Discover the delicate beauty of early meadow-rue (Thalictrum dioicum) along the Gorge Trail at Robert H. Treman State Park. Explore its unique spring blooms, cultural significance in Native American traditions, and the poetry of its quiet role in the woodland ecosystem.
April 28, 2025 – Robert H. Treman State Park, Ithaca, NY. I step lightly along the damp stone stairs of the Gorge Trail, hemmed in by towering rock walls and the whisper of waterfalls. There, at a turn in the path, I encounter an unassuming woodland plant waving in the breeze. Its delicate green foliage could be mistaken for a young fern or columbine, but from its arching stems hang dozens of tiny yellow tassels, swaying like fairy lanterns. This is a male Thalictrum dioicum – commonly known as early meadow-rue, or more whimsically, quicksilver-weed. One of the earliest wildflowers to emerge in spring forests of the Northeast, it offers a subtle spectacle: golden anthers dangling in the cool April breeze, each tiny stamen a pendulum of pollen.
Delicate Botany of a Woodland Rue
At a glance, Thalictrum dioicum might not shout for attention – standing barely one to two feet tall – yet a closer look reveals intricate beauty. Each male plant is a miniature chandelier of blossoms, the flowers having no petals at all but instead a simple fringe of sepals and a flurry of stamens. In fact, the male flowers are the showiest part of this species, with numerous slender, dangling yellow stamens that earn meadow-rue a second look. These dangles are the anthers – pollen-bearing organs – swinging freely to release golden dust on the wind. Female plants, on separate nearby stalks, are more reserved: their flowers hold up clusters of pale pistils like tiny green stars, which, if wind-blessed with pollen, will swell into achenes (dry fruits) later in the season. The separation of sexes in different “houses” is the trait that gives the species its name dioicum, meaning “of two households” in Greek. Early meadow-rue’s foliage is equally enchanting. The leaves are twice or thrice divided into lobed leaflets that resemble the herb rue (Ruta) – hence the common name “meadow-rue”. A misty green above and silvery underside, the leaflets have a rounded, almost columbine-like form with soft scalloped edges. As botanist Eloise Butler once noted, casual hikers often exclaim “what a pretty fern!” upon seeing the airy foliage before noticing any flowers. Indeed, the plant’s fern-like grace and early spring timing give the forest understory a verdant, lacy trim well before the summer plants take over.
What’s in a Name (Etymology and Lore)
Even the name of this humble wildflower carries poetry. The genus Thalictrum harkens back to the Greek word thaliktron, a term used by the ancient physician Dioscorides to describe plants with finely divided leaves. It’s a fitting nod to the meadow-rue’s delicate foliage. The species name dioicum, as mentioned, translates to “two houses,” nodding to its dioecious nature – male and female flowers on separate plants. As for “quicksilver-weed,” an old folk name, one can only imagine it arose from the plant’s ephemeral shimmer: appearing quickly in spring and perhaps glinting with dew like liquid silver. Early meadow-rue also earns its “early” title by being among the first woodland perennials to bloom as the snow melts – a true harbinger of spring in the eastern North American woods. The “rue” in meadow-rue is a bit of a misnomer botanically (meadow-rue is in the buttercup family, not related to true rue). However, the moniker stuck because of a shared appearance – those divided leaves echo the shape of true rue’s foliage. There’s no strong odor or bitterness here, though. Instead, Thalictrum dioicum is gentle in aspect and entirely non-toxic, making it a welcome companion in shady gardens and wild places alike. Gardeners sometimes cultivate it for its graceful foliage and dangling blooms, a little wild treasure in cultivated shade gardens.
A Quiet Role in the Forest Understory
In its native habitat, early meadow-rue lives a low-key life in the understory. It thrives on dappled woodland slopes, often on rich, rocky soils near streams – exactly the sort of place the Gorge Trail winds through. Preferring partial shade, it is comfortable in both moist and well-drained sites. As a spring ephemeral, it takes advantage of the window before the canopy fully leafs out, unfurling its leaves and flowers in April and May, then quietly dying back by midsummer to wait out the year’s end. This strategy allows it to catch the sunlight of early spring and avoid competition later on. Unlike showy wildflowers that beckon bees and butterflies, meadow-rue’s pollinator is the breeze. Being wind-pollinated (anemophilous), it has no need for bright petals or nectar rewards. Instead, those dangling stamens tremble with each gust, shedding pollen into the air – a dance of chance that some of it will drift over to a waiting female flower nearby. The light, swinging tassels are perfectly adapted to this purpose, increasing the odds of pollen dispersal with every sway. Even without offering nectar, early meadow-rue still contributes to its ecosystem. Its tender leaves provide an early snack for rabbits and deer venturing out after winter. A few specialized moth species also use it as a host plant in their caterpillar stage, nibbling on the foliage. By going dormant in summer, meadow-rue returns nutrients to the soil and opens space for later-emerging plants, maintaining the ebb and flow of diversity in the forest floor community. In autumn and winter, only its fibrous roots and a small caudex (rootstock) persist under the leaf litter, ready to send up new growth when spring returns.
Roots in Culture and Folklore
This demure wildflower has also found its way into human stories and herbal traditions. Native American communities, especially in the Northeast, knew and used early meadow-rue in subtle ways. Though not a superstar of indigenous medicine, it had its roles. Cherokee healers brewed tea from the roots to treat diarrhea and stomach troubles, and to ease vomiting. In Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) lore, a decoction of meadow-rue roots was used as a wash for sore, tired eyes, and even taken to steady a palpitating heart – perhaps the gentle plant lending calm through belief or mild effect. Beyond medicine, Thalictrum dioicum tiptoes into the realm of romance and harmony.
According to ethnobotanical notes, young Blackfoot women in the northern Plains would weave the pretty tassels or seed clusters into their hair, believing it would help them attract the attention of a desired young man – a bit of springtime love charm from the wilds. Among some eastern Woodlands tribes, such as the Ojibwa and Potawatomi, the seeds of meadow-rue were a secret tool for domestic peace: slipping a pinch of seeds into the food of a quarreling couple was thought to help dispel discord and restore harmony to the relationship. Whether through mild pharmacological effect or sheer faith, one imagines it brought a hopeful smile to those administering this folk remedy.
Early meadow-rue even made a brief appearance in early colonial folklore. In Canada, it’s said that some of the First Peoples used the crushed roots to treat venomous snake bites, likely as a poultice. The plant’s leaves were also dropped into spruce beer – the fermented drink made by settlers and Natives alike – perhaps as a flavoring or tonic ingredient. Interestingly, despite these uses, meadow-rue never became a staple in European-American herbal medicine. 19th-century herbal texts noted that American Thalictrums were largely ignored by formal medicine, overshadowed by their European cousins. This lends our Thalictrum dioicum an aura of a plant mostly known by those who dwell close to the land – a quiet ally in the forest, employed in pinch when needed and otherwise simply appreciated for its beauty and symbolism.
Reflections on a Spring Encounter
A close-up of Thalictrum dioicum male flowers, often called “quick-silver weed” for the way these golden tassels catch the light. The plant’s lack of petals is evident – instead, dozens of pollen-laden stamens dangle, ready for the wind’s call.
Encountering this early meadow-rue along the gorge felt like stumbling upon a small secret of the woods. In the waterfall haunted gorge, with slate-gray cliffs towering overhead, these frail yellow tassels swayed and twirled as if performing for an unseen audience. There was a breezy playfulness in that moment – the plant nodding in the wind, pollinating by dancing rather than by the busy work of bees.
I was struck by how ancient and new it all felt: this same species blooming every April for thousands of years, used by generations of indigenous peoples for healing and hope, yet to me on that day it was a delightful surprise, as fresh as the spring itself. As I crouched to take a closer look, I imagined the threads of history and myth that early meadow-rue carries. Its presence here is a sign of a healthy, layered woodland. It whispered of resilience – how something so delicate survives the torrents of spring rain and the deep freezes of winter underground, year after year. In the golden afternoon light of the gorge, those dangling blossoms were like drops of quicksilver sunlight, fleeting and brilliant.
I felt grateful to have noticed this little plant, to share a moment of connection across time and cultures. The next bend of the trail would lead me on, but the image of quicksilver weed in bloom stayed with me – a reminder that even the quietest corners of nature are filled with stories waiting to be noticed.
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Copyright 2025 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
References
Thalictrum dioicum (Early Meadow-rue) – Wikipedia Friends of the Wild Flower Garden – Early Meadow-rue (Thalictrum dioicum) plant description and naming henriettes-herb.com Institute for American Indian Studies – Medicinal Monday: Early Meadow Rue, blog post (Jan 22, 2024) Henriette’s Herbal – Thalictrum dioicum excerpt from Drugs and Medicines of North America (1884-1887) henriettes-herb.com Friends of the Wild Flower Garden – Eloise Butler’s note on Early Meadow-rue (1911)
Two men experience the breathtaking beauty and vastness of Monument Valley, reflecting on nature’s timelessness while feeling small against the grandeur of the landscape at dusk.
They drove on through the late November light with the road falling away toward the valley. In the west the sun hung low, a copper disk above the red land. The two men squinted through the windshield. Before them, Monument Valley unveiled itself in towering silhouettes and stone ramparts where the world opened to an ancient scene held in amber light. A long black ribbon of highway led onward, straight and true, toward those looming buttes etched against the sky. The older man eased the truck to the shoulder and killed the engine. In the newfound quiet, they sat as the wind ticked against the cooling hood. Ahead, the valley’s monuments stood waiting in the orange glow of sundown.
“Hell of a sight,” the driver said softly.
Sentinel Mesa and a slice of Big Indian peak to the left. A risen moon above all.As the day progressed here is Big Indian to the left, a portion of Sentinel Mesa with the risen moon above all
To the east, Sentinel Mesa rose broad and dark, its flat summit catching the last aureate light. The mesa loomed like a great natural battlement guarding the valley’s entrance. Aside, a solitary pinnacle known as the Big Indian stood in muted vermilion hues. In profile it did resemble a weathered face—a monumental visage gazing eternally south over the sacred lands. Farther south, Mitchell Butte jutted upward, its sheer walls burnished red-gold on one side where the sunlight still lingered. A mile or so southeast, the land climbed again to the massive bulk of Mitchell Mesa, now mostly in shadow. The sun was dropping behind it, outlining that mesa’s far rim in a halo of pale fire. Near to Mitchell Butte, a tall slender Gray Whiskers Butte rose like a lonely watchman. Its pinnacle was streaked with dusk, the stone fading from blood-red at its base to a somber gray at its crown. One of the men pointed toward it silently, and the other simply watched, understanding the unspoken thought: how small they were below these giants of rock.
Mitchell Butte, Grey Wiskers Butte and Mitchell Butte
High above Sentinel Mesa, the evening swan of this desert had already appeared — a waxing moon, nearly full and ghostly white. It floated just over the mesa’s dark crown as twilight gathered, like an omen or a blessing. The sky behind the landforms had begun to take on the deep indigo of coming night. In the east, opposite the dying sun, the heavens were lavender and faintly banded with pink. The moon climbed in silence, gaining strength as the sun bled out in a final flare of vermilion along the horizon. In that half-light the mesas and buttes became blackened shapes, cut from the twilight itself, their identities merging with the land’s dusk. November’s chill crept in with the dark. The younger man drew his jacket closed. Neither of them had thought to speak for minutes now. They simply wandered a few yards from the truck, eyes turned outward and upward, silhouettes of their own against the dimming day.
Sentinel Mesa with risen moon
His companion nodded. He opened the door and stepped out. “Never seen anything like it,” the younger man said. His voice was reverent, almost a whisper. The driver climbed out too, boots crunching on red grit. They walked a few paces from the road, drawn forward as if on a tide. The evening air was cool and carried a dry, dusty scent tinged with sage. In the far distance, the monuments cast long blue shadows over the valley floor. The travelers stood for a long moment without speaking, each alone with the scale of it.
The land was vast and inscrutable. In the silence it felt holy. It was easy to believe no one else in the world existed at this hour — only these two and the ancient valley spread before them. The wind came from the west in a long sigh, carrying the dust of the desert. It whispered through dry bunches of brush at their feet and stirred a lonely tumbleweed across the cracked earth. The younger man removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair as if to assure himself this was real. The older man stood with thumbs hooked in his belt, head tilted back to drink in the view. His face was lined and still, the dying light painting one side in gentle umber. If either man harbored any burdens or regrets from the road behind, the land seemed to dwarf those worries into nothing. They felt themselves small as insects on an endless painted floor.
After a time, the driver cleared his throat. “We’ll lose the light soon,” he said. His voice was low. He seemed unwilling to break the spell with anything louder.
The younger man nodded again but did not take his eyes off the valley. “Just a few more minutes,” he replied.
“All right.” The driver smiled thinly and pulled out a cigarette. He struck a match and cupped it against the breeze, the brief flame reflecting in his narrowing eyes. In the glow of the match the canyons of his face showed for an instant, then vanished into shadow again. He drew in and exhaled a plume of smoke that the wind instantly seized and unraveled. Sentinel Mesa crouched out there like a great shadow, crowned now by a silver moon that grew brighter by the minute. The older man followed that mesa’s outline with his eyes, tracing the crenellated cliffs and the slope of rubble at its base. “They named that one right,” he said, mostly to himself.
“What’s that?” the other asked softly.
“Sentinel. Standing guard.” The driver gestured with the glowing tip of his cigarette. “Feels like it’s been watching this place forever.”
Sentinel Mesa standing guard with the red desert floor and fauna in the last light of sunset
The young man considered the hulking form of the mesa. In the twilight it did have the aspect of a watchtower keeping vigil over the valley. “It probably has,” he said. “Long before we ever came.”
On the road behind them a faint glint of chrome from the hood caught a stray moonbeam.
The younger man broke the long quiet. “You ever been down here before?”
The older man nodded. “A time or two.”
“You see all this then?”
A chuckle from the older man, low in his throat. “Not quite like this. First time I come through here I didn’t see a damn thing.”
The younger man looked over, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” the old man said, “I’d been driving since Durango, and I’d run out of good sense somewhere near Shiprock. Rolled in with the rain. Thought I’d catch a nap and wake up to a postcard.”
He paused, lighting another cigarette, letting the flame flicker in the cooling breeze.
“Only I parked across from a big ridge in the moonless dead wet dark, didn’t think much of it. Woke up next morning to what I thought was the edge of a landfill. Just a big wall of brown rock. Figured I took a wrong turn and ended up behind a gas station.”
The young man laughed. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Got out, stretched, cursed the road and the view and the whole damn state. Got out to take a leak, figured I’d head on. And just as I’m zippering up, I look to the right—and there it is.”
He waved his hand toward the black outline of Mitchell Mesa, vast and solemn in the moonlight.
“The whole valley,” he said. “Caught me sideways. I parked blind to all of it. Missed the whole show.”
He shook his head, the cigarette ember glowing orange.
“Spent the next half hour cussing myself out. Sat there red-faced with a thermos of cold coffee like a man at the symphony who showed up deaf and late.”
The younger man laughed, full-throated now. “You mean to tell me you slept in Monument Valley and thought you were behind a gas station?”
The old man shrugged. “In my defense, it was cloudy.”
They both laughed then, the sound rolling out over the scrub and rocks and into the vastness.
He walked a little farther from the road, and the older man paced beside him. Ground crunching underfoot, fine dust kicking up around their boots. They ascended a slight rise where the terrain leveled off in a broad expanse leading toward the valley proper. Beneath their feet the earth was soft and powdery—red earth, lit now by the dim purple of dusk and the growing lunar light. The younger man scuffed the toe of his boot in it, and a little crimson cloud rose and drifted away. By daylight this soil was a vivid rust-red, the color of dried blood. It was as if the ground itself had a memory of violence or sorrow, but the truth of that color was simpler and older: the iron in the earth, left behind by ancient oceans, oxidizing over eons in the sun and airen.wikipedia.org. The land bled red because the very minerals of its making had rusted in the long passage of time. In places the valley floor was cracked clay, in others loose sand, all part of the same great story of stone turned to dust.
The two men walked out a bit further into the open, where scattered plants clung to life in the hardpan. There were low shrubs of sagebrush exuding a faint herbal scent, and clumps of purple sage with gray-green leaves, their summer blooms long spent. Here and there jutted the spiky forms of yucca, bayonet-tipped leaves fanning out from the base of each plant. Most everything that grew here hugged the ground and wore the dusty colors of the soil. In the failing light, the sage and grass tuft looked almost colorless, pale as ash. Only when lightning storms rolled through would the desert briefly bloom green; in these dry weeks of autumn the vegetation lay dormant, patient. A scraggly juniper tree crouched in a shallow gully nearby, twisted by wind and drought, its bark bleached where it faced the sun. These were the survivors of an unforgiving climate – rabbitbrush, snakeweed, hardy shrubs that lived on almost nothing. The young man knelt and pinched a bit of sage between his fingers, releasing its sharp fragrance. This smell, to him, was the perfume of the desert itself.
In the sand at the base of the sagebrush, he noticed a faint track. He brushed aside some dust to reveal the imprint of tiny claws: the delicate spoor of a lizard that had passed earlier when the ground was warm. It wound off between the rocks and vanished. Other tracks crisscrossed subtly in the dirt – a jackrabbit’s long-toed prints, nearly indistinguishable amid scuffs, and the delicate imprints of some small bird that had hopped about pecking for seeds. Life was here, though it was seldom seen. A red-tailed hawk wheeled silently high above, cutting black circles into the dim sky. Perhaps it was hunting one last time before full dark. The younger man stood again and looked out over the valley with new wonder, realizing that countless creatures lived and moved in this terrain largely unseen. In the daytime heat they sheltered in burrows and shadow. At dusk they came forth. He imagined a coyote trotting through a distant wash on soft paws, nose to the ground; a mule deer picking its way among these rocks somewhere beyond sight; a mountain lion watching from high up on a ledge as it had watched all afternoon. This desert did not easily give up its secrets, but they were there.
The older man stepped out onto a broad flat of rock and ground his cigarette butt under his heel. In the silence his companion could hear the scrape of boot leather on stone. The rock was part of an exposed slab that had broken off from a greater outcrop. It sloped gently down into the valley and was strewn with fine gravel from its own slow decay. The driver pressed his bootsole into a brittle crust of the rock’s surface, and it crumbled with a dry sound. These monoliths around them were not as immutable as they looked. Wind and rain had been gnawing at them for ages uncounted. Every thunderstorm that swept these flats cut new gullies in the shale, undercutting the bases of the cliffs. Every hot summer day the rock expanded, and every cold night it contracted, fissures growing by imperceptible degrees. Water trickled into cracks and ice pried them wider in winter. In time, great slabs would calve off with a roar and a billow of red dust, adding another heap of boulders to the talus at a butte’s feet. The valley was strewn with such piles like fallen ramparts. Erosion was the master sculptor here, patient and inexorable, chewing away the softer rock beneath and leaving the harder stone standing in great towers and tablelands. Each butte, each spire, had endured unthinkable ages to remain in this moment as a seemingly permanent fixture—and yet they too were slowly disappearing grain by grain. In a thousand years the difference might be subtle; in a million, perhaps these forms would be gone entirely, ground down to the flatness of the surrounding plain. The land was alive in geological time, though to human eyes it appeared frozen in a grand and silent repose.
They wandered farther, and now the truck was a small shape behind them on the roadside pullout. Neither man minded. The road was empty; no other vehicle had come along for a while, and only a lone set of headlights glimmered many miles away, moving slowly, probably a rancher or a late tourist heading home. The two travelers were alone with the land and sky. Overhead, the first stars were coming out in earnest, timid specks appearing in the dome of night. The moon was higher now and bright enough to cast shadows. The tall profile of Big Indian was cut into the moonlit sky, unmistakable and solemn, and on the valley floor the leaning spire of Gray Whiskers stood lit on one side by the cold glow. Away to the east, the open desert beyond the valley was falling into darkness, a great stretch of unknown country into which the highway disappeared. And still the west flared with afterlight — a band of deep red on the horizon, fading to gold, then greenish and up into the endless blue-black. It was a sky that seemed too vast for the world.
The younger man found a boulder at the edge of the flat and sat down. He removed his hat and set it beside him. The stone felt cool now under his legs. The heat of the day had fled so quickly that the air itself seemed to crackle with cold. He drew a deep breath and let it out. The land gave back only silence. A great and ageless solitude reigned here, the kind that makes its home in deserts and high places where man has no authority. He could feel it pressing in, not unkindly. It was the solitude of a world largely unchanged long before humans and likely long after. Under that eternal sky and the gaze of those stony sentinels, their own lives felt momentarily trivial. Yet the feeling was not bitterness or despair. Rather, it was humbling and strangely reassuring, as if all the griefs and triumphs that had ever marked a human life were nothing next to the calm presence of these rocks. The earth endured. The earth would always endure. Time and wind would wear down even mountains, but until then these mesas would keep witness over the days and nights, the storms and still mornings, the generations of men who came wandering through seeking something larger than themselves.
The older man walked over and eased himself down on the same boulder. He groaned softly as he sat, rubbing one knee. They both looked out over the emerging night. For a long while, neither spoke. Far in the distance, a coyote yipped — a brief, high sound, then silence again. The younger man smiled in the dark.
“The cold is coming fast,” the older man said after a time.
“Yeah. It does that quick out here.” He picked up his hat and dusted it off, though no dust truly could be kept off in this country. Dust was the true sovereign of the valley — red dust that coated boots and clothes, that hung in the air at midday, that settled on skin like a fine powder. It would ride back with them in their vehicle no matter how well they shook their coats. It had a way of clinging on, a reminder of where one had been.
“You ready?” with a tilt of his head back toward the truck.
The younger man took one last sweeping look over Monument Valley. The forms of Sentinel Mesa and its neighbors were nearly indistinguishable from the dark of the sky now, save where the moonlight etched a line or two along a cliff. The valley floor was lost in shadow. In the east, a few scattered clouds caught a faint silver luminescence from the risen moon. The beauty of the scene was stark and almost aching — a kind of beautiful emptiness that a man carries away inside him, knowing he has witnessed something that can never properly be told. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, he simply nodded and got to his feet. They began walking back toward the truck, side by side.
Behind them, the desert night continued its slow unfurling. One by one, stars pierced the darkness. The moon climbed higher on its silent arc. The great stone silhouettes stood unchanged, as they had through countless nights. In a few hours the dawn would come and paint them in rose and gold once more. But for now the valley slumbered under the pale glow of the moon. As the two men reached their vehicle and the engine turned over, its headlights flaring to life, they took one last look across the plains of Monument Valley. Then the truck pulled back onto the highway and receded down the lonesome ribbon of asphalt, two red taillights diminishing and finally vanishing into the boundless Navajo night. The land remained as it was, vast and indifferent to their departure. Sentinel Mesa and Mitchell Mesa stood like opposing pillars at the great gateway of the valley, keeping their eternal watch. The wind sighed over the road and across the sleeping rocks. The footprints the men had left were already beginning to blur with settling dust. Above, the indifferent stars traveled their courses. And the red earth of the desert stretched away in all directions—ancient, patient, and still, beneath the enduring sky.
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The Louisa Duemling Meadows celebrate conservation and biodiversity, showcasing vibrant flora and honoring Louisa Duemling’s legacy as a steward of nature.
The Louisa Duemling Meadows, nestled within the expansive embrace of Sapsucker Woods, offers a vibrant tableau of life, brimming with opportunities for exploration and a sense of wonder. This new trail, winding through golden fields and punctuated by bursts of wildflowers, whispers tales of the land’s natural and cultural heritage.
Louisa Duemling: A Steward of Nature Louisa Duemling, the meadows’ namesake, was a dedicated conservationist and philanthropist who supported the Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s mission to protect birds and their habitats. Her legacy lives on in these serene fields, where her commitment to preserving the environment is reflected in every thriving plant and songbird.
Black-eyed Susans: The Meadow’s Golden Treasure Dominating this summertime landscape with their radiant yellow petals and dark central disks, Black-eyed Susans (Rudbeckia hirta) are a hallmark of the meadows. These cheerful blooms are a delight to the eye, a cornerstone of meadow ecosystems. As members of the Asteraceae family, their composite flowers serve as a rich nectar source for pollinators like bees and butterflies, ensuring the vibrancy of these fields.
Historically, Black-eyed Susans have been used in traditional medicine by Native American tribes for their putative anti-inflammatory properties. Their ability to thrive in diverse conditions also makes them a symbol of resilience and adaptability.
A Symphony of Green and Gold Walking through the trail, one is greeted by the harmonious interplay of goldenrods (Solidago spp.), milkweeds (Asclepias spp.), and asters (Symphyotrichum spp.). Goldenrods, with their feathery clusters of yellow blooms, are often mistaken as allergenic culprits, though it is the inconspicuous ragweed (Ambrosia artemisiifolia) that deserves this reputation. Milkweeds, with their milky sap and delicate pink or white flowers, are vital to monarch butterflies (Danaus plexippus), serving as the sole food source for their larvae.
Among these botanical wonders, the birdhouse stands as a sentinel, a reminder of the intricate relationship between flora and fauna. These wooden structures provide safe havens for cavity-nesting birds like Eastern Bluebirds (Sialia sialis) and Tree Swallows (Tachycineta bicolor), fostering biodiversity within the meadow.
A Horizon Framed by Pines and Clouds The open meadow trails, flanked by clusters of Eastern White Pines (Pinus strobus) and punctuated by the azure sky, invite reflection and renewal. This is a place where the human spirit can align with the rhythms of nature, where each step reveals new layers of beauty and discovery.
Embracing the Spirit of Discovery To wander the Louisa Duemling Meadows is to immerse oneself in the timeless dance of life. The trail, carefully marked yet wild in essence, invites visitors to lose themselves in its beauty while finding solace in its quietude. This is not just a path through nature—it is a journey into the heart of conservation and a celebration of the life that thrives under Louisa Duemling’s enduring legacy.
As you leave the meadow, carry with you not just the memory of golden flowers and vibrant skies but the inspiration to cherish and protect the natural world. The Louisa Duemling Meadows are not only a gift to those who walk its trails but a reminder of the profound impact one can have in preserving our planet’s fragile beauty.
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A father and son journey to Eagle Mesa, experiencing its beauty and silence, reflecting on its history and significance within Navajo culture as the day fades.
They came north out of Chinle with the day already leaning west and the sun fallen low into the drag of horizon dust and the road ran flat and empty past rust hills and mesquite country until, turning into the sun at Mexican Water, after a long hour, at last they pulled into Kayenta where the streets lay quiet under the heavy sun and the windows of the store fronts cast their amber light out across the sand drifting across sidewalks and the wind stirred only faintly and then was still.
They left their bags in the room and turned north again without speaking. The son drove. A man, his father, sat quiet beside him and the sun slid low through the windshield and the sky was pale and cloudless and wide beyond reckoning.
The land began to rise and the road bent and climbed and fell again and then it came into view. Not slowly. Not like a curtain rising. It was simply there.
A shape in the far desert.
Like a ship that had grounded in a sea long vanished. A sheer mesa the color of blood and ochre and fire where the last of the day spilled westward and caught the rock face and made it burn.
He told the son to pull off. They stopped the car and got out and the sound of the engine fell away, the desert made no sound at all.
The man stood in the road and turned slowly. Eagle Mesa lay before him and the land stretched off in every direction and the fenceposts ran on into silence and the sky seemed to rest upon the buttes as if tired.
There were names for these places. Old names. Navajo names that spoke of eagles roosting and trees once there and water that came and went and did not come again. The mesa they called Wide Rock. The place where spirits go. He did not know the words but he knew the feeling.
On the way to Monument Valley Tribal Park as the sunset for this view on Sullivan Road (Route 163). Navajo County, Arizona. Eagle Mesa is situated 4.5 miles (7.2 km) northeast of Oljato–Monument Valley, Utah, on Navajo Nation land. It is an iconic landform of Monument Valley and can be seen from Highway 163.Precipitation runoff from this mesa’s slopes drains to Mitchell Butte Wash and Train Rock Wash which are both part of the San Juan River drainage basin. Topographic relief is significant as the summit rises 1,100 feet (335 meters) above surrounding terrain in 0.6 mile (1 km). The nearest higher neighbor is Brighams Tomb, 2.05 miles (3.30 km) to the east. This landform’s toponym has been officially adopted by the United States Board on Geographic Names. Navajo names for the mesa are “Wide Rock”, “Where the Eagles Roost”, “Water Basket Sits”, and “Trees Hanging from Surrounding Belt” because there were once numerous trees here. In Navajo mythology, Eagle Mesa is a place where spirits of the deceased may go. Eagle Rock Spire is a 300-ft tower on the northern tip of the mesa which requires class 5.9 climbing skill to reach the summit.Navajo names for this spire which resembles a perched eagle include “Eagle Alongside Mesa”, “Big Finger is Pointed”, and Tsé Łichii Dahazkani (Elevated Red Rock Sitting Up). The first ascent of the spire was made on April 23, 1970, by Fred Beckey and Eric Bjornstad.
Geology
Eagle Mesa is a mesa composed of three principal strata. The bottom layer is Organ Rock Shale, the next stratum is cliff-forming De Chelly Sandstone, and the upper layer is Moenkopi Formation capped by Shinarump Conglomerate. The rock ranges in age from Permian at the bottom to Late Triassic at the top. The buttes and mesas of Monument Valley are the result of the Organ Rock Shale being more easily eroded than the overlaying sandstone.
The son came and stood beside him and did not speak. The man lifted the camera and took a photograph and then another. The road behind them shimmered with the last heat of day. He took another picture his son, dressed in black, his arms at rest and the red mesa rising behind him and the shadows of their bodies cast long across the gravel and the shoulder of the road.
On the way to Monument Valley Tribal Park as the sunset for this view on Sullivan Road (Route 163). Behind Sean are the landforms Eagle Mesa and behind it Setting Hen, Bringham’s Tomb, to the right. Navajo County, Arizona
They took turns with the camera. The son caught him midstride and smiling lit by sunlight, the land stretching out all around. A man small in a world not made for men.
There was no sound but the click of the shutter and the dry whisper of wind among the sage.
On the way to Monument Valley Tribal Park as the sunset for this view on Sullivan Road (Route 163). Behind Mike are the landforms Eagle Mesa and behind it Setting Hen, Bringham’s Tomb to the right. Navajo County, Arizona
Later he would read that the rock was born of Organ Shale and De Chelly Sandstone and Moenkopi topped with Shinarump. He would know the spire they saw was first climbed by men named Beckey and Bjornstad and that it was called Tsé Łichii Dahazkani by those who’d named it before it ever had another name. He would know the mesa rose eleven hundred feet in less than a mile and that its runoff fed washes that fed rivers that fed nothing now.
But then he only stood and watched and knew it for what it was.
Not a monument to anything but time.
A stillness like prayer. A place that waits.
They lingered until the sun went and the sky turned iron blue and the shadows of the rock reached out across the valley floor and touched them where they stood. Then they climbed back in the car and drove south again and the road unwound behind them black and a single star above and the silence of the place held on inside them long after the valley was gone.
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Alpha-lipoic acid (ALA) is considered safe for oral use, even long-term, with mild side effects. It supports metabolism, improves insulin sensitivity, and aids weight management.
Overall, ALA’s metabolic effects can be summarized as: improved insulin action, enhanced mitochondrial energy metabolism, reduced oxidative stress, and slight promotion of fat utilization.
For seniors, it’s prudent to stay at the effective lower range (e.g. 300–600 mg/day) unless higher doses are medically supervised, given that doses above 600 mg may not confer extra benefit but could cause unnecessary GI side effects.
NOW Foods ALA offers the best cost-to-benefit ratio and is suitable for the majority of users (including the elderly), given its proven purity and high dosage. Doctor’s Best is a comparable alternative in the same tier. Jarrow provides a unique formulation that can improve tolerability (a key consideration for sensitive individuals like some seniors). Life Extension and Thorne cater to those prioritizing form specificity (R-ALA) and rigorous quality assurance, respectively. All these leading brands have positive consumer reputations and efficacious dosages – choosing between them may come down to personal priorities such as budget, any digestive sensitivity, and trust in certifications.
Effects of ALA on Metabolism
ALA plays multiple beneficial roles in metabolic health. It is both a mitochondrial cofactor and a powerful antioxidant, which allows it to influence energy production, glucose metabolism, and lipid oxidation.
Glucose Metabolism and Insulin Sensitivity
One of ALA’s most notable effects is improving insulin-dependent glucose utilization. ALA facilitates the transport of blood sugar into cells and combats insulin resistance. Clinical studies have shown that ALA supplementation enhances insulin sensitivity – for example, clamp trials in type 2 diabetics demonstrated significantly increased glucose disposal after a month of oral ALA therapy
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. In prediabetic individuals, ALA reduced fasting insulin levels and HOMA-IR (an index of insulin resistance), even without changing body weight
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. These improvements mean cells respond better to insulin, helping to lower blood sugar. In fact, ALA is used therapeutically in some insulin-resistant conditions (it’s prescribed in Germany for diabetic neuropathy in part due to this effect).
A recent dose–response meta-analysis of 16 trials (over 1,000 patients with type 2 diabetes) confirmed that oral ALA produces small but significant improvements in glycemic control
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. Every 500 mg of ALA added per day led to reductions in HbA1c (average blood glucose), fasting plasma glucose, and markers of inflammation like C-reactive protein
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. For example, around 600 mg/day of ALA lowered HbA1c by about 0.3 percentage points and modestly reduced fasting glucose – a notable benefit, though not a dramatic cure
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. These changes, while statistically significant, were relatively modest in magnitude (often below the threshold of clinical significance
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov). This suggests ALA won’t replace diabetes medications, but can act as a helpful adjunct for improving metabolic markers. Notably, ALA also tends to lower triglycerides and inflammatory markers in metabolic syndrome patients
Mechanistically, ALA activates cellular energy sensors (AMPK) and transcription factors (PPAR-γ) that enhance insulin signaling and glucose uptake
mdpi.com. It can upregulate GLUT4 glucose transporters in muscle and reduce oxidative stress that impairs insulin action. Collectively, these actions translate to better insulin sensitivity and blood sugar utilization, which is why ALA has been tested in conditions like type 2 diabetes, metabolic syndrome, and even polycystic ovary syndrome.
Mitochondrial Function and Energy Production
ALA is often dubbed the “metabolic antioxidant” because of its critical role in mitochondria – the energy powerhouses of cells. Endogenously, ALA is a coenzyme for key mitochondrial enzyme complexes (e.g. pyruvate dehydrogenase and α-ketoglutarate dehydrogenase) that drive the Krebs cycle and ATP production
lifeextension.com. Supplementing with ALA can bolster these enzymatic functions. ALA is easily absorbed and crosses into mitochondria, where it assists in converting nutrients into energy and simultaneously neutralizes free radicals generated in the process
mdpi.com. This dual action supports healthier mitochondrial function, especially under oxidative or aging-related stress.
Research indicates ALA can improve mitochondrial performance and even promote new mitochondria formation. For instance, ALA has been shown to stimulate mitochondrial biogenesis in cells
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. Its antioxidant capacity helps prevent damage to mitochondrial membranes and DNA, preserving efficiency of energy metabolism
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. In animal studies of aging, ALA (alone or with other “mitochondrial nutrients” like acetyl-L-carnitine) reversed age-related declines in mitochondrial structure and function
accurateclinic.com. Notably, ALA-treated older rats showed improvements in memory that correlated with restored mitochondrial health and lower oxidative damage in brain cells
accurateclinic.com. By elevating intracellular glutathione and other antioxidants, ALA creates a more reducing (protective) environment in mitochondria
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. This is particularly relevant for seniors, as mitochondrial decay is a hallmark of aging. The evidence suggests ALA may help mitigate age-associated mitochondrial dysfunction, potentially improving energy levels and organ function in older adults
It’s important to note that while much of the mitochondrial benefit is documented in lab and animal models, human trials also hint at improved fatigue and muscle performance in conditions of mitochondrial stress. At the cellular level, ALA’s ability to chelate redox-active metals and scavenge reactive oxygen species prevents the oxidative damage that slows down mitochondrial enzymes
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. In summary, ALA serves as a critical cofactor and antioxidant “tune-up” for mitochondria, supporting efficient metabolism and potentially contributing to healthy aging of cells.
Weight Management and Fat Oxidation
ALA has garnered interest as a weight management supplement, due to its effects on energy expenditure and fuel utilization. Preclinical studies suggest ALA can reduce fat accumulation through multiple pathways. In animal models, ALA supplementation led to lower food intake and increased calorie burn – partly by acting on the hypothalamus to suppress appetite via AMPK (AMP-kinase) modulation
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. Rodents given ALA show a decrease in body fat and weight, as ALA may enhance fat oxidation and mitochondrial activity in muscle and brown fat
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. These anti-obesity signals raised hopes that ALA might aid human weight loss as well.
Human trials indicate ALA’s weight loss effects are modest. A comprehensive meta-analysis of randomized controlled trials found that, on average, subjects taking ALA lost about 1.2 kg more than those taking a placebo over the study period
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. This translated to a small but statistically significant drop in BMI (~0.4 unit) compared to placebo
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. In practical terms, ALA can modestly enhance weight loss when combined with caloric restriction or diet changes, but it is not a magic bullet. The meta-regression found no clear dose-response – higher doses didn’t necessarily produce more weight loss – but longer study duration was associated with slightly greater effects on BMI
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. So, ALA may help “a little bit” with weight management, especially over longer periods and as part of a comprehensive diet/exercise plan.
Interestingly, some trials in overweight individuals have shown improvements in body composition. For example, in obese participants on a calorie-controlled diet, those who added ALA lost slightly more weight and fat mass than those on diet alone
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. ALA’s activation of AMPK and PPAR signaling can encourage the body to use fat for fuel and improve metabolic rate. It also attenuates inflammation (lowering CRP) which is linked to obesity
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. That said, the consensus is that ALA’s effect on weight is small – typically on the order of 1–2% of body weight – but it may enhance fat oxidation and help overcome metabolic hesitations during weight loss
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. Because even modest weight reductions can improve health markers, this adjunct effect of ALA is seen as a positive side benefit to its main role in glycemic and antioxidant support.
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. These biochemical effects underlie its use in diabetic neuropathy, its investigation in cognitive decline, and its popularity as an anti-aging supplement.
Safety Profile of ALA (General Population and Seniors)
Alpha-lipoic acid is considered to have a strong safety profile in oral supplement doses commonly used. A 2020 meta-analysis of 71 clinical trials (over 2,500 people on ALA) found no higher incidence of adverse events with ALA than with placebo
mdpi.com. In other words, taking ALA did not increase overall side-effect risk compared to not taking it. Reported side effects are usually mild, most often gastrointestinal (GI) upset (e.g. nausea, stomach discomfort) or occasionally skin reactions (like rash or itching)
mdpi.com. Even long-term use appears safe – for example, diabetic neuropathy patients taking 600–1,200 mg of ALA daily for 2 years had no serious adverse effects and rated tolerability as “good” or “very good”
For older adults (age 65–70+), studies indicate ALA is generally well-tolerated at standard doses. In a trial of seniors (≥65 years) escalating doses, 600 mg/day was well tolerated with no complaints
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. At higher doses (800–1,200 mg) a few participants experienced flushing (skin warmth/redness) or GI discomfort
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. Notably, at 1,200 mg three of 15 elderly subjects could not tolerate the dose due to GI upset or flushing, though those taking stomach protectants had no issues
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. These findings suggest that older individuals can safely take ALA, but very high doses may cause minor intolerance in some; starting at a moderate dose (e.g. 300–600 mg) and taking it with food may improve comfort.
No specific organ toxicity has been documented from oral ALA. However, as a potent insulin-sensitizer, ALA can enhance glucose uptake, so diabetics on medication should monitor blood sugar to avoid hypoglycemia
lpi.oregonstate.edu. (This is a theoretical risk; in one study a 600 mg ALA dose did not cause hypoglycemia when taken with diabetes drugs
lpi.oregonstate.edu, but caution is still advised for those on insulin or sulfonylureas.) Extremely large accidental overdoses are unsafe – there are case reports of seizures and acidosis in adolescents who ingested gram-quantities far beyond recommended doses
lpi.oregonstate.edu – but such scenarios are very rare. Overall, ALA is viewed as safe for adults and seniors at typical supplemental doses, with an excellent tolerability record over up to several years
mdpi.com. For seniors, it’s prudent to stay at the effective lower range (e.g. 300–600 mg/day) unless higher doses are medically supervised, given that doses above 600 mg may not confer extra benefit but could cause unnecessary GI side effects.
Oral Supplementation and Natural Sources of ALA
This report focuses on oral ALA supplementation, as opposed to intravenous use. Orally, ALA is typically taken in capsule or tablet form, in doses ranging from 100 mg up to 600 mg per serving. Common regimens for general health or diabetic support are 300–600 mg per day (higher doses are split into two doses). Importantly, taking ALA with food can reduce its bioavailability – food competes with ALA for absorption
lpi.oregonstate.edu. Therefore, it’s often recommended to take ALA on an empty stomach (30 minutes before a meal or 2 hours after) for best absorption
lpi.oregonstate.edu. ALA is both water- and fat-soluble, so it doesn’t require dietary fat for absorption, but an empty stomach helps maximize how much gets into your bloodstream. Once absorbed, ALA is readily transported into cells throughout the body, including crossing the blood–brain barrier, which is why oral ALA can have systemic antioxidant effects.
In the oral supplement market, ALA comes in a few forms: most products use the standard racemic mixture (R,S-ALA), which includes both the natural R-enantiomer and its mirror-image S form. The R-form is the biologically active form produced in the body, and has slightly better absorption
lpi.oregonstate.edu. Some premium supplements provide pure R-ALA or a stabilized sodium-R-ALA, which may offer higher potency per dose. However, all the major clinical trials have used racemic ALA, and it has proven effective. Interestingly, the S-form in racemic ALA might even help stabilize the R-form, preventing it from polymerizing, thus the mix could be beneficial for shelf-stability
lpi.oregonstate.edu. In any case, both forms are eliminated from the body relatively quickly (ALA has a short half-life of only a few hours), which has led to development of sustained-release ALA tablets to prolong its action. Sustained-release formulations can lessen peak plasma levels (potentially reducing side effects like nausea) and maintain blood levels longer.
For those interested in dietary (food) sources of ALA, it’s important to note that ALA is present in foods only in very small quantities. ALA in food is found covalently bound to proteins (as lipoamide), particularly in mitochondrial enzymes. Rich sources include organ meats and some vegetables. For example, animal organs like kidney, heart, and liver have the highest ALA content – on the order of ~1–3 micrograms per gram dry weight
lpi.oregonstate.edu. Plant sources with notable (but still tiny) amounts include spinach and broccoli (also around 1 µg/g dry weight)
lpi.oregonstate.edu. To put this in perspective, even a large serving of spinach or liver provides only a few micrograms of ALA, whereas supplements provide milligrams – a difference of about 1,000-fold
lpi.oregonstate.edu. For instance, a 300 mg supplement dose is roughly equivalent to what you’d get from eating over 100 kg of spinach in terms of ALA content. Thus, while a healthy diet includes ALA-rich foods, you cannot attain therapeutic ALA levels from diet alone.
It’s also worth noting that ALA from food is bound (lipoyllysine) and must be freed during digestion to be absorbed, which occurs inefficiently. By contrast, supplement ALA is “free” and readily absorbed (though as mentioned, timing around meals matters). This is why supplements are used to exploit ALA’s pharmacological effects. In summary, natural sources of ALA include red meat (especially organ meats) and vegetables like spinach, broccoli, yams, carrots, beets, and potatoes
healthline.com, but the amounts in foods are nutritionally meaningful yet far below what’s used in research on metabolism and disease. Oral supplementation is the practical way to achieve the doses associated with improved insulin sensitivity or neuropathic symptom relief.
(Aside: Intravenous ALA is another delivery mode – used in some European protocols for neuropathy at 600 mg IV doses – but IV use is outside the scope of this report. The focus here is on oral ALA, which is more relevant for general supplementation.)
Comparison of Leading ALA Supplement Brands
When choosing an ALA supplement, factors to consider include the dosage and form of ALA, the purity and quality testing of the product, any added ingredients (e.g. biotin, which is sometimes included), third-party certifications, cost/value, and suitability for specific needs (such as easy swallowing or lower dose options for seniors). Below is a comparative overview of several reputable ALA supplement brands, with an emphasis on how NOW Foods (a popular brand) compares to others:
Brand & Product
Form & Dosage
Quality & Purity
Consumer Ratings
Price (Approx.)
Senior Suitability
NOW Foods – Alpha Lipoic Acid Extra Strength (NOW brand)
– Racemic ALA, 600 mg per veg capsule – Also available in 100 mg and 250 mg strengths
– cGMP certified manufacturing – In-house and 3rd-party lab tested for purity (110% of label claim found in assays)nowfoods.com – Non-GMO, vegetarian formula
~4.6★ (Amazon average) – Well-reviewed for potency and value
~$0.25 per 600 mg capsule (very affordable) (e.g. ~$18 for 60 caps)
Yes. High-potency 600 mg can benefit seniors (e.g. neuropathy patients); lower-dose options allow gradual dosing. Generally well-tolerated – start with 1 × 300 mg if concerned about sensitivity.
Doctor’s Best – Alpha Lipoic Acid 600
– Racemic ALA, 600 mg per veggie cap – Standard capsule format (no additives)
– cGMP, made with “Science-Based” approach – Non-GMO, gluten/soy free, vegan – Purity tested (no formal certification published)
~4.5★ – Positive user feedback for efficacy and quality
$0.25 per 600 mg capsule<br>($20–$25 for 90 caps)
Yes. Similar to NOW in dose and tolerability. Easy-to-swallow capsules. No special senior formulation, but widely used by older adults for glucose support and nerve health.
– Racemic ALA, 300 mg sustained-release tablet + ^biotin^ (explained below) – Sustained release reduces GI upset and prolongs action
– Reputable brand with strict quality control (cGMP) – Non-GMO; vegetarian – Includes biotin to prevent biotin depletion by high-dose ALA
~4.7★ – Users like the sustained-release (less stomach discomfort)
$0.45 per 300 mg tablet<br>($27 for 60 tablets)
Yes. Lower 300 mg dose and slow-release format are gentler on the stomach – a good choice if seniors experience acid reflux or nausea with 600 mg instant-release. Biotin included for safety.
Life Extension – Super R-Lipoic Acid 240
– R-ALA only, 240 mg stabilized R-lipoic per capsule (equivalent to ~480 mg racemic activity) – Vegetarian capsule
– High purity R-isomer (bio-enhanced form) – Produced under NSF GMP (Life Extension has rigorous in-house testing) – Non-GMO, no unnecessary fillers
~4.6★ – High satisfaction, though niche due to price; noted for effectiveness in blood sugar management
$0.50–$0.60 per 240 mg cap<br>($30–$36 for 60 caps)
Yes (with considerations). The R-ALA form gives strong effects at lower dose, which can be advantageous for sensitive seniors. Capsule size is moderate. Ensure other medications are reviewed, as R-ALA might potentiate insulin effects more strongly. Higher cost may be a drawback on fixed incomes.
Thorne Research – Alpha Lipoic Acid 300 (Thiocid-300)
– Racemic ALA, 300 mg per capsule – Also offered in 100 mg capsules for flexible dosing
– NSF Certified for Sport (third-party tested for potency & contaminants)info.nsf.org – Pharmaceutical-grade purity; free of gluten, soy, and major allergens – Trusted by healthcare practitioners (Thorne has rigorous quality audits)
~4.8★ (fewer reviews; premium brand trust) – Praised for quality, no additives
~$0.65 per 300 mg cap ($39 for 60 caps)
Yes. High quality and purity ideal for seniors concerned about contaminants. Lower-dose 100 mg option allows titration for those who want to “start low and go slow.” More expensive, but top-tier safety for long-term use.
^Notes:^ The inclusion of biotin in Jarrow’s ALA Sustain is to counteract a theoretical biotin deficiency when taking high-dose ALA. (ALA and biotin share similar transporters, and large doses of ALA could competitively inhibit biotin absorption
lpi.oregonstate.edu.) Most people likely get enough biotin from diet, but Jarrow adds 300 µg biotin per tablet as a safeguard.
From the above comparison, NOW Foods ALA stands out as an excellent value – it provides a high dosage per capsule, has verification of its content (in fact, NOW deliberately overfills by ~5% to ensure full potency through shelf life
nowfoods.com), and is very affordable per dose. NOW’s internal and external testing has revealed that some bargain brands sold online delivered as low as 50–70% of their label claim of ALA
nowfoods.com, whereas NOW consistently meets or exceeds its label dosage. This reliability, combined with widespread positive reviews, makes NOW a trusted choice for many consumers, including older adults who may be on multiple supplements and need confidence in label accuracy.
Comparatively, Doctor’s Best offers a similar price and formula to NOW – also a good value with clean ingredients. It’s likewise a solid choice, essentially interchangeable with NOW in terms of what a user gets (600 mg ALA, veg capsule, etc.). Those who prefer a sustained-release or lower dose may lean toward Jarrow Sustain (300 mg), especially if mild stomach upset has been an issue with other ALA supplements. Sustained-release can also be beneficial for maintaining steadier blood levels if one is taking ALA for glucose control throughout the day. The addition of biotin in Jarrow’s product is a thoughtful inclusion for high-dose users.
For individuals specifically seeking the most bioactive form, Life Extension’s Super R-Lipoic Acid provides the R-isomer which is the natural form the body uses. Users report it to be effective at a lower dose, and Life Extension is known for quality, but it does come at a higher cost per mg. Seniors who are very health-conscious and willing to invest may choose this for its potency – for instance, a senior with significant insulin resistance might try R-ALA to potentially get a stronger response with fewer capsules. It’s wise, however, to monitor blood sugar closely, as R-ALA might enhance insulin action more per milligram.
Finally, Thorne Research’s ALA is a premium supplement that prioritizes purity – the NSF certification means an independent body vetted its contents for accuracy and absence of contaminants. This can be particularly reassuring for older adults who are often more vulnerable to heavy metals or impurities. Thorne’s product is priciest, but you are paying for exceptional quality control. The availability of a 100 mg capsule from Thorne is useful for those who want to slowly ramp up dosage or who only need a small amount (for example, a senior adding ALA mainly for general antioxidant support rather than high-dose therapy).
References
Sarezky et al. (2016). Tolerability in the elderly population of high-dose alpha lipoic acid: a potential antioxidant therapy for the eye.Clinical Interventions in Aging, 11, 19-25. pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov
Cicero et al. (2020). Safety Evaluation of α-Lipoic Acid Supplementation: A Systematic Review and Meta-Analysis of Randomized Controlled Studies.Antioxidants, 9(10):1011. mdpi.commdpi.com
Ziegler et al. (2016). Oral treatment with alpha-lipoic acid improves diabetic polyneuropathy.Experimental and Clinical Endocrinology & Diabetes, 124(5): 295-301. mdpi.com
Shilo et al. (2022). Oral Alpha-Lipoic Acid in Type 2 Diabetes: A Dose–Response Meta-Analysis.J of Clinical Endocrinology & Metabolism, 107(11): e4731-e4742. pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.govpmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov
Liu et al. (2008). Mitochondrial nutrient α-lipoic acid alleviates age-associated mitochondrial and cognitive dysfunction.Neurochemical Research, 33(1): 194-203. accurateclinic.com
Salehi et al. (2019). Alpha-Lipoic Acid as a Dietary Supplement: Molecular Mechanisms and Therapeutic Potential.Biomolecules, 9(8): 356. pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov
Yi & Ma (2019). Efficacy and safety of alpha-lipoic acid supplementation for diabetic neuropathy.Journal of International Medical Research, 47(11): 5338-5354.
Linus Pauling Institute, Oregon State University – Micronutrient Information Center: Lipoic Acid (Alpha-Lipoic Acid). Updated 2018.lpi.oregonstate.edulpi.oregonstate.edu
NOW Foods – Quality testing report (2020): NOW Reports Testing on Brands of Alpha Lipoic Acid.nowfoods.comnowfoods.com
Evans & Goldfine (2021). α-Lipoic Acid (ALA) as a Supplement for Weight Loss: Results of a Meta-Analysis.Obesity Reviews, 22(7): e13266. pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.govpmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov
On a crisp October morning in 2017, I was on the cusp of retirement with leisure time to explored the Johnson Museum of Art at Cornell University, with my grandson Sam and his grandmother, Pam, my wife. We were attending a “Let’s Look Baby” event—a wonderful opportunity to introduce young children to art and the world around them. Sam was a toddler at the time, curious and full of energy, and I was eager to share this moment of discovery with him.
The day started on the museum’s upper level, where expansive windows offered breathtaking views of Ithaca, Cayuga Lake, and the surrounding hills. I lifted Sam so he could take it all in, his little hands gripping my arm as he gazed out at the vibrant autumn landscape while Pam captured the moment. The trees were in early stages of autumn—fiery reds, golden yellows, and rich browns—while Cayuga Lake shimmered in the distance, its deep blue surface reflecting the clear October sky. Sam pointed out toward the horizon; his eyes wide with curiosity. I told him about the lake, the hills, and the valley, trying to capture the beauty of it all in words simple enough for him to understand.
The architecture of the Johnson Museum itself framed the experience perfectly. Designed by I.M. Pei, the building’s clean, modern lines allowed the landscape to take center stage. Standing there with Sam, I felt a profound sense of gratitude—for the view, for the moment, and most of all, for the chance to share it with Sam.
Looking southwest over Cornell University and Ithaca, down the Cayuga Lake Valley. West Hill is to the right. Tompkins County, Finger Lakes Region of New York State
As part of the event, we explored the museum’s galleries, moving from one exhibit to the next. The “Let’s Look Baby” program was designed with young children in mind, blending art appreciation with sensory exploration. While Sam was too young to fully grasp the meaning behind the pieces, he was fascinated by the vibrant colors and the textures of the displays. At one point, we stopped by a ceramic vase. Its elegant curves caught Sam’s attention, and I used the moment to talk to him about shapes and forms, pointing out how it was similar to the roundness of a pumpkin or the arc of a rainbow.
Looking South / Southwest over Cornell University and Ithaca, down the Cayuga Lake Valley. Ithaca College is to the left on South Hill. Tompkins County, Finger Lakes Region of New York State
Throughout the visit, I found myself narrating the world to Sam, drawing connections between what we saw in the museum and the beauty of the natural world outside. It reminded me how much there is to learn and how much joy there is in teaching, even if the lessons are as simple as noticing the colors of leaves or the shape of a cloud.
Looking southwest over Cornell University’s Lib Hill and Ithaca, down the Cayuga Lake Valley. West Hill is to the right. Tompkins County, Finger Lakes Region of New York State
We returned to the large windows overlooking Ithaca more than once. From there, I pointed out the landmarks of the city—downtown Ithaca with its steeples, the rolling hills, and the peaceful expanse of Cayuga Lake stretching toward the horizon. Sam listened quietly, his small fingers pointing to whatever caught his attention. I wondered what he was thinking, but I knew this experience, even if he wouldn’t remember it fully, was shaping his view of the world.
Looking to the North / Northwest over Cornell University and Cayuga Heights to Cayuga Lake. West Hill is to the far left. Along the southern lake shore is Stewart Park, the lighthouse, New York State Marina and Cass Park. Tompkins County, Finger Lakes Region of New York State
The day wasn’t just about what we saw—it was about the connection we shared. Holding Sam in my arms, I felt the simple, deep joy of being present in the moment. This was a chance to see the world through his eyes, to notice the details I might otherwise overlook, and to marvel at the way something as simple as a vase or a view could spark his curiosity.
Looking to the North / Northwest over Cornell University and Cayuga Heights to Cayuga Lake. West Hill is to the far left. Along the southern lake shore is Stewart Park, the lighthouse, New York State Marina and Cass Park. Tompkins County, Finger Lakes Region of New York State
As the October sun swept over the landscape, casting warm golden light, we left the museum. Sam was getting sleepy, his little head resting on my shoulder Pam and I shared a quiet contentment. That day at the Johnson Museum is a memory to treasure, a reminder of the beauty in both art and the natural world, and most importantly, the joy of sharing it with someone you love.
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Copyright 2025 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
The trails of Taughannock Falls State Park always hold surprises, and on that July day, they did not disappoint. As I paused to take in the tranquility of the woods, my gaze fell upon a plant whose graceful arch and clusters of berries demanded attention. Its broad, lance-shaped leaves alternated along the stem, framing the stem’s terminal cluster of small green berries. Recognizing the plant as Maianthemum racemosum, commonly known as False Solomon’s Seal, I took a moment to admire its understated elegance.
False Solomon’s Seal, scientific name Maianthemum racemosum, is common in the Finger Lakes Region. I found this specimen during a walk with the grandchildren in a local fen among the post-glacial terrain of the Finger Lakes Region. Eames Memorial Natural Area, Cornell Botanic Gardens, Town of Dryden, Tompkins County, Finger Lakes Region, New York State
Characteristics of the Plant
False Solomon’s Seal is a perennial herbaceous plant belonging to the asparagus family (Asparagaceae). It can grow up to three feet tall, its arching stems giving it a unique and recognizable silhouette. The leaves are broad and lance-shaped, with prominent veins running their length, arranged alternately along the stem. At the tip of each stem is a cluster of tiny, spherical green berries, which later in the season ripen to a speckled reddish hue. The plant blooms in late spring to early summer, producing delicate, star-shaped white flowers before transitioning to its fruiting phase.
Found throughout much of North America, Maianthemum racemosum thrives in moist, shaded woodlands, making the lush forests of Taughannock Falls State Park an ideal home. Its ability to grow in the dappled light beneath the forest canopy highlights its adaptability to varying light conditions.
Etymology of the Name
The genus name, Maianthemum, comes from the Greek words “mai” (May) and “anthemon” (flower), reflecting the plant’s tendency to bloom in late spring or early summer. The species name, racemosum, refers to the plant’s inflorescence, which forms a raceme—a cluster of flowers or berries along a single stem. Its common name, False Solomon’s Seal, derives from its superficial resemblance to Solomon’s Seal (Polygonatum spp.), though the latter has bell-shaped flowers hanging beneath its stems, in contrast to the terminal clusters of Maianthemum racemosum.
History and Folklore
False Solomon’s Seal has long been valued for its medicinal and culinary uses by Indigenous peoples and early settlers. The young shoots were harvested and cooked as a vegetable, while the ripe berries were sometimes used in jellies or preserves, though their slightly bitter flavor limited their appeal. Medicinally, teas made from the roots and leaves were used to treat a variety of ailments, including digestive issues, coughs, and sore throats. The roots were also applied as poultices for cuts and bruises, reflecting the deep understanding of natural remedies held by those who lived in harmony with the land.
The plant’s name has sparked legends. While the “false” in its name denotes its distinction from Solomon’s Seal, some folklore suggests that the plant was used to counterfeit the medicinal properties of its namesake. Others believe that its graceful arch and persistent berries symbolize resilience and adaptability, qualities often attributed to those who lived in its native habitats.
Uses and Ecological Role
Although not widely cultivated, Maianthemum racemosum is a valuable plant in its native ecosystems. Its flowers provide nectar for pollinators such as bees and butterflies, while the berries are a food source for birds and small mammals. Its rhizomatous roots also play a role in stabilizing soil in forested environments, preventing erosion and supporting the health of the woodland floor.
For those contemplating harvesting these plants be advised that collection of plants from New York State Parks is prohibited to protect natural resources and maintain ecological balance. According to the New York State Office of Parks, Recreation and Historic Preservation (OPRHP) regulations, “No person shall… remove… any… plant life” within state parks without proper authorization. Therefore, collecting plants in state parks without explicit permission is not allowed. If you have a specific research or educational purpose, you may contact the park administration to inquire about obtaining the necessary permits. However, for casual visitors, it’s best to enjoy the flora from a distance. False Solomon Seal ecological contributions are significant. In addition to its pollinator support and soil stabilization, the plant’s presence is an indicator of a healthy woodland ecosystem.
A Moment of Reflection
As I rose from my crouched position, having taken in the details of Maianthemum racemosum, I felt a quiet gratitude for the opportunity to encounter such a plant. False Solomon’s Seal, with its graceful leaves and unassuming berries, serves as a reminder of the interconnectedness of life in the forest. Its role in the ecosystem, its history with humans, and its understated beauty all speak to the richness of the natural world.
Walking onward, I carried with me a sense of awe for the intricate web of life that thrives in the woods. The False Solomon’s Seal, standing quietly among the ferns and leaf litter, seemed to embody the resilience and balance of the forest—a gentle presence in a vibrant community.
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As I wander through our yard, my gaze is irresistibly drawn to a mesmerizing carpet of white blossoms, illuminated by the dappled sunlight filtering through the graceful boughs of our hemlocks. Each bloom, delicate and intricately ruffled, resembles a cluster of tiny, pure clouds resting gently atop a vibrant sea of green. These are Anemone nemorosa, affectionately known as wood anemone or windflower. This particular patch, adorned with a double-flowered variety, owes its presence to the thoughtful hands of our parents, who landscaped the property during the 1970s and 1980s. Their vision continues to bloom each spring, as the cascading petals exude an understated elegance that feels both luxurious and unpretentious—a living legacy woven into the fabric of this place we call home.
The wood anemone is a perennial plant, its rhizomatous growth weaving an intricate tapestry under the dappled sunlight of the forest floor. Each flower arises on its slender stem, surrounded by finely divided trifoliate leaves, their fresh green hue amplifying the purity of the blossoms. The flowers themselves, with their many layers of petal-like sepals, are a marvel of nature’s design, combining elegance and resilience.
The scientific name, Anemone nemorosa, carries echoes of ancient understanding. The genus name Anemone originates from the Greek word ánemos, meaning “wind.” According to classical mythology, these flowers were said to spring forth from the tears of the goddess Venus as she mourned the death of Adonis. The appellation of “windflower” ties to this myth, suggesting that the blooms open only at the bidding of the wind. The species name nemorosa comes from the Latin nemorosus, meaning “of a wooded grove,” aptly describing its preferred habitat.
There is a certain humility in the way the wood anemone thrives—spreading slowly but persistently through deciduous woodlands, forming colonies that greet the spring with their pristine blooms. While the double-flowered variety lacks the simplicity of the single-layered wild form, it retains all the grace that has inspired poets and naturalists alike. It is as if each bloom whispers its secrets to the passing breeze, stories of centuries gone by when druids and herbalists revered the plant as a symbol of protection and healing.
Culturally, the wood anemone has deep roots. In folklore, it was believed to bring luck to those who carried it, while others regarded it as a harbinger of illness if picked prematurely. The flowers were said to close tightly in response to rain, a trait lending them an air of sentience as they interact with their environment.
In medieval herbalism, the plant was thought to possess medicinal properties, though its potent compounds also rendered it toxic if mishandled. It was used cautiously to treat ailments such as rheumatism and respiratory issues. Modern understanding has largely relegated these medicinal uses to history, but the plant’s ability to captivate the senses remains undiminished.
Looking at this verdant patch before me, I am reminded of the transient beauty of spring. Anemone nemorosa emerges briefly, a fleeting celebration of life before retreating into its quiet dormancy beneath the soil. It thrives in the undisturbed spaces of the world, reminding us of the importance of preserving the ecosystems that allow such delicate wonders to flourish.
Today, as the soft May sunlight streams through the trees, illuminating each ruffled blossom, I am filled with gratitude for the enduring gift left by our parents, who lovingly planted these flowers decades ago. The wood anemone, whether viewed as a mythological symbol, a natural marvel, or a fleeting delight, offers a gentle reminder to cherish the beauty that surrounds us. Its ephemeral blooms, returning each spring, stand as a testament to nature’s quiet yet profound artistry—a living masterpiece and a poignant connection to the legacy of those who shaped this cherished landscape here in Ithaca, New York.
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The Auburn St. Patrick’s Day Parade showcased vibrant traditions through bagpipers, dancers, and community spirit, celebrating Irish heritage and unity in a poignant, lively procession.
The streets of Auburn, New York, were alive with the spirit of St. Patrick’s Day. A crisp breeze carried the sound of bagpipes through the neighborhood, stirring both nostalgia and excitement. I stood on the curb, camera in hand, ready to capture the essence of what is proudly proclaimed as “New York’s Shortest St. Patrick’s Day Parade.”
Leading the procession was a lone bagpiper, his presence commanding attention. Clad in a traditional kilt, he marched with precision, his fingers skillfully pressing the chanter, producing the unmistakable droning melody. The contrast of his black uniform against the white socks and flashes of green was striking. His gaze was fixed forward, unwavering, as he walked past modest houses adorned with shamrocks and green decorations. A woman standing nearby lifted her phone to capture the moment, mirroring my own effort to preserve the memory.
Just behind him, a group of proud marchers advanced, their sashes boldly displaying the colors of the Irish flag. Some leaned on walking sticks, a testament to age and tradition converging on this special day. They carried a banner that read: “New York’s Shortest St. Patrick’s Day Parade – Auburn – Ancient Order of Hibernians.” The crowd lining the sidewalks clapped and cheered as the parade, though brief, filled the street with a warmth that defied the cool March air.
The energy of the parade was contagious. A group of Irish dancers followed, their synchronized steps punctuated by the rhythmic clap of their hard shoes on pavement. The young girls, dressed in intricately designed Celtic-inspired outfits, smiled through the motions, their faces reflecting both discipline and joy. Alongside them, women in matching athletic gear clapped along, encouraging the younger dancers while swaying to the lively music.
Green was everywhere—on scarves, hats, jackets, and even the leggings of a young girl who skipped along with excitement. Onlookers wore festive attire, their laughter and conversations blending into the celebratory atmosphere. Irish pride radiated from the participants and the community that gathered to watch, reinforcing the deep cultural roots that have anchored this parade in tradition.
For all its brevity, the Auburn St. Patrick’s Day Parade carried a weight of significance. It was not about grand floats or large crowds; it was about honoring heritage, embracing camaraderie, and keeping alive a tradition that linked the past with the present. As the final marchers passed and the echoes of the bagpipes faded, I took a final look through my camera lens. I had captured moments of pride, joy, and unity—a testament to the enduring legacy of the Irish spirit in this small but vibrant celebration.
For best experience view video in YouTube
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Engines roar as planes await departure, soaring into vibrant sunsets. The sky transforms with colors, revealing a reflective world as night gradually takes over.
Bright was the sky as the engines awoke with a rumble of thunder, Rolling the tarmac in echoes of journeys yet destined for wonder. Cloudbanks assembled in towering billows of silver and shadow, Lifting their faces to heaven, where sunlight had painted them golden.
Far on the edge of the runway, the steel-winged vessels lay waiting, Southwest and Delta, their banners aloft in the warm evening fading. Emerald-liveried Aer Lingus, a voyager bound to the island, Glided in grace on the threshold of travel through luminous currents.
Wheels left the earth with a whisper, a moment of weightless suspension, Gravity yielding to flight as the city unrolled far beneath us. Golden horizons drew rivers of fire through infinite heavens, Burning the clouds into embers that drifted in luminous torrents.
Upward we soared, where the world lay in pools of cerulean mirror, Lakes interwoven like jewels, reflections of sunfire descending. Billows of vapor, like castles of foam on the rim of creation, Tumbled and rolled into canyons of mist in the twilight’s dominion.
Flame on the wings, where the heavens ignited in hues of vermilion, Rays from the sun, like a god’s final whisper, embracing the skyline. Shadows arose in their silence, dissolving the last glow of daytime, Stars in their vigil awakened as night claimed the realm of the heavens.
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Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
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