Taughannock Falls, a majestic 215-foot waterfall, showcases nature’s beauty and power, intertwining geological history with vibrant ecosystems in New York.
Introduction Nestled in the heart of the Finger Lakes region of New York, Taughannock Falls stands as a testament to the delicate balance of power and beauty in nature. This iconic waterfall plunges 215 feet—one of the tallest single-drop waterfalls east of the Rocky Mountains—into a gorge whose story is written in stone. The park surrounding this natural wonder offers a symphony of sights, from towering cliffs to lush greenery, inviting visitors to explore its ancient secrets and vibrant life.
View of taughannock Falls from the South Rim Trail. Taughannock Falls New York State Park, Trumansburg, Tompkins County, Finger Lakes Region
A Story Written in Stone The rocks of Taughannock Falls tell a story that stretches back 380 million years to the Devonian Period, a time when the region was submerged beneath a shallow inland sea. Layer upon layer of shale, sandstone, and limestone formed as sediment settled to the ocean floor, preserving the fossils of marine life that once thrived here. These rocks have endured the passage of eons, but the gorge itself is a far more recent creation.
Limestone Steps on the South Rim Trail descend to the gorge floor.
It was the retreat of the mighty Laurentide Ice Sheet, approximately 10,000 years ago, that set the stage for Taughannock’s grandeur. As glaciers melted, torrents of water carved the U-shaped valleys that now cradle the Finger Lakes. Taughannock Creek, a tributary of Cayuga Lake, began its work, etching its path through ancient rock, sculpting the gorge we see today. In just 10,000 years—a fleeting moment in geological time—the relentless force of water carved its way 3/4 of a mile upstream, creating the awe-inspiring chasm and waterfall that continue to evolve even now.
Taughannock Creek carved this landscape over thousands of years.
The Gorge’s Living Tapestry Beyond its geological wonders, Taughannock Falls State Park bursts with life. Along the North and South Rim Trails, Eastern Hemlocks (Tsuga canadensis) stand tall, their evergreen branches weaving shadows that dance across stone stairways and forest floors. These silent sentinels are habitats for myriad creatures and protectors of the delicate ecosystem.
Wildflowers were planted by park staff at the Falls Overlook. The bright yellow of Black-eyed Susans (Rudbeckia hirta) and the vibrant purple of Coneflowers (Echinacea purpurea) attract bees and butterflies, their nectar fueling the intricate web of life that thrives here. Along the trail, on the forest floor, mosses and ferns cling to rocks, softening the edges of the gorge with their verdant touch.
Cone FlowersCone Flowers gone to seedFrom a walk around Taughannock Falls State Park “Rim Trails” October 22nd, 2024. Trumansburg, Tompkins County, Finger Lakes Region, New York State.
The Fall’s Eternal Dance At the heart of the park is the waterfall itself, its roar both a hymn and a whisper of time’s passage. The view from the North Rim Trail reveals the waterfall framed by steep cliffs, their striations like pages in a book written by water, wind, and time. The plunge pool below, shimmering in sunlight, seems almost sacred—a place where the forces of nature meet in harmony.
Viewed from the North Rim Trail on a summer morning. Taughannock Falls New York State Park, Trumansburg, Tompkins County, Finger Lakes Region
Even as we marvel at its beauty, the falls are a reminder of the earth’s constant transformation. Each drop of water that cascades down the cliff face carries away tiny fragments of rock, continuing the slow, deliberate work of reshaping the land. What we witness today is but one moment in an ongoing process—a fleeting glimpse of a masterpiece in progress.
A Place of Wonder To stand at the edge of Taughannock Falls is to feel both small and connected. The cliffs, formed over hundreds of millions of years, whisper of ancient seas and forgotten worlds. The gorge, carved in the blink of an eye by geological standards, speaks to the power of water and time. And the vibrant life that fills the park reminds us of nature’s resilience and beauty.
As the sun filters through the trees, illuminating the mist that rises from the falls, it’s easy to believe that this place holds magic. Perhaps it’s in the way the water sparkles like diamonds in the sunlight or the way the breeze carries the scent of pine and earth. Or maybe it’s in the knowledge that here, in this park, we are witnesses to a story billions of years in the making.
Conclusion Taughannock Falls State Park is a place of wonder where geology, ecology, and history converge. It invites us to reflect on the immense forces that shape our world and to cherish the fleeting beauty of each moment. Whether you come to marvel at the towering waterfall, walk among the hemlocks, or simply stand in awe of the gorge, Taughannock Falls leaves an indelible mark on the heart—a reminder of nature’s power, resilience, and enduring grace.
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Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
Beneath the burdened boughs, where birches bend, And rivers rush through rocks that time has torn, The shadowed cliffs, their crowns with pine trees pinned, Stand sentinel, proud guardians of the morn.
Through chasms carved by countless, ceaseless years, The water whispers tales of days gone by; Its misty breath, a shroud for winter’s tears, A silver veil beneath the leaden sky.
Each trickling stream sings sonnets to the stone, And echoes dance through chambers cold and vast; Where silence dwells, a realm of moss and bone, As sunlight lingers, fleeting, yet steadfast.
The waterfall, a weeping wall of light, Cascades its crystal chords with thund’rous grace; An argent arc, a marvel for the sight, That draws all souls into its soft embrace.
The river curls, through curving cliffs confined, Its molten silver sculpts the winter’s skin; While gnarled roots from ancient oaks entwined Grip granite walls where life dares to begin.
Upon the path, where earth and echoes meet, The fragile frost dissolves with fleeting flame; Beneath bare limbs, our footsteps firm and sweet, Trace tales that timeless, towering stones proclaim.
The afternoon, aglow with golden hue, Finds stillness stitched in shadows soft and deep; For here, in late-day’s light and lucid view, The earth exhales her secrets slow to sleep.
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Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
The Finger Lakes region, renowned for its natural beauty and changing seasons, put on a stunning performance on October 24, 2024. From the vibrant reds of a Japanese maple (Acer palmatum) to the golden hues of oak leaves (Quercus spp.), this photographic journey through our home captures the essence of autumn in upstate New York.
A Panoramic Tapestry
In the first photograph, the landscape unfolds like a watercolor painting. Hills dressed in fiery oranges and golds stretch across the horizon, with hints of evergreen pines (Pinus spp.) providing contrast. The sky, dotted with wispy clouds, serves as a serene backdrop, while the foreground frames the scene with bare tree limbs—a reminder that autumn is both a celebration of life and a prelude to winter’s dormancy. This image evokes a sense of timelessness, connecting us to the rolling hills that have witnessed countless seasons of change.
View from our porch across Ithaca to East Hill, Cornell University, Ithaca Falls on an October 2024 afternoon. Tompkins County, Finger Lakes Region, New York State
Japanese Maple: A Crimson Jewel
The next series of images focuses on the Japanese maple (Acer palmatum), a tree whose vibrant red foliage becomes a magnet for admiration in autumn. One close-up reveals delicate leaves, their intricate lobes illuminated by the afternoon sun. The interplay of light and shadow transforms each leaf into a tiny stained-glass window. Another photograph showcases the tree in its entirety, a commanding presence against the verdant lawn. It is a poignant reminder of nature’s artistry, where every branch and leaf contributes to the symphony of color.
Firebush and Japanese Maple in autumn colorsJapanese maple leaves and samara in autumn colors. From our yard October 2024Japanese maple leaves and samara in autumn colors. From our yard October 2024
Home Amid the Foliage
Nestled within this autumnal palette is our home, a mid-century structure that seems almost inseparable from its surroundings. The expansive lawn, a lush carpet of green, contrasts with the fiery colors of nearby oak (Quercus spp.) and maple trees (Acer spp.). In one angle, the house appears almost tucked away, sheltered by Eastern Hemlock (Tsuga canadensis) and junipers (Juniperus spp.) that add a sense of permanence to the scene. This juxtaposition of human habitation and natural splendor underscores how our lives are intertwined with the land we call home.
Our oak trees in autumn colors
Oak Leaves: A Study in Texture
A close-up of oak leaves (Quercus spp.) showcases their rugged beauty, with jagged edges and deep veins that seem etched by time itself. Their colors—ranging from deep amber to burnished copper—are a testament to the richness of autumn’s palette. These leaves, clinging tenaciously to their branches, remind us of resilience and the fleeting beauty of the season.
Our oak tree in autumn colors. Helmock backdrop
Hydrangeas in Transition
The hydrangea bushes (Hydrangea paniculata) by the house present a softer side of autumn. Their once-vivid blooms have faded to pastel pinks and creams, lending an air of nostalgia. These flowers, in their gentle decline, mirror the transition of the season, where vibrancy gives way to a quieter beauty. The hydrangea blooms seem to whisper the story of the summer past, offering a delicate contrast to the bolder hues of the surrounding trees.
Our oak tree in autumn colors. Pam’s hydrangia.
The Resilient Shrubs
Creeping Juniper (Juniperus horizontalis), here in the foreground, provides a grounding element in the composition, with a steadfast green the reminder of life persisting even as deciduous leaves fall. The dense shrubbery near the house creates a protective cocoon, framing the building with a sense of natural security. The dynamic interplay between these evergreens and the changing foliage of maples and oaks reflects the layered complexity of this landscape.
Reflections on an Afternoon
As I wandered through these scenes with camera in hand, I was struck by the interplay of light, color, and texture. Each photograph captures a fleeting moment, a slice of a season that, despite its predictability, never fails to surprise and inspire. Autumn in the Finger Lakes is a time of reflection, a reminder to pause and appreciate the world around us.
These images, taken on a single afternoon, tell a story of a landscape alive with color and character. From the steadfast junipers to the delicate hydrangea blooms, from the fiery maples to the enduring oaks, they invite us to celebrate not just the beauty of nature but also our place within it—a home nestled among trees that have stood for decades, witnessing the rhythms of the earth.
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Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
Under a strong early spring desert sun I turned from Arcosanti Road, a ribbon of asphalt threading through the arid Arizona landscape. Ahead, the architectural vision of Paolo Soleri emerged like an oasis of ideas etched into the barren desert. My mind drifted back to the 1970s, to the University of Arizona lecture hall where Soleri, full of vigor, had introduced us to his concept of “Arcology.” That hour left an indelible mark—a vision of dense human habitation harmonizing with the environment, reducing our ecological footprint toward a sustainable whole.
Arcosanti detail
That memory had stayed with me, a beacon of idealism. Over the years, Soleri’s Arcosanti had grown, not with the speed of cities, but with the deliberate rhythm of an organic organism. Today, after decades of curiosity and connection, I found myself at its gates.
Click any photograph to visit my “Arizona” online gallery.
Pam checking her equipment before a Summer 2008 visit
The first steps into Arcosanti struck me with a sense of balance. A sign, simple yet bold, announced the name: ARCOSANTI. It was embedded into a wooden facade, juxtaposed with the rugged modernity of concrete forms. Below, soft plumes of desert grass swayed, echoing the harmony Soleri envisioned—a human footprint gently integrated into the natural world. The sunlit entrance spoke of the potential for design to soothe rather than overpower.
Entrance and a Tower of the Crafts III building
Inside, the bold lines and unique details captivated me. In one space, I craned my neck to admire a ceiling adorned with terracotta-colored circular forms, each embedded in angular panels radiating like the sun’s rays. These circular elements acted as focal points, their symmetry grounding the expansive, textured design. The play of light and shadow across the surface was mesmerizing, a reminder of Soleri’s mastery in turning the utilitarian into the poetic.
Ceramics Apse Sand Cast Panels I
Each space in Arcosanti seemed crafted to evoke reflection. A splash of ochre-red pigment adorned another portion of the ceiling, forming a half-circle bordered by precise ridges. It was more than architectural detail—it was an abstract sun, warm and full of energy, radiating from its place above. The deliberate asymmetry, the interplay of form and texture, seemed to breathe with the desert itself.
Ceramics Apse Sand Cast Panels II
Ceramics Apse Sand Cast Panels III
Walking further, I encountered an outdoor arch framing a bell, its heavy bronze form suspended against a panel of sky-blue. The simplicity was striking: a geometric dialogue between the natural and the constructed, a kind of meditative pause within the bustle of ideas. I lingered, allowing my thoughts to settle as the bell swayed gently in the wind.
Bell and Panel from the Colly Soleri Amphitheater
Bell Casting was and continues to be a major source of income.
Each turn at Arcosanti revealed yet another viewpoint, another carefully composed alignment of architecture and nature. The sweeping views of the Arizona desert, framed by bold circular cutouts, were a reminder of our smallness in the grand scheme of things. The cypress trees standing tall against the rugged cliffs offered a contrast of textures—natural and man-made—that felt uniquely Solerian. His vision was alive in every corner: the terraces, the staircases, the unassuming balance between the earth’s rawness and humanity’s imagination.
View from the East Housing complex to the East Across Arcosanti
As I stood gazing through one of the monumental circular frames at the horizon, I reflected on how Soleri’s ideas, abstract in the present, are also tangible, concrete, and inspiring—literally and figuratively. Despite his passing, the project he began decades ago continues to evolve, a living experiment in how we might reimagine our relationship with the planet.
View to the South with Cypress Trees from a Portal of the Crafts III Building
The journey to Arcosanti is a physical one and a rediscovery of ideals. Soleri’s Arcology—a fusion of architecture and ecology—reminded me of our potential to create something not only functional but also deeply meaningful. Here, amidst the Arizona desert, was proof of a life’s work that still speaks to humanity’s potential for coexistence and creativity.
As I prepared to leave, the weight of Soleri’s vision stayed with me, much like that lecture hall memory from all those years ago. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the concrete forms. Arcosanti stood resolute, a tribute to one man’s dream and a reminder to all of us: change is not instantaneous, but with patience, vision, and humanity, it is possible.
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Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
The Cayuga Waterfront Trail beautifully showcases autumn’s colors, history, and ecological significance through its landscapes and trees like Sugar Maples.
Where Fall Creek Meets Cayuga Lake Here, where Fall Creek flows gently into Cayuga Lake, the merging waters reflect the season’s colors like a painter’s palette. Across the shimmering surface, Renwick Woods of Stewart Park stands as a quiet sanctuary of mixed hardwoods and wetlands. The reflections capture our trees together with the essence of autumn’s stillness.
Dominating the shoreline, you can spot Silver Maple (Acer saccharinum) and Cottonwood (Populus deltoides), trees that thrive in damp soils. Silver Maples, with their elegant, deeply lobed leaves, are perfectly suited for this riparian environment. The cottonwood, recognizable by its broad, triangular leaves, plays a vital role in stabilizing streambanks.
Quick Fact: Cottonwoods are among the fastest-growing trees in North America, capable of sprouting leaves within weeks of being washed ashore as driftwood.
Steamboat Landing: A Glimpse of History The wooden docks at Steamboat Landing, now home to the bustling Ithaca Farmer’s Market, speak of bygone eras when steamboats ferried goods and people across Cayuga Lake. Today, as golden foliage cloaks the hills in the distance, this spot remains an anchor for community and connection.
A meeting place for friends and conversation
Foregrounded in the photos are plants like Grape Vine (Vitis spp.), with their sprawling, hardy stems turning yellow as temperatures drop. Grapevines, both wild and cultivated, thrive along the lakeshore and remind us of their agricultural importance in the Finger Lakes.
Also visible are some shrubs of Virginia Creeper (Parthenocissus quinquefolia) turning crimson, their vibrant hues climbing posts and fences as they embrace autumn’s spotlight.
Did You Know? Steamboat Landing was part of Ithaca’s rich lake commerce history during the 19th and early 20th centuries, connecting travelers to destinations far and wide.
The Crimson Canopy: Japanese Maple This photo highlights a stunning Japanese Maple (Acer palmatum), its feathery, scarlet foliage cascading delicately in front of the pavilion. Native to East Asia, Japanese Maples have found a beloved place in landscapes across the world for their graceful form and brilliant seasonal displays.
Alongside its boughs, weathered benches and stone pathways invite rest and reflection — a beautiful marriage of human craftsmanship and nature’s artistry.
Fun Fact: Japanese Maples are often pruned meticulously in Japanese gardens to emphasize their architectural shape, turning them into living sculptures.
The Treman Park Lake Loop: Autumn’s Golden Finale Our journey concludes with this sweeping landscape from the Treman Park Lake Loop. The towering Sugar Maples (Acer saccharum) dominate the view, their crowns now a rich, golden orange — a signature of northeastern forests. Known as the tree that gives us maple syrup, Sugar Maples are quintessential symbols of autumn in the Finger Lakes.
To the right, bare branches of earlier-shedding trees stand in contrast, whispering the arrival of winter. The sky above, painted with soft clouds, completes the scene of a serene seasonal transition.
Interesting Note: Sugar Maples can live for over 300 years, their wood prized for furniture and instruments, and their sap a sweet gift of the forest.
Closing Thoughts From the quiet confluence of Fall Creek and Cayuga Lake to the historic docks of Steamboat Landing and the golden maples of Treman Park, autumn on the Cayuga Waterfront Trail is a symphony of color, history, and ecological wonder. Whether you’re strolling, photographing, or simply pausing to take it all in, these moments capture both the grandeur and subtlety of the season.
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Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
The air was soddenly warm that Thanksgiving morning in 2023, carrying a foreboding of climate change. Standing on the grounds of Ithaca High School, I couldn’t help but feel the incongruity of the unseasonable warmth. The annual “Turkey Trot” was unfolding around me, an event filled with cheerful camaraderie, yet beneath the surface of this tradition, the world itself seemed to whisper a warning. My attention drifted from the runners to the ground, where fallen leaves painted a story that echoed this uneasy tension.
The ginkgo leaves, their vibrant golden hues glowing against the damp grass, seemed almost out of place in the humid air. Ginkgos are ancient survivors, trees that have witnessed millennia of change, yet even they now face a future shaped by the rapid pace of human disruption. Their fan-like shapes, so delicate and timeless, carried an irony—symbols of endurance scattered on a landscape where the seasons no longer held the predictability they once did. That morning, their luminous beauty felt like a quiet plea, a reminder of nature’s fragility in the face of human indifference.
As a spectator of the 2023 “Turkey Trot” on Thanksgiving Day I found these Ginko and Sycamore leaves at Ithaca High School, Ithaca, Tompkins County New York. Finger Lakes Region
Among them, the sycamore leaves lay darker and more rugged, their broader forms curled and weathered by the elements. The sycamore is a resilient tree, often thriving in difficult conditions, yet its leaves bore a somber note against the warmth of the day. Together, the ginkgo and sycamore leaves formed a poignant tableau—a meeting of strength and delicacy, both subject to the same unrelenting forces of change. As I stood there, the leaves seemed to whisper their own story, a testament to survival amidst an increasingly uncertain world.
Ginko Leaves and Honey Locust Pods, Stewart Park on a December 2023 afternoon
The Turkey Trot unfolded with its usual energy—children dashed ahead with gleeful abandon, adults paced themselves in cheerful determination, and older participants moved with quiet dignity. The warmth seemed to amplify the human vibrancy of the event, yet it also cast a shadow of dissonance. This race, this celebration of resilience and community, was happening against the backdrop of a world in flux. The warmth of the morning was a reminder that even cherished traditions like this might one day feel the strain of climate shifts.
I crouched to capture the leaves in a photograph, drawn by their interplay of color and form. The ginkgo leaves glimmered like gold coins scattered across the ground, while the sycamore leaves added a depth and weight that anchored the scene. Together, they reminded me of the cyclical nature of life, the beauty and decay that coexist within the same space. Yet this year, the warmth in the air added an unsettling layer to the story. These leaves, so central to the rhythm of seasons, were now falling in a world where those rhythms seemed increasingly disrupted.
Bare Ginko tree with leaf pattern, Stewart Park on a December afternoon 2023
As the sunlight broke through the clouds, it illuminated the edges of the ginkgo leaves, making them shimmer with an almost otherworldly light. I lingered in that moment, feeling the weight of its quiet truth: life is fleeting, but its beauty endures in the connections we foster and the memories we hold. That Thanksgiving, the humid warmth of the air reminded me that we live in a time of profound change, yet even amid uncertainty, there is still wonder to be found beneath our feet. It is a wonder worth preserving.
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The Cornell Botanical Gardens blend ecological education and African American history through diverse plant life, creating a vibrant, engaging experience.
As Pam and I wander near the Nevin Welcome Center at the Cornell Botanical Gardens on a bright, early autumn day, my eye catches on a cluster of verdant, broad-leaved foliage. The sunlight filters through the leaves, casting a luminous green glow, while hints of red and burgundy add warmth to the scene. The plants here have a presence, a boldness that draws me in, and as I approach, I notice an array of information signs, thoughtfully placed to explain the rich tapestry of flora surrounding me.
The first sign I encounter is titled “A Ditch That Cleanses Water.” It immediately piques my curiosity. In just a few sentences, it describes how this landscape is designed to capture and cleanse stormwater runoff, turning what might otherwise be a simple drainage area into a living, breathing ecosystem. Instead of funneling water into a standard drainpipe, a filter strip and bioswale—a kind of vegetative trench—work in tandem to trap silt and pollutants. There’s a delicate choreography happening here, as water flows from the parking lot into river stone beds, slowing down, and then into the plant-lined filter strip, which encourages suspended particles to settle out.
The bioswale itself is lush and resilient, filled with hardy, native plants that thrive in both wet and dry conditions. The sign explains that these plants are carefully chosen varieties such as Switchgrass and flowering perennials—sneezeweed and Joe Pye weed among them—that provide color through the seasons. Small trees like winterberry and American hornbeam add height and structure, giving this ecological marvel both function and form. I’m struck by how much thought has gone into something as mundane as stormwater runoff, transforming it into a process that supports the environment but also creates a pleasing view. Here, the bioswale captures the stormwater, filters it, and releases it cleaner than before, a quiet miracle of natural engineering.
Moving on, I find another sign titled “Seeds of Survival and Celebration: Plants and the Black Experience.” This sign feels more intimate, as it dives into the deep history of plants brought from West Africa during the transatlantic slave trade. I’m reminded that gardens can be repositories of history, culture, and resilience. Plants like watermelon, okra, and black-eyed peas were brought by enslaved Africans who tended them near their quarters, ensuring a piece of home remained with them, even under unimaginable conditions. These plants became the foundation of African American culinary traditions, and I can almost taste the sweet potatoes and other foods that have become part of our shared heritage. The sign even nods to holistic healing herbs like elderberry, which were used to promote health and well-being, demonstrating how enslaved Africans maintained aspects of their culture through the plants they grew.
As I reflect on the stories woven into these signs, I find myself surrounded by a stunning mix of bold, leafy plants in vibrant greens, reds, and yellows—an almost tropical display that stands defiant against the approaching cold season. Banana leaves, elephant ears, and coleus fill the garden beds, their leaves large, showy, and unabashedly lush. The scene feels alive, a burst of tropical splendor amid the Finger Lakes. These aren’t plants native to upstate New York, yet they’ve been incorporated here with care and skill, bringing a hint of warmth as the days grow shorter. Their wide, smooth surfaces reflect the sunlight, catching my eye with every slight breeze, and they create an atmosphere that is both exotic and inviting.
This day, the Cornell Botanical Gardens have offered Pam and I beauty along with education. The signage has guided us through ecological engineering, the resilience of African American foodways, and the artistry of landscape design, blending these narratives into the landscape itself. Each sign, each plant, tells a story, and as I walk away, I carry these tales with me, reminded that gardens are not merely for looking—they are for learning, for remembering, and for celebrating the resilience of life in all its forms.
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Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
As I wander the paths of the Cornell Botanical Gardens near the Nevin Welcome Center, a towering sculpture arrests my attention, rising well over ten feet into the bright autumn sky. At first glance, it’s unmistakable—a pair of massive allium blooms crafted from steel and glass, an artistic tribute to the very flowers my wife, Pam, has come to love. This creation, titled Double Allium, is the work of British artist Jenny Pickford, completed in 2019. Made of robust steel and translucent purple glass, it stands proudly among the greenery, capturing both the delicacy and boldness of allium flowers.
A few summers ago Pam planted several allium in sunny locations, which exploded into violet firework-like blooms, each sphere teeming with tiny star-shaped flowers that clustered together into one massive, round bloom. When the alliums blossomed, they attracted a small frenzy of bees, and it became a shared delight for us to watch our garden transform into a pollinator’s paradise. Pam was captivated by the plants’ structure and beauty, as well as their ecological role in supporting bees—a small, vibrant ecosystem within our yard. Standing before Double Allium, I’m reminded of those summer days and the quiet joy we both found in observing our garden.
Bees and Allium in our summer garden, 2024
The scientific name for alliums, Allium giganteum (for the larger ornamental varieties), links them to a vast genus that includes onions, garlic, and leeks. These plants have been cultivated and revered by humans for thousands of years, not only for their culinary value but also for their symbolism in various cultures. In ancient Egypt, alliums were believed to represent eternity; their spherical form and concentric layers were thought to mirror the eternal nature of life. Even today, they bring a sense of timelessness to gardens worldwide, their tall stalks and spherical blooms defying gravity, standing tall against the changing seasons.
As I study Pickford’s sculpture, I’m struck by how faithfully it captures this essence of alliums—strength paired with grace, structure married to elegance. The steel stems curve gently yet rise powerfully from the ground, while the glass petals shimmer in the light, giving an almost ethereal quality to the blooms. Pickford, born in 1969, is known for her botanical-inspired sculptures that explore the intersection of nature and art. With Double Allium, she’s created a piece that feels alive, as if the blooms might sway in the wind or burst into real flowers at any moment.
For Pam and me, this sculpture pays homage to a beautiful plant; it’s a connection to our own experience with nature, a reminder of those summer mornings watching bees dance among our alliums. Standing beneath Double Allium, I feel a sense of continuity—a link between the art and our own small garden, between our life and the ancient cultures that cherished these plants, between the permanence of steel and the fleeting beauty of each summer bloom.
In this towering sculpture, Pickford has given us a mirror that reflects nature as well as our personal connection to it. “Double Allium” is a celebration of growth, strength, and beauty, qualities that Pam and I cherish in the alliums we tend and that we find echoed in this remarkable work of art.
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Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
As I walk through the plantings around the Nevin Center at Cornell Botanical Gardens, a vibrant, eye-catching display catches my attention: the unmistakable Lantana camara. This plant, with its clusters of small, multicolored flowers, radiates warmth and liveliness, thriving among other garden residents in a riot of pink, orange, and yellow hues. Lantana is a plant with a rich, complex story—one that intertwines scientific discovery, historical intrigue, and enduring appeal in gardens worldwide.
Scientific Name and Origins
Lantana camara, commonly known simply as lantana, belongs to the Verbenaceae family. Originating in the tropical and subtropical regions of the Americas, particularly Central and South America, lantana has now spread globally. Its adaptability and resilience have allowed it to thrive in diverse environments, from warm Mediterranean climates to more tropical locales. The name Lantana comes from a genus of unrelated plants in the honeysuckle family, with which it shares a similar floral structure, while camara refers to a type or variety within this diverse genus.
Historical Journey and Spread
The journey of lantana around the world is one of both horticultural fascination and ecological caution. European explorers and botanists first brought lantana to Europe in the 17th century, where it quickly became a prized garden plant for its vibrant blooms and robust nature. By the 19th century, lantana had spread to various British colonies, including those in Africa, Asia, and Australia, as part of ornamental landscaping efforts. However, lantana’s success came with a downside: in regions with no natural predators or competition, it rapidly became invasive, outcompeting native plants and disrupting local ecosystems. Today, lantana is still admired for its beauty, but in some countries, it’s also carefully managed or controlled.
Garden Favorite and Common Uses
Despite its invasive tendencies in certain climates, lantana remains a beloved plant in gardens worldwide. Known for its drought tolerance and ability to bloom continuously in warm weather, lantana is a favorite for adding color and vibrancy to gardens and landscapes. Gardeners prize lantana for its resilience in hot, sunny locations and its ability to attract butterflies and other pollinators. The flowers emit a light fragrance and produce tiny berries, which, while attractive, are also toxic if ingested. Thus, lantana brings both allure and a hint of danger, drawing in pollinators while repelling those who might threaten it.
Medicinal and Cultural Uses
Historically, lantana has also been used medicinally in various cultures. In traditional folk medicine, parts of the plant have been used to treat ailments such as fevers, respiratory infections, and skin conditions. Indigenous communities in its native regions would often make poultices from the leaves to apply to wounds or inflamed areas. Though some of these traditional uses persist today, modern science advises caution due to the plant’s potential toxicity, especially to livestock and humans if ingested in significant quantities.
A Double-Edged Beauty
Lantana camara is a plant of contrasts. Its cheerful flowers and pollinator-friendly nature make it a joy to behold in controlled garden settings, like those around the Nevin Center. But its spread across continents and the ecological impact in sensitive regions remind us of nature’s unpredictability. Lantana’s resilience, beauty, and storied history make it a plant to admire—and respect. Whether as a garden ornament or an object of scientific curiosity, lantana captures the complexity of human interaction with nature, bringing a colorful reminder that beauty often comes with responsibility.
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Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
As I step into Cascadilla Gorge from the Linn Street entrance, I’m greeted by the soft rustling of leaves and the constant, soothing rush of water. The air this Halloween Day is warm, the autumn colors vibrant against the cool blue sky. I know Cascadilla Gorge is part of the Cornell Botanical Gardens, but the immediate beauty of this natural sanctuary makes it easy to forget I’m still within the city limits of Ithaca. The sounds of the gorge draw me in, as if whispering there’s more to see, more to explore. With a deep breath, I begin my journey up the trail, eager to discover what lies ahead.
Just a short way in, I notice the First Church of Christ, Scientist perched on the corner of University Avenue and Cascadilla Park Road. The architecture of the church is both quaint and elegant, with its light-colored facade framed by dark trim and roof. Surrounded by foliage, it feels like the church belongs here, as much a part of the landscape as the trees and rocks. The sight of this historic building nestled so close to the gorge reminds me that this wild and ancient place is woven into the fabric of Ithaca’s community life.
I move further along the trail, and the terrain begins to shift. Fallen leaves create a golden carpet along the path, their crisp shapes overlapping like nature’s confetti celebrating the season. Each step crunches underfoot, adding my own rhythm to the symphony of sounds. The trees overhead are a kaleidoscope of colors—deep golds, fiery oranges, and the occasional flash of red from Virginia Creeper vines (Parthenocissus quinquefolia). Together, the trees create a canopy that filters sunlight, casting dappled patterns on the gorge walls. It’s an ever-changing play of light and shadow, one moment bright and the next subdued, adding a layer of magic to the experience.
As I follow the trail upward, the gorge narrows, and I find myself surrounded by towering walls of rock. Here, layers of siltstone and shale formed more than 300 hundred million years ago are exposed, a testament to the forces of water and time that carved this place across mere millennia of recent geologic time. The rock formations are fascinating, with the water flowing over them in gentle cascades, finding every groove and crevice. There’s something humbling about standing in a place shaped by forces so much larger and older than myself. I pause, letting the rush of water and the stillness of stone fill my senses.
Along the way, I come across an interpretive sign provided by the Cornell Botanical Gardens. They tell the story of Cascadilla Gorge, how it was formed from the bedrock of sandstone and shale that eroded from mountains to the east, in the Devonian era when an ancient inland sea covered the region. The signs also introduce Robert H. Treman, a philanthropist who saw the beauty and educational value of the gorge. Thanks to him and the efforts of many, this natural wonder is preserved for all to experience. Knowing this adds depth to my walk; it’s a reminder that places like this exist not only by chance but because people cared enough to protect them.
The sandstone staircases along the trail are a marvel in themselves. Some sections are steep, winding up the gorge in a series of steps that seem to have been placed with precision, blending seamlessly into the natural landscape. The steps are covered with leaves now, making each ascent feel a bit like climbing through a fairy-tale forest. The chains along the path provide a comforting grip, especially as I climb higher. I look back and see how far I’ve come, the creek below winding its way over rocks and around bends, each step a small journey of its own.
I pass several small waterfalls, each one unique in its character. Some are gentle trickles, while others pour over the rocks with more force, their sound reverberating off the gorge walls. I stop frequently, entranced by the way the water carves its path, eternally moving, adapting, wearing down even the hardest stone. Leaves float down from above, landing in the creek and swirling in miniature whirlpools before being carried downstream. It’s mesmerizing to watch nature at work in such a quiet, persistent way.
Further up the gorge, the views open up, and I can see the layers of rock descending in terraces, each level a little cascade of its own. I watch as the water flows across these steps, catching the light as it moves—a silvery ribbon winding through the golden autumn landscape. The tranquility of the scene is meditative. Around me, the trees stand as silent witnesses, their branches bare in places but still adorned with clusters of leaves clinging through the last days of fall.
Finally, I reach one of the larger waterfalls, framed by a graceful stone arch bridge that crosses high above. The scene is something out of a painting. Water pours over the rocks, gathering in pools below before spilling onward. I pause on the bridge, looking down at the gorge below and the trail I’ve followed, grateful for the journey.
Along the way, artists are positioned along the path, each lost in the beauty of Cascadilla Gorge. They stand or sit in quiet reverie, brushes or pencils in hand, capturing the gorge’s unique character. Some focus on the play of light over the water’s surface, while others seem intent on the rugged details of the rock formations. Their presence adds a contemplative depth to the scene; it’s as if each artist has uncovered a hidden aspect of the gorge that I have overlooked in my journey upward.
I slow my pace to take it all in, appreciating how the artists interpret this natural wonder through their own eyes. Their canvases reveal layers of colors that shift as the sun filters through the leaves, casting vibrant golds and subtle greens on the cascading water. The scene feels almost collaborative—nature and human hand creating art together, each reflection of the gorge as unique as the individual capturing it. I’m tempted to pause beside them, to see how they choose to frame the towering walls, the stone bridge arching above the water, and the gentle curves of the creek as it meanders downstream. I can imagine each artist’s work holding a different piece of this place, like fragments of a memory.
Bridge View looking up Cascadilla CreekBridge View looking back the way I came
As I continue, the sound of rushing water grows louder, drawing me towards another cascade that tumbles in steps down the gorge. The rocks are layered in angular formations, giving the water a zigzagging path to follow. Leaves are scattered across the stones, their colors—yellows, browns, and the occasional splash of red—standing out against the dark, wet rock. There’s a timelessness here, a feeling that this scene has remained unchanged for centuries, save for the shifting leaves and the ever-present flow of the creek. The thought makes me feel like a small part of something much larger, a guest in an ancient place shaped by nature’s slow, steady hand.
The path narrows again, following the edge of the creek where the water has worn smooth channels into the stone.
Moving forward, the trail climbs steeply, and I find myself surrounded by tall rock faces on either side. The walls are layered and weathered, a geological history book open to the forces that shaped this land. It’s humbling to see how this place puts everything into perspective, how it reminds us of our place in the natural world.
Columns of sedimentary rock
Ahead, the path becomes more rugged, the air feels cooler here, shaded by the gorge’s high walls, and the sounds of the city are long gone, replaced by the steady rhythm of water and the drift of leaves. The layers of ancient limestone that form these towering walls give shape to our landscape and ecosystem. As rainwater falls and seeps through the porous rock, the limestone raises the pH of the water, neutralizing its natural acidity. This subtle alchemy nurtures the flora and fauna, fostering a unique biome that thrives in the gorge. The artists fade from view as I move further into the solitude of the trail, but their presence lingers in my mind. Each turn of the path reveals another scene worthy of capturing, another moment that seems to call out for remembrance.
Looking back toward the way I came
The trail steepens, and I press onward, the sound of the water intensifying as I near a grand waterfall framed by the impressive stone steps leading up to the College Avenue Stone Arch. Each step is littered with leaves, their colors vivid against the worn stone—golds, russets, and the occasional brilliant red, like embers scattered along my path. The waterfall beside me spills down in steady streams, each cascade creating rivulets that catch the light as they flow downward.
The gorge walls rise sharply on either side, embracing the path in rugged layers that tell stories of geological time. I feel as if I’m climbing a passage through history itself. These rocks, these trees, the very water carving its way through the stone—all have been here far longer than I can fathom, shaped by forces beyond my understanding. There’s a certain thrill in being among such enduring elements, a reminder of how small and fleeting we are in the face of nature’s grandeur.
Reaching the next tier of the trail, I pause to take in the sight of the massive stone arch spanning the gorge above. The bridge is a striking feature, its wide arch perfectly framing the sky and the last vibrant colors of autumn. It feels like a gateway, a fitting culmination to the journey. Standing beneath it, I’m struck by how well it harmonizes with the gorge, the careful craftsmanship of its stonework complementing the rough beauty of the surrounding cliffs.
The sunlight flows around the arch, illuminating the leaves that cling to the branches above, casting a warm glow over the scene. I feel a sense of reverence here, a quiet acknowledgment of both human artistry and the relentless beauty of nature.
I paused to capture this video of the moment.
Sights and Sounds of Autumn
The final ascent is graced by a bench where a stone plaque catches my eye. It’s a tribute, etched with words that resonate in this place: “Joy to all we love the best, love to thee, our fair Cornell.” A gift from a family whose lives intertwined with Cornell, it serves as a reminder of the deep connections people have to this landscape, to the university, and to the memories rooted in these trails and gorges. I pause, reflecting on my own connection to this path, which has taken me through an ever-unfolding tapestry of nature and history.
The last stretch of steps is leaf blanketed, their shapes and colors a beautiful final mosaic before I emerge from the shaded coolness of the gorge. The sun filters down through the thinning trees, illuminating the stone buildings of the Cornell campus that peek through the branches ahead. With each step, I feel the transition, moving from the curated wildness of Cascadilla Gorge and its trail to the structured beauty of the university grounds.
Myron Taylor Hall, Cornell Law School from the gorge.
As I reach the top, the Schwartz Center for the Performing Arts comes into view, its modern architecture a contrast to the ancient rocks I’ve left behind. Here, in this space where art, education, and nature converge, I take a last look back into the gorge and a journey, a gem in the heart of the Finger Lakes, a place that holds stories, both old and new, and invites every visitor to become a part of them.
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Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
Michael Stephen Wills Photography 