Crisp maple leaves among hemlock roots on the bank of Lick Brook, Thayer Preserve. Nestled within the breathtaking expanse of Tompkins County in New York’s Finger Lakes Region, is a canvas where nature paints its most exquisite scenes. This preserve is a symphony of serene landscapes, a place where the tranquility of nature is preserved and cherished.
In this haven, the chorus of birdsong greets the day, echoing through the lush canopy of trees that stand as ancient guardians of the land. Oaks, maples, and hemlocks, some as old as time, stretch their boughs towards the sky, creating a verdant cathedral that shelters a diverse array of flora and fauna. The sunlight filters through these leafy domes, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor, a mosaic of light and life.
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The trails of Thayer Preserve meander through this natural paradise, inviting visitors to embark on a journey of discovery. Each path is a narrative, telling the story of the land, from the delicate wildflowers that peek shyly from the underbrush to the stately deer that roam with a quiet dignity.
The preserve is not just a place of beauty; it’s a testament to the delicate balance of ecosystems. Here, conservation efforts intertwine with recreation, ensuring that the splendor of the environment is preserved for future generations. It’s a sanctuary where the hustle of modern life fades, and one can reconnect with the earth’s gentle rhythms.
As the seasons change, Thayer Preserve transforms. Spring brings a burst of color, with wildflowers carpeting the ground. Summer deepens the greens of the forest, while autumn sets the woods ablaze with fiery hues. In winter, a serene blanket of snow envelopes the landscape, turning it into a quiet wonderland.
In the heart of the Finger Lakes Region, Thayer Preserve stands as a beacon of natural beauty and tranquility. It’s a place where the soul can find peace, the mind can wander freely, and the heart can revel in the simple joy of nature’s embrace. This preserve is not just a location on a map; it’s a journey, an experience, a love letter to the natural world.
Maple leaves and hemlock roots share an environment yet play distinct roles in the ecosystem. Maple leaves, broad and vibrant, capture sunlight. This process fuels their growth and contributes to the air we breathe. Each fall, these leaves turn yellow and brown, signaling a natural change. They fall, joining the forest floor. Here, they decompose, becoming part of the soil. This enriches the earth, supporting new plant life.
Hemlock roots anchor these mighty trees. Reaching deep into the soil, drawing up water and nutrients. These roots also stabilize soil, preventing erosion and are a network, unseen but vital, connecting the tree to its environment.
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These natural processes have parallels in human generations. Like the leaves, each generation has its time in the sun. People grow, contribute to their world, and then make way for the next. The knowledge and experiences they leave behind enrich the lives of those who follow, much like fallen leaves nourish the soil.
Similarly, the hemlock roots parallel the foundational elements of human society. Traditions, cultures, and values are passed down, anchoring each new generation. They provide stability and nourishment, helping to guide growth and development.
Over time, just as the forest evolves through the cycles of leaves falling and roots growing, human societies change. Each generation builds upon the last, growing in the richness left behind. This ongoing cycle speaks to the resilience and interconnectedness of life, whether in a forest or in human communities.
In both nature and human experience, there is a rhythm of growth, contribution, and renewal. The falling of maple leaves, and the steadfastness of hemlock roots illustrate this beautifully, reminding us of the continuity and change inherent in all living systems.
In the heart of nature, where Lick Creek flows, the land is a preserve. It guards the essence of the wild. Trees, tall and timeless, hemlocks, stand like sentinels. Their roots twist and turn, merging with the earth. Among them, maple leaves lie. They have journeyed from their branches to the ground. Yellow and brown, they rest. They carpet the soil, a patchwork of autumn’s farewell.
The creek murmurs. Its waters are a constant traveler, never still. They speak of journeys unseen. Along its banks, the leaves are at the end of their own journey. Melding with the earth, becoming part of something greater.
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Here, time moves differently. It’s marked not by clocks but by the subtle shifts of nature. Leaves fall, waters flow, the trees stand watch. This is a cycle, ancient and endless. In this preserve, every element has a role, a purpose. Together, they create a harmony.
This place, where leaves fall and waters flow, is more than a preserve. It is a reminder. In nature’s embrace, everything finds its place. Everything belongs. Even as leaves fall, they find a new purpose. In their resting, they nourish. In their silence, they speak of life’s endless cycle.
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.
Are images are from a handheld Apple Iphone 14 ProMax, raw files edited on camera and then from Adobe Lightroom.
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.
View east from Cornell University’s Hartung–Boothroyd Observatory
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.
View southwest toward Ithaca College
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.
View southwest toward Ithaca College I zoomed in to see the residential towers.
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.
View southeast toward Hammond Hill
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.
View south
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.
View southwest toward Ithaca College
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.
An 84-degree October walk up Cascadilla Gorge—quiet paths, bluestone porches, fresh paint on the bridge—waiting for the footbridge to catch the last, warm evening sunlight.
Every fall I make a point of walking Cascadilla Gorge at least once. On an 84-degree October 9 afternoon, Pam was tied up with chores, so I parked downtown and stopped to see the grandchildren. They were with their mom. Two were “too tired” after school to do anything. The youngest, at the age of four, was not yet in school and he floated the idea of the skateboard park; for me, that wasn’t in the cards. So I set off on foot up Court Street, past the residence of Buddhist monks at the gorge entrance.
Cascadilla Gorge is part of Cornell Botanic Gardens (formerly the Plantations), the university unit that stewards natural areas and gardens across campus. Foot traffic was light. A sign explained why: the lower trail was closed at Stewart Avenue, where the bridge spans the ravine. I crossed to the north side by the Christian Science church and wound up Cascadilla Park Road to the rim trail that climbs East Hill toward campus.
Homes line this stretch, porches facing the gorge where the constant music of creek and falls carries up. Not feeling ambitious, I made a few phone snapshots. Here the path squeezes past a porch built of local “bluestone,” a feldspathic sandstone native to the region—around town it’s sometimes called “Llenroc,” Cornell in reverse.
That pot you see in the previous photo gets a closer look here, with more of the same weathered bluestone.
The drop to the gorge floor is steep, sheer in places. The barrier fence looks stout in some sections and thins to almost nothing in others. A few years ago, a recent Cornell graduate walking home late along this path fell to his death. I continued to the fork for the Ithaca City Cemetery, climbed to Stewart Avenue, turned right to cross the Cascadilla bridge, then right again onto the Gorge Rim Trail back toward town. At the bridge I noticed part of the closure work: fresh paint on the bridge and on the suicide-prevention netting beneath. On September 24—just fifteen days earlier—a Cornell senior had jumped; the net caught him, and the fire department brought him to safety.
From the concrete barrier in that photo you can peer into the gorge: a beautiful view, the steady voice of water rising from below. I try to leave the darker stories where they belong—at least until the sight of fresh paint pulls them back to mind.
I took the following photograph in 2005, the September before my previous post, “Autumn Stroll in Sapsucker Woods” with the Kodak DSC pro slr-c, an ND filter, 50 mm lens and a tripod. It was a planned session, I work waterproof boots and was able to stand in the creek after a series of rain-free days. At this time of the year the gorge opens to the setting sun. I waited, taking a series of photographs for the perfect amount of light on the footbridge. The feature photograph (the header to this posting) is a detail from a shot with the bridge more fully lit.
The header image for this post comes from a planned session in September 2005, just before the photograph of my “Autumn Stroll in Sapsucker Woods” post. I used a Kodak DCS Pro SLR/c with an ND filter, a 50 mm lens, and a tripod. After several rain-free days I wore waterproof boots and stood mid-creek. In autumn the gorge opens to the setting sun; I waited and shot a sequence until the light laid perfectly across the footbridge. The banner image is a detail from a frame where the bridge is more fully lit.
We have a framed print of that photograph at home. I mounted it as a gift to Pam on our first Valentine’s Day.
“September Sunset in Cascadilla Gorge”
If you’ve walked Cascadilla Gorge in autumn, I’d love to hear your favorite vantage points—porches along the rim, the lower stone steps, or the footbridge at golden hour. Do you know any stories about Llenroc bluestone on these houses, or remember the Stewart Avenue Bridge before its safety upgrades? Photographers: what helps you balance deep shade and bright water from the designated trails? Share a tip or a memory in the comments.
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Michael Stephen Wills Photography 