a deeper appreciation of the Cottonwoods. There’s no rush here. The trees stand in their place, rooted and steadfast, while we are invited to move around them, to change our course slightly in order to make space for something larger than ourselves. The path becomes a metaphor for our relationship with nature—we must sometimes bend and yield to its greater forces, rather than insist on our own straight and rigid lines.

This curved path speaks to the broader theme of adaptability—how both nature and humanity have learned to accommodate one another. The Cottonwoods have withstood the test of time, their roots dug deep into the soil, while we have found ways to move alongside them, adjusting our course to allow for their growth. It’s a quiet but powerful reminder of the importance of coexistence and respect, of making space for the natural world rather than always seeking to dominate it.

As we pass by, I notice the texture of their bark—deeply furrowed and rough, a tactile reminder of the passage of time. Each ridge and crevice holds the story of countless seasons—of dry summers, harsh winters, and everything in between. I reach out and touch one of the trunks, feeling the coolness of the bark under my hand. There’s a vitality here that can only be sensed up close, a quiet hum of life that pulses just beneath the surface.

Yet, despite their imposing size and age, the Cottonwoods remain humble in their role. They do not demand attention like a flowering dogwood or a brightly colored maple. Instead, they offer something more enduring—a quiet, steady presence that provides shelter and shade without fanfare. Their leaves turn a brilliant yellow in autumn, adding to the kaleidoscope of colors that make up the Finger Lakes’ fall landscape. But even in winter, when the leaves are gone, their bare branches stand against the cold sky, offering a stark beauty all their own.

As I step back to take in the full view of these two Cottonwoods, I am filled with a sense of gratitude. Their lives, so intimately tied to this place, remind me of the interconnectedness of all living things—the way nature, time, and humanity overlap in ways both seen and unseen. These trees, growing together on the shores of Cayuga Lake, are not just part of the landscape—they are part of the story of Stewart Park and, in a broader sense, the story of this region. They remind me that, like them, we are all shaped by our surroundings, by the people and places that stand beside us as we grow. And in that way, we are never truly alone.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Lessons in the Woods: A Grandfather’s Nature Walk

On a crisp September morning, a grandfather leads his grandsons on a nature walk, discovering the mysteries of the forest. Together, they encounter a curious caterpillar and uncover the wonders of the natural world.

MichaelStephenWills14 Comments

Unseasonably warm September morning air gently stirred the leaves as I guided my grandsons, Sam and Rory, through our woods near Freeville. Our boots crunched softly on the damp earth, and the sounds of nature enveloped us like an old, familiar melody. Today we were on a mission of discovery, with Mother Nature as our guide.

“Grandpa, look at this!” Sam called, excitement radiating from his face. Rory, always close behind his older brother, crouched down, his bright eyes scanning the ground for any movement. I smiled. Sam’s sharp curiosity and Rory’s quiet attentiveness reminded me so much of myself at their age, exploring the woods.

We stopped at a patch of earth, where the boys had found a small hole in the ground, evidence of something recently disturbed. “Do you think it’s a mole, Grandpa?” Rory asked, his voice a mix of wonder and uncertainty.

“Maybe,” I said, leaning down beside them. “Or it could be something larger, like a chipmunk. These woods are full of surprises.”

As they explored further, I glanced at the trees, their trunks coated in a rich tapestry of moss and lichen. Then, something caught my eye—a familiar white and black figure on the bark of a young tree, I’ll call it a hickory.

“Hey, boys, come over here for a second. I’ve got something to show you,” I called, my voice calm but laced with excitement. Sam and Rory, ever eager, bounded over. “Look at this caterpillar.”

Their faces lit up when they spotted it. “Whoa, it’s so fuzzy!” Sam exclaimed.

“Yeah, but don’t touch,” I warned gently, kneeling to get a better look. “This little guy is called a Hickory Tussock Moth Caterpillar. See those long white hairs? Some of them can irritate your skin. Always good to admire from a distance.”

Rory looked up at me, wide-eyed. “What does it turn into?”

I smiled. “That’s the magic of it. This caterpillar will eventually become a moth, a Hickory Tussock Moth, in fact. But right now, it’s preparing for a long journey. In just a few weeks, it’ll spin itself a cocoon and wait all winter before emerging as a moth in the spring.”

Sam squinted at the caterpillar, studying its every bristle. “So it’s it’s going to sleep for the winter?”

“Exactly,” I said, pleased with his understanding. “It’s one of nature’s ways of resting and preparing for something new.”

The boys stared at the caterpillar in silence for a moment, and I could tell their young minds were spinning with thoughts. Maybe they were thinking about their own journeys—how each season brought something new to learn, something new to experience.

As we moved on from the caterpillar, deeper into the woods, I couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of gratitude. These moments, small as they may seem, were the kinds of memories that last a lifetime. I was passing down not just knowledge but a love for the natural world, a connection to the earth that I hoped would stay with them long after I was gone.

We finished our adventure with planting two oak saplings. The boys dug in the rich soil, each working carefully as we prepared a young sapling to take root. I watched as they placed the sapling into the earth, their hands gentle yet sure. Together, we packed the soil around its base.

“You know,” I said softly, “these oaks will grow just like you two. Stronger every year. And one day, you’ll bring your own children here to see it.”

Sam and Rory exchanged a look, a flicker of understanding passing between them, and I knew the lesson had landed. Nature has a way of teaching us that growth, whether in a tree or in ourselves, takes time and patience.

As we packed up to leave, I glanced back at the hickory tree where the caterpillar still clung, a tiny, determined creature, preparing for the change to come. In that moment, I felt the same sense of wonder I’d seen in the boys’ eyes earlier. Even after all these years, nature never ceased to amaze me.

“Come on, boys,” I said, with one last glance at the woods. “Let’s see what other adventures await us.”

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Echoes of Autumn: Finding Beauty and Wonder in a Willow’s Fungal Bloom

On a sunny September morning along the shores of Cayuga Lake, I encountered the vibrant Chicken of the Woods fungus. Its striking colors and intriguing history make it a fascinating discovery in nature’s ongoing cycle of life and decay.

MichaelStephenWills15 Comments

A Serendipitous Discovery on a September Morning


It was a crisp, sunny September morning when Pam and I set out for a leisurely walk along the shore of Cayuga Lake in Ithaca, New York. The lake shimmered in the morning light, framed by the early hints of fall colors on the surrounding hills. We had been walking for some time, enjoying the peaceful rhythm of nature, when something unusual caught my eye—a cluster of bright yellow-orange growths on the trunk of an apparently hale White Willow tree.

Curious, I approached the tree, and upon closer inspection, I realized these growths were something special, took these photographs of the vibrant clusters and later researched them to be Laetiporus sulphureus, commonly known as Chicken of the Woods. The striking colors of the fungus, a combination of deep orange and golden yellow, stood out in stark contrast to the gnarled, dark bark of the willow. It was a discovery that sparked a deeper interest in learning about the fascinating history and characteristics of this unique fungus.

The Vibrant History of Chicken of the Woods


Laetiporus sulphureus has been known to mycologists and naturalists for centuries, and its distinctive appearance has earned it a place among the most recognizable fungi in the world. Its common name, Chicken of the Woods, stems from the texture and flavor of its flesh, which, when cooked, is said to resemble that of chicken. This has made it a popular edible mushroom among foragers, particularly in Europe and North America, where it often grows on hardwood trees such as oak, cherry, and, as I found, occasionally on willows.

The fungus was first scientifically described by German mycologist August Batsch in 1789. Since then, it has been the subject of numerous studies, particularly due to its unique ability to grow on living trees, decaying wood, and sometimes even on dead trunks. This dual nature makes it both a decomposer and a potential pathogen, depending on the health of its host tree.

Historically, Chicken of the Woods has had various uses, ranging from culinary to medicinal. In traditional folk medicine, it was used for its antibacterial properties, and some cultures believed it could help heal wounds or infections when applied as a poultice. Today, research continues into its potential medicinal applications, including its possible role in supporting immune function and its antioxidant properties.

A Friend to Some, a Foe to Trees


While Laetiporus sulphureus may delight foragers and mushroom enthusiasts, it is not always welcomed by the trees it inhabits. The fungus is classified as a saprotroph, meaning it feeds on dead or decaying organic matter. However, it is also capable of acting as a parasite, attacking the heartwood of living trees. Over time, the fungus can cause brown rot, a form of decay that weakens the tree from the inside out. For trees already compromised by age or environmental stress, an infestation of Chicken of the Woods can be the final blow, leading to their eventual death and collapse.

The willow tree I encountered by Cayuga Lake had clearly seen many seasons, its twisted trunk and sprawling limbs a testament to decades of life along the shoreline. The presence of the fungus, while beautiful and intriguing, could also be an indicator that this tree was in decline. Still, the symbiotic relationship between the tree and the fungus was a reminder of nature’s cycles—of life, decay, and renewal.

Culinary and Medicinal Uses of Chicken of the Woods


One of the most interesting aspects of Chicken of the Woods is its edibility. Foragers and chefs alike prize the young, tender fruiting bodies for their chicken-like texture and mild flavor. When prepared properly, the fungus can be sautéed, fried, or even used in stews, providing a nutritious and flavorful addition to a variety of dishes. However, caution is required, as some individuals may experience allergic reactions or gastrointestinal upset after consuming it. Additionally, older specimens of the fungus can become woody and less palatable.

Beyond the kitchen, Chicken of the Woods has a history of medicinal use. In some cultures, it has been used to treat ailments ranging from respiratory infections to digestive issues. Modern research is beginning to explore the bioactive compounds present in the fungus, with preliminary studies suggesting that it may have antibacterial and antioxidant properties. These potential health benefits add yet another layer of intrigue to this already fascinating species.

An Essential Role in the Ecosystem


As well as serving human needs, Chicken of the Woods also plays a vital role in the ecosystems it inhabits. As a decomposer, the fungus breaks down dead and decaying wood, returning valuable nutrients to the soil and promoting the growth of new plant life. In this way, it contributes to the cycle of life and death that sustains forest ecosystems. Various insects and animals, including beetles and birds, may also use the fungus as a food source or shelter, further highlighting its ecological importance.

A Lasting Impression


As Pam and I continued our walk along Cayuga Lake, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for the serendipitous discovery I had made that morning. The sight of the Chicken of the Woods clinging to the willow tree was a vivid reminder of nature’s endless capacity for surprise and wonder. Though this fungus may be humble in its origin, its history, uses, and ecological significance elevate it to a position of great interest and value in the natural world.

In that quiet September morning light, standing beside the lake with the colors of early autumn beginning to emerge, I realized that moments like these—moments of connection with nature—are what keep me returning to the trails and shores of Ithaca, always eager for the next discovery.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Queen Anne’s Legacy: A Wildflower’s Role in the Finger Lakes Ecosystem and History

Amid the rolling hills and meadows of the Finger Lakes, Queen Anne’s Lace stands tall, its delicate white blooms weaving a tapestry of nature’s resilience and beauty. Discover the rich history, legends, and ecological importance behind this elegant wildflower.

MichaelStephenWills


In the Finger Lakes region of New York State, fields come alive with the delicate beauty of Queen Anne’s Lace—a wildflower that embodies nature’s elegance. Scientifically known as Daucus carota, its flowering umbels resemble intricate lace, lending poetic charm to the landscapes it graces. Beyond aesthetics, the history and mythology behind Queen Anne’s Lace, combined with its ecological importance and cultural significance, reveal a plant deeply intertwined with both nature and human culture.

The Name and Its Myths


The name Queen Anne’s Lace derives from English legend. According to the tale, Queen Anne, consort to King James I, was challenged to create lace as beautiful as the flower. While sewing, she pricked her finger, and a single drop of blood stained the lace—represented by the tiny purple floret at the center of many Queen Anne’s Lace blossoms. This intricate network of white flowers surrounding a central floret mirrors the lacework attributed to Queen Anne, giving the plant a royal and historic association.

Scientifically known as Daucus carota, Queen Anne’s Lace is also known by several other common names, including wild carrot and bird’s nest, the latter inspired by the way the flower head curls inward as the seeds begin to develop, resembling a nest. The flower is closely related to the cultivated carrot, and its roots, though much smaller and woodier, share the familiar carrot scent. In fact, Queen Anne’s Lace is considered the wild ancestor of the domestic carrot, with a lineage stretching back thousands of years.

In the meadows of the Brock-Harvey Forest Preserve, Queen Anne’s Lace thrives among the native flora, showcasing its delicate beauty. The function of the central dark florets of D. carota has been subject to debate since Charles Darwin speculated that they are a vestigial trait. It has been suggested that they have the adaptive function of mimicking insects, thus either discouraging herbivory, or attracting pollinators by indicating the presence of food or opportunities for mating. Research conducted in Portugal suggests that the dark central florets of Daucus carota mimic insects, attracting pollinators like the varied carpet beetle (Anthrenus verbasci). Inflorescences with more dark florets experienced increased visitation, indicating these florets may enhance pollination efficiency.

Queen Anne’s Lace in Finger Lakes Ecology


Beyond its rich mythology, Queen Anne’s Lace plays a significant role in the ecology of the Finger Lakes region. Throughout the expansive landscapes of the Finger Lakes, from lush meadows to roadsides, Queen Anne’s Lace stands tall, its delicate blossoms dotting the green with clusters of white. This wildflower can be observed in various stages of its life cycle, from budding umbels to the intricate ‘bird’s nest’ formation.

The fields around the Finger Lakes, often framed by rolling hills and ancient forests, offer the perfect habitat for Daucus carota. The plant thrives in well-drained soils and open sunlight, often outcompeting other flora. Its deep taproots, a characteristic inherited from its cultivated cousin, the carrot, allow it to flourish in the rocky soils of the region.

In these fields, Queen Anne’s Lace performs a vital ecological role. The plant attracts a variety of pollinators, including bees, butterflies, and beneficial insects like lacewings, which help to control aphid populations. The wide, flat umbels provide an ideal landing platform for these insects, who in turn pollinate the flowers, ensuring the plant’s continued spread.

A History of Use


The plant’s ecological importance is matched by its historical uses throughout human civilization. Queen Anne’s Lace has long been a part of human history, both for its beauty and for its practical applications. The plant’s medicinal uses stretch back to ancient times. The seeds and roots were used by the ancient Greeks and Romans as a natural remedy for a variety of ailments, including digestive issues and inflammation. The seeds, when chewed, were believed to prevent conception and were used as a natural form of birth control.

For Native American tribes in the Finger Lakes region, Queen Anne’s Lace was a valuable plant. The roots were often used in the preparation of poultices to treat minor wounds and skin irritations. Additionally, the seeds were used for their diuretic properties, often in teas to help with urinary tract issues. The plant’s close relation to the domestic carrot also meant that its roots could be used as food, though they required careful preparation due to their tough texture and strong flavor.

A Symbol of Resilience and Elegance


The symbolism of Queen Anne’s Lace is steeped in both the fragility and strength it represents. Like the lace it mimics, the flower appears delicate and ephemeral, yet it is a hardy species that thrives in even the most inhospitable conditions. Its deep taproot enables it to survive droughts and poor soil, symbolizing resilience and perseverance in the face of adversity.

In Cayuga County, near Fillmore Glen State Park in Moravia, New York State, farm fields are often adorned with the intricate blooms of Queen Anne’s Lace.

Each summer, the fields of the Finger Lakes burst forth with Queen Anne’s Lace, their towering stalks reaching upward, crowned with intricate blossoms that sway gently in the breeze. As the season progresses, the once-flat umbels curl inward, forming a tight bird’s nest—a final act of elegance before the plant disperses its seeds to ensure future generations.

In capturing the essence of this flower in photographs that accompany this essay, the delicate yet persistent nature of Queen Anne’s Lace is evident. Whether standing tall against a backdrop of green hills, or growing alongside weathered hay bales, Queen Anne’s Lace offers a moment of reflection on the intersection of beauty, history, and nature. Its quiet presence in the Finger Lakes is a reminder that even the smallest, most unassuming plants can carry with them deep histories, enduring stories, and a legacy of utility and elegance.

As golden hues of sunset bathe the rolling hills of the Finger Lakes, the ethereal silhouettes of Queen Anne’s Lace stand as a testament to the region’s natural splendor. Whether admired for its aesthetics, revered for its medicinal uses, or simply appreciated for its ecological role, Queen Anne’s Lace remains an iconic and beloved part of the Finger Lakes’ wildflower tapestry.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Breezes and Memories: Pam’s First Walk and Reflections at Stewart Park

As Pam took her first therapeutic steps through Stewart Park after hip surgery, the wind off Cayuga Lake carried memories of our sailing days. This walk, a milestone along a journey of strength and reflection.

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The breeze off Cayuga Lake was lively, stirring the willows and creating waves that rippled across the water’s surface as we arrived at Stewart Park. For Pam, this day marked a significant milestone: her first therapeutic walk since undergoing total hip replacement surgery. The park, located on the outskirts of Ithaca, New York, had long been a place of peaceful walks and scenic reflection for us, but on this day, it took on new meaning. The pathways and views we had enjoyed over the years now served as the backdrop for Pam’s journey of recovery.

As Pam began her walk, using her walker for support, the air felt crisp with the late-summer breeze. She moved carefully along the paved path, her steps steady but measured. The sight of her, framed by the grand trees lining the park, was a testament to the resilience and strength she had displayed throughout the weeks following her surgery. The park’s beauty offered a sense of calm that seemed to support her determination, as though nature itself was encouraging her every step.

Stewart Park, with its sweeping views of Cayuga Lake and towering willows, had always been a special place for us. Over the years, we had spent afternoons such as this sailing the lake’s expansive waters. We ventured out to let the wind carry us across the lake. As Pam walked, we reminisced about those times—how we would navigate the gusty winds that filled our sails, steering into the waves with a sense of adventure. “This wind reminds me your calls to ‘control the jib!!’,” Pam said, smiling as we remembered the thrill of maneuvering the boat to dock.

On days like those, the lake was unpredictable, much like Pam’s journey through recovery had been. Yet, whether on the water or facing the challenges of healing, Pam had always shown a quiet, steadfast determination. Just as we had learned to adjust the sails to accommodate the changing wind patterns, Pam had adapted to her new circumstances, tackling each step of her rehabilitation with grace.

We paused at one of the informational signs along the path. The sign detailed the park’s history, noting that it sits on the ancestral lands of the Gayogo̱hó꞉nǫ’. Originally developed in 1894 for the Cascadilla School’s boathouse, the park had undergone many transformations before becoming the public space it is today. The sign spoke of Mayor Edwin Stewart, who had donated $150,000 to help purchase and renovate the park’s facilities, only to pass away weeks before its official opening in 1921. In 2021, the park was listed on the National Register of Historic Places, a testament to its enduring role in the community.

City of Ithaca Parks Welcome to Stewart Park! This historic park is Ithaca’s most popular waterfront destination with around half a million visitors each year. Stewart Park’s natural beauty, scenic views, diverse amenities and accessibility appeal to people of all ages, races, economic backgrounds and abilities. The park is located on the traditional ancestral and contemporary lands of the Gayogo̱hó꞉nǫʼ nation. In 1894, the Cascadilla School bought a tract of the land to build the Cascadilla Boathouse which is still in use as a boathouse today. Soon after, the remaining land was purchased and run as Renwick Park, a privately owned trolley park where people rode trolleys from downtown to the lakeshore for weekend leisure. Wharton Inc. Studios leased a building and fifty acres of the park, and produced hundreds of silent movies in Ithaca between 1915 and 1920. At the same time, Cayuga Bird Club successfully appealed to the City of Ithaca to preserve the Renwick Wildwood and Fuertes Bird Sanctuary, both still popular birding spots today. In 1921 Ithaca Mayor Edwin Stewart vowed to open Stewart Park to the public and he personally donated $150,000 to help purchase and renovate park facilities. Sadly, Mayor Stewart died just weeks before the park opened to all on July 4, 1921, and the park was soon renamed in his honor. In 2021 Stewart Park was listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Take a walk, look for interesting and rare birds, rent a paddleboard or kayak; play on the accessible playground, rent a pavilion for a gathering, have a picnic, take a spin on the restored 1952 Carousel, stroll, run or bike along the Cayuga Waterfront Trail, relax under the willows and take in the lovely lake views. Stewart Park has something for everyone and is free to all, open dawn to dusk, 365 days a year. Visit the Friends of Stewart Park website to learn more about Stewart Park!

CAYUGA LAKE AND THE ERIE CANAL: ITHACA’S WATERWAY TO THE WORLD

Did you know you can take a boat west from Stewart Park all the way to Duluth, Minnesota? Or southeast to New York City and the Atlantic Ocean? On ancient canoes to steam ships to modern paddlecraft, people have traveled these water routes for millenia.

Before the Erie Canal

Indigenous people lived along these waters long before the Erie Canal was completed in 1825. In 1790, a dugout canoe was found near Elmira, NY, demonstrating the importance of waterways to the early people.

The Cayuga/Seneca Gayogo̱hó꞉nǫʼ who lived here for nearly a thousand years used the lake and rivers to transport people and goods. In the 1600s, French explorers reported meeting the Gayogo̱hó꞉nǫʼ as they traveled east along these waterways. Canoes and later watercraft helped settlers move people, goods, and ideas, transforming upstate New York. With only one lock, the lake’s water level would rise and fall, but goods still needed to be portaged, or moved over land. As the first commercial waterway in the US, the Erie Canal used river systems, canal channels, and lakes to connect New York’s inland towns to world markets.

ITHACA ON THE ERIE CANAL

The canal established the first modern all-water route between the Great Lakes and the Atlantic. Completed in 1825, the canal opened Upstate New York and the upper Midwest to settlement, commercial agriculture, and industry.

The southernmost port of the canal was at Cayuga Lake, near present-day Route 90, where steamboats ferried passengers and freight to and from Ithaca. Products like salt from Syracuse, wood from the region, and coal from Pennsylvania were loaded onto canal boats for shipment to New York City or via Buffalo, to the upper Midwest.

After more than 200 years of service, the canal has evolved into a water route that is primarily used by small boats for recreation. In 2017, the NYS Canal Corporation rebranded the canal as a recreation destination.

As Pam read the sign, she reflected on how the park’s evolution mirrored her own journey. Like Stewart Park, which had undergone multiple transformations over the years, Pam was in the midst of her own renewal. Her new hip, like the park’s renovations, represented a fresh start, a return to activity, and a promise of more days spent outdoors, enjoying the natural beauty that had always brought us peace.

Continuing along the path, we passed several benches nestled beneath the graceful willows, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. Pam took a moment to rest on one of the benches, her eyes focused on the vast expanse of Cayuga Lake. The view stretched toward the distant hills, where the clouds and sun played together, casting ever-shifting patterns of light across the water. For a brief moment, it felt like we were back on our sailboat, riding the waves and allowing the wind to guide us toward new horizons.

As we made our way back along the path, the tall willows swaying and the sound of the waves lapping at the shore, I couldn’t help but feel gratitude. Stewart Park had always been a place of calm and reflection, but on this day, it became a place of healing. Pam’s steps, though slow and deliberate, were filled with the same strength and grace she had shown throughout her life.

The park’s beauty, the history we had shared here, and the memories of our time spent sailing on Cayuga Lake all came together to create a sense of peace. Pam’s recovery journey was far from over, but her progress was undeniable. As we looked out over the lake one last time before heading home, the water shimmered in the sunlight, promising more adventures to come.

Stewart Park, with its windswept trees and timeless views, would forever be tied to this day—Pam’s first steps toward reclaiming her mobility, set against the backdrop of a place that had long been part of our shared story. It was a day filled with hope, strength, and the quiet knowledge that, like the wind, life would continue to move us forward, no matter the challenges.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

A Saint’s Origins: How Famine and Faith Shaped Marianne Cope

While exploring Saint Marianne Cope’s early life, I uncovered the hardships her family faced during Germany’s devastating 1816 famine. Their struggles and eventual emigration shaped the resilient spirit of this future saint. Read more about their journey in my blog.

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While my wife was recovering from major surgery at Saint Francis Hospital in Syracuse, New York, I spent a morning at the nearby Shrine and Museum of Saint Marianne Cope. There, I delved into the early life of this remarkable saint, born Barbara Koob. As I explored her story, I found myself drawn to the experiences of her parents, Peter and Barbara Wirzenbacher Koob, who endured some of the most challenging times in early 19th-century Germany. Their struggles, shaped by the economic and social crises of the time, played a pivotal role in the Koob family’s eventual emigration to the United States, setting the stage for their daughter’s life of service.

Saint Marianne Cope Shrine and Museum, adjacent to Saint Joseph’s Hospital, Syracuse, New York. Captured from a street view of Google Maps.

The story begins in Heppenheim, a small town nestled in the southern part of Hesse, Germany. Like many other towns in the region, Heppenheim was reliant on agriculture for survival. However, the year 1816 brought unprecedented hardship. Known as the “Year Without a Summer,” this period was marked by extreme cold and wet conditions, caused by the catastrophic eruption of Mount Tambora in Indonesia. The volcanic ash released into the atmosphere blocked sunlight and disrupted weather patterns across the globe.

Heppenheim is the seat of Bergstraße district in Hesse, Germany, lying on the Bergstraße on the edge of the Odenwald. This photograph is from Google Maps.

For the people of Heppenheim, this meant crop failures on an unimaginable scale. Rye and wheat, staples of their diet, rotted in the fields. Food became scarce, and prices soared. The ensuing famine left families, including the Koobs and their ancestors, struggling to survive. As hunger gnawed at them, they faced a bleak future. This economic strain was compounded by broader challenges: industrialization was beginning to transform the German economy, leaving traditional agrarian lifestyles in its wake, while political unrest simmered as the fragmented German states wrestled with issues of governance and unity.

These hardships were not unique to Heppenheim. Across Germany, the “Hunger Years” of 1816-1817 prompted widespread despair. For many, including the Koob family, the promise of a better life beckoned from across the Atlantic. The United States, with its vast expanses of fertile land and burgeoning economy, seemed to offer a way out of the grinding poverty and instability that had taken hold in their homeland.

A home in Heppenheim. Photograph from Google Maps and taken around 2022.

Barbara Koob was born on January 23, 1838, into a family deeply rooted in their community. Peter Koob was identified as a “Citizen and Farmer,” and shortly after her birth, Barbara was baptized at St. Peter’s Church, marking the beginning of her journey in a devout Catholic family.

Heppenheim, where Barbara Koop (Saint Marianne Cope) was born here January 23, 1838 and baptized as a Catholic shortly after this church, Saint Peter’s. Google Maps Photograph taken around 2022

By 1839, Peter and Barbara Koob, like many others from their region, made the difficult decision to leave Heppenheim behind. With their young daughter Barbara, they embarked on a journey to the United States. They settled in Utica, New York, where the opportunities for a new beginning were more promising, even though the bustling industrial town was a far cry from the rural life they had known. In 1862, Barbara committed herself to the Sisters of the Third Order of St. Francis in Syracuse, New York, taking the name “Marianne Cope.”

Mother Marianne Cope statue dedicated January 23, 2010, in Honolulu.
Attribution: billsoPHOTO, CC BY-SA 2.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

Reflecting on these events, it becomes clear how deeply the early experiences of famine and economic hardship must have influenced the Koob family’s decisions and, ultimately, the life of their daughter. The struggles of her parents during those hard years in Germany laid the foundation for Marianne Cope’s own resilience and dedication to serving those in need. Their story is a testament to the strength of the human spirit in the face of adversity and the powerful role that faith and hope can play in guiding one’s path.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Sunrise at Cocoa Beach: A Symphony of Colors on the Space Coast

Experience the breathtaking sunrise at Cocoa Beach, where the sky and sea blend in a symphony of colors. Discover the tranquility and beauty that awaits as the day dawns on Florida’s stunning Space Coast.

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Cocoa Beach, nestled in Brevard County, Florida, is renowned for its pristine sandy shores and the rhythmic lullaby of the Atlantic Ocean. It’s a place where the day often begins with an awe-inspiring sunrise. On the Space Coast, the first light of day is a daily masterpiece, a silent symphony of colors that paints the sky and reflects off the water.

As dawn approaches, the eastern horizon begins to glow with a soft, pre-dawn light. This quiet time, when the world is still asleep, offers a unique tranquility. The beach, usually bustling with surfers, sunbathers, and families, is calm and serene. The sand, cool underfoot, stretches out like a vast canvas, waiting for the sun to begin its artwork.

The first hues of sunrise start as a gentle blush, a hint of pink that softly caresses the sky. As the moments pass, this blush deepens into shades of orange and red, reminiscent of a painter’s palette. The ocean mirrors these colors, creating a breathtaking scene where sky and sea blend into one continuous expanse. It’s a moment that feels almost sacred, as if nature itself is preparing for a grand reveal.

The sun finally peeks above the horizon, a fiery orb that illuminates the world in golden light. This is the crescendo of the sunrise, a moment that seems to hold the breath of the world. The rays of light stretch out across the water, casting a shimmering path that invites the eyes to follow. It’s a path that feels both real and ethereal, leading not just across the sea, but into a day full of possibilities.

As the sun rises higher, the colors in the sky shift and change. The deep reds and oranges give way to softer yellows and then to the clear, bright light of morning. The ocean, too, transforms, taking on a deeper blue as the sunlight penetrates its depths. The waves, which had been gentle ripples in the pre-dawn light, now dance and sparkle, as if celebrating the arrival of the new day.

For those fortunate enough to witness it, a sunrise at Cocoa Beach engages all the senses. The cool breeze carries the fresh scent of saltwater, a reminder of the ocean’s vastness and power. The sound of the waves, steady and rhythmic, provides a soothing background score, while the occasional cry of a seabird adds a touch of the wild to the scene.

Click on a photo for a closer look.

There is a sense of community among the early risers who gather to watch the sunrise. Strangers often share nods and smiles, united by the shared experience of witnessing something so beautiful and ephemeral. It’s a reminder that, no matter our differences, moments of natural beauty can bring people together, fostering a sense of connection and shared humanity.

Cocoa Beach, known for its proximity to the Kennedy Space Center and its surf culture, offers much more than meets the eye. The sunrise is a daily reminder of the simple yet profound beauty of nature, a beauty that exists beyond the man-made attractions and the hustle and bustle of everyday life. It’s a call to pause, reflect, and appreciate the world around us.

In a place where rockets soar into the sky, touching the very edge of space, the sunrise at Cocoa Beach brings us back to Earth, grounding us in the timeless rhythm of the natural world. It’s a moment of peace and renewal, a gift from the universe to start the day with a heart full of wonder and gratitude.

So, whether you’re a local or a visitor, taking the time to watch the sunrise at Cocoa Beach is an experience not to be missed. It’s a chance to witness the world waking up, to feel a part of something larger than oneself, and to start the day with a renewed sense of awe and possibility.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Face-to-Face with Florida’s Ancient Predator

Discover the world of Florida’s ancient predators through the eyes of the formidable Smilodon fatalis. Step back in time to the Pleistocene epoch and explore the life, habits, and social bonds of the iconic sabertooth cat.

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I examined an unusual map of Florida, the contours of its familiar modern shape overlaying a vast, green expanse. The state as we know it today is crisscrossed by highways and dotted with bustling cities, but this map transported me back in time to a very different era. During the Pleistocene epoch, Florida was a wilder, untamed land, teeming with life and dominated by creatures long extinct.

The representation of the land area of Florida state during Pleistocene epoch glaciation is the green shading with the current map of Florida within.

Exploring Brevard (county) Museum of History and Natural Science of Cocoa Florida, I moved to the next exhibit. The air hummed in my imagination with the whispers of an ancient world. A skeletal figure loomed within a glass case – the mighty Smilodon fatalis, the sabertooth cat. Its fearsome fangs curved downward, I imagined standing face-to-face with this apex predator, feeling both awe and a primal fear.

Florida, some 11,500 years ago, was a place of significant climatic shifts. The Pleistocene epoch was characterized by repeated glaciations; however, Florida itself remained unglaciated. The climate was cooler and drier than today, and sea levels were much lower, extending the coastline outward. This ancient Florida was a mosaic of grasslands, savannas, and woodlands. Giant sloths, mammoths, and mastodons roamed these lands, sharing the territory with the formidable Smilodon.

The attendant palque described Smilodon fatalis was about a foot shorter than modern lions but nearly twice as heavy. Its stocky build and powerful limbs suggested immense strength. Unlike the cheetahs and lions of today, Smilodon had a bobtail, indicating that it relied less on speed and more on ambush tactics. I could almost see it now: crouching low in the underbrush, muscles coiled, waiting for the perfect moment to spring upon its unsuspecting prey.

In the reconstructed display, the sabertooth cat’s lethal precision was evident. Its elongated canines were deadly tools designed to pierce and hold onto struggling prey. The lack of a long tail, which modern big cats use for balance during high-speed chases, suggested that Smilodon was an ambush predator. It would have hidden in the dense foliage, its mottled coat blending seamlessly with the shadows, until it launched a surprise attack.

Smilodon was not just a solitary hunter. Unlike modern cats and tigers, which often lead solitary lives, evidence suggests that Smilodon was a social creature. The plaque mentioned the structure of its hyoid bone, implying that it could roar, perhaps using vocalizations to communicate with other members of its group. I envisioned a family of Smilodon, working together to take down a mammoth or defend their territory from rivals. Their social bonds might have been strong, much like those of modern lions.

I was particularly struck by the evidence of healed wounds found on many Smilodon skeletons. These injuries had healed and remodeled over time, suggesting that these cats cared for each other. In a world where every day was a battle for survival, these acts of care and compassion spoke volumes about their social structure. Injured members were not left to fend for themselves but were likely allowed to feed off the kills of others and to be protected by their group until they recovered.

The exhibit painted a vivid picture of an ancient ecosystem. The Pleistocene flora of Florida was diverse, with vast grasslands interspersed with stands of pine and oak. The fauna was equally rich: herds of herbivores grazed the plains, while predators like Smilodon and dire wolves stalked them. This was a land of giants, where every creature had to be strong, fast, or cunning to survive.

As I stepped away from the exhibit, I felt a deep connection to this ancient world. The Smilodon fatalis was a predator and is a symbol of an era that shaped the natural history of our planet. Its bones told a story of survival, community, and the ever-changing dance of life and death.

In the quiet of the museum, surrounded by the echoes of the past, I was reminded of the fragility and resilience of life. The sabertooth cat, with its fearsome fangs and powerful build, was a testament to the incredible adaptability of life on Earth. Though it has long since vanished from our world, the spirit of Smilodon fatalis lives on in the bones it left behind and in the stories we tell about the ancient world it once ruled.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

The American Basswood: A Journey of Discovery

Discover the rich history and ecological significance of the American Basswood, a majestic tree that intertwines nature, culture, and human history. Uncover its beauty, versatility, and the fascinating pollinators that bring it to life.

MichaelStephenWills7 Comments

As I strolled through the sun-dappled glade, my eyes were drawn to a magnificent tree standing sentinel at the edge of the clearing. Its broad canopy spread like a green umbrella, casting a generous shade over the picnic bench below. Intrigued by its commanding presence, I approached, eager to unravel the secrets of this arboreal giant. Little did I know that this encounter would lead me on a journey through history, etymology, and the myriad uses of the American Basswood.

This photograph features the growth pattern for which the Basswood is known. Buttermilk Falls State Park, Ithaca, Tompkins County, New York State. The Finger Lakes Region.

The American Basswood, or Tilia americana, is a tree steeped in history and lore. Its name, “Basswood,” is derived from the word “bast,” referring to the inner bark of the tree, which is known for its fibrous and pliable nature. This etymology hints at the tree’s historical uses, which I would soon discover are as rich and varied as the foliage above me.

As I examined the leaves, I was struck by their heart-shaped form, a feature that has made the Basswood a symbol of love and romance in various cultures. The leaves were smooth and slightly serrated at the edges, with a deep green hue that seemed to capture the essence of summer. Hanging delicately from the branches were clusters of small, round buds, hinting at the tree’s flowering potential. These flowers, I would later learn, are not just beautiful but also aromatic, attracting bees and other pollinators with their sweet fragrance.

These are leaves from a branch broken by spring storms and fallen across the Finger Lakes Trail that follows the southern side of Treman Park above the South Rim Trail. Robert H. Treman New York State Park, Tompkins County, Ithaca. June 27, 2024

The history of the American Basswood in America is intertwined with the lives of indigenous peoples and early settlers. Native Americans valued the Basswood for its soft, easily worked wood and its inner bark, which they used to make ropes, mats, and other essential items. The tree’s wood, known for being lightweight and finely grained, was perfect for carving and crafting tools, utensils, and even ceremonial masks. This versatility made the Basswood an integral part of daily life and cultural practices.

With the arrival of European settlers, the uses of Basswood expanded. Settlers quickly recognized the tree’s potential, using its wood for a variety of applications. The soft, yet sturdy wood was ideal for making furniture, musical instruments, and even crates and boxes. Its workability and smooth finish made it a favorite among craftsmen and artisans. I imagined the hands of these early Americans, shaping and molding the wood, breathing life into their creations.

As I continued to explore the tree, I was drawn to the small, green fruits hanging from slender stems. These fruits, known as nutlets, are encased in a leafy bract that aids in their dispersal by wind. This ingenious natural design ensures the propagation of the species, allowing new generations of Basswoods to take root and flourish.

Curious about the tree’s name, I delved into its etymology and discovered an interesting linguistic journey. In England and Ireland, the Basswood is commonly referred to as the “Lime Tree.” This name does not relate to the citrus fruit tree but instead comes from the Old English word “Lind,” related to the German word “Linde.” Both terms historically referred to trees of the Tilia genus. Over time, “Lind” evolved into “Lime,” influenced by phonetic changes and regional dialects, solidifying the term “Lime Tree” for Tilia species in these regions. Despite sharing the same common name, the Tilia “Lime Tree” and the citrus “Lime Tree” belong to entirely different plant families.

The American Basswood’s significance extends beyond its practical uses. The tree has found a place in American culture and literature, often symbolizing strength, resilience, and longevity. Its towering presence and expansive canopy make it a popular choice for parks and public spaces, where it provides shade and beauty. I thought of the many people who must have sought refuge under its branches, finding solace and inspiration in its quiet strength.

In addition to its cultural and historical significance, the Basswood also plays a crucial ecological role. Its flowers are a vital source of nectar for bees, making it an essential component of local ecosystems. Beekeepers, in particular, value the Basswood for the high-quality honey produced from its nectar, known for its delicate flavor and aroma. The tree’s leaves and bark also provide habitat and food for various wildlife, contributing to the biodiversity of the area.

Pollination is a critical aspect of the American Basswood’s lifecycle, and a variety of insects are drawn to its fragrant, nectar-rich flowers. Honeybees (Apis mellifera) are among the most significant pollinators, their presence around the Basswood a testament to the tree’s importance in the ecosystem. These industrious bees not only gather nectar but also facilitate the pollination process, ensuring the production of seeds. Bumblebees (Bombus spp.) also play a crucial role, utilizing their unique buzz-pollination technique to effectively transfer pollen within the flowers.

These are leaves from a branch broken by spring storms and fallen across the Finger Lakes Trail that follows the southern side of Treman Park above the South Rim Trail. Robert H. Treman New York State Park, Tompkins County, Ithaca. June 27, 2024

Additionally, native bees such as sweat bees (Halictidae), mining bees (Andrenidae), and leafcutter bees (Megachilidae) are frequent visitors, drawn by the abundant nectar and pollen. Butterflies, while not as significant as bees, contribute to the pollination process, adding a touch of grace as they flutter from flower to flower. Moths, particularly those active in the evening, are another group of pollinators, their nocturnal activity complementing the daytime efforts of bees and butterflies. Hoverflies (Syrphidae), also known as flower flies, are attracted to the nectar and aid in the pollination, showcasing the diverse array of insects that rely on the Basswood.

Reflecting on my discovery, I realized the American Basswood is a living testament to the interconnectedness of nature and human history. Its presence in the landscape is a reminder of the many ways in which plants and trees shape our lives, providing resources, inspiration, and a connection to the natural world.

As I left the shade of the Basswood and continued my walk, I felt a deep sense of gratitude for the opportunity to learn and connect with this remarkable tree. Its story is a reminder of the importance of preserving and cherishing the natural world, ensuring that future generations can continue to discover and appreciate the wonders of the American Basswood.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved