Category: Spring

A Serene Walk in Glendalough: Nature and History Unite

Find here a serene visit to Glendalough, highlighting the ancient beauty of its landscape, monastic history, and the deep sense of peace felt among the gravestones.

MichaelStephenWills20 Comments

We arrived in Glendalough on a bright spring morning, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of grass and distant water. Even before stepping out of the car, I sensed something ancient in the air, as though the centuries themselves lay waiting among the stones. The peaks of the Wicklow Mountains rose around me, their slopes draped in verdant forests that whispered of forgotten tales. In the distance, shimmering like a secret, the Upper Lake beckoned under the watchful hush of rugged hillsides. I took a deep breath and started my wander.

One of the lakes for which the valley is named, above the headstones in the mid-distance

Walking through the monastic settlement, I felt enveloped by a hush both reverential and oddly comforting. The path led me to a cluster of gravestones leaning gently askew, each marked by Celtic crosses standing guard over the memory of those buried below. One cross, carved from sturdy stone, immediately drew my attention with its intricate knotwork etched deep into the surface. The front of it bore swirling designs reminiscent of interwoven vines—symbols of eternity, continuity, and faith. I found myself imagining centuries of pilgrims, each pausing here, hands gently resting on the weathered carvings, offering up their prayers and hopes.

Memorial from a mother to her 6 year old son and husband

A bit farther on, I came upon a small grouping of headstones bowed in silent unity. Ferns and moss carpeted the ground in bright greens, creating a natural tapestry that wove together life and memory. The slightly overgrown grass softened the entire landscape, allowing each stone to stand quietly yet firmly in the earth. From behind these markers, I caught my first glimpse of the shimmering lake, framed perfectly by the slopes of the valley. The water’s surface reflected the sky’s azure brilliance and accentuated the gentle hush that fell upon the graveyard like a comforting quilt.

As I paused to take a few photographs, I felt a hint of magic floating through the air—an indefinable sense that beyond what my eyes perceived, an age-old spirit thrived. The Celtic symbols on the headstones seemed alive, their swirling knots hinting at the cycle of life and death, the oneness of the world, and the bridging of earthly existence with the mystic realm. I found myself recalling old Irish legends: stories of saints who could converse with animals, of spirits dwelling in hidden glades, of holy wells that healed weary travelers. It felt as though those tales were all around me, wrapped in the tapestry of this timeless valley.

Looking out toward the remains of the stone church—its walls crumbled yet proud—my imagination conjured the chanting of monks, their voices echoing off the surrounding hills. The same forest that sheltered me now would have encircled them all those centuries ago, shifting from season to season. It was easy to picture them gathering by the lake’s edge, cups of cold, clear water cupped in their hands, or moving reverently among the graves of those who had come before them. Here, time seemed an illusion. The line between past and present faded as I stood among these enduring stones.

Winding paths of grass guided me to another section of the cemetery, where weathered inscriptions told the stories of families, lineages, and deep connections to the land. Some headstones were so old that the lettering had nearly eroded, but others still proudly bore legible names and dates. Names like Power, Byrne, and Keane were etched in memory, followed by poignant words of affection and devotion. The place felt both solemn and comforting at once—a harmonious interplay of remembrance, reverence, and the gentle pulse of nature.

Valley walls are dramatic and steep

A sudden breeze rippled through the trees, setting the leaves to dance and carrying the lilt of birdsong across the valley. I turned to admire the view once more, and there, between towering yew trees, the lake glowed like a polished mirror. Soft clouds glided overhead in a pale blue sky. The entire scene seemed woven from a single, unbroken strand—mountain, forest, gravestone, lake, and sky merging in a spellbinding harmony. It was the kind of moment that invited awe, a moment in which to lose oneself and yet feel more fully found.

I left the cemetery with a deeper sense of peace than I had known in some time. The photographs I took may capture the beauty of Glendalough’s ancient crosses and serene landscape, but it’s the intangible hush of centuries and the gentle brush of magic that remain with me. With every step back toward the car, I felt the warmth of timelessness, and as the day’s golden light enveloped the stone monuments behind me, I carried away a tiny spark of the valley’s enchantment—a reminder that some places are truly touched by the divine.Look closely at the carved scroll at the foot of the cross.

For more background of this site, see my posting “The Cloigheach of Glendalough.”

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Ecological Significance of False Solomon’s Seal

In Taughannock Falls State Park, False Solomon’s Seal captivates with its beauty, ecological role, and historical medicinal uses.

MichaelStephenWills7 Comments

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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The Myths and Beauty of Wood Anemones

The wood anemone, Anemone nemorosa, symbolizes beauty and resilience, captivating observers with its elegant blooms and rich folklore.

MichaelStephenWills7 Comments

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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Exploring the Vision of Arcosanti

In the Arizona desert, structures harmonize with nature, embodying creativity and purpose while inviting reflection on balance and coexistence.

MichaelStephenWills14 Comments

Approaching Arcosanti from afar, a cluster of forms rising from the Arizona desert like a mirage of human imagination. Against the cobalt sky, the buildings seemed to breathe with the land itself, their curves and edges echoing the undulations of the hillside. From this distance, the structures were both distant dream and solid reality, their symmetry a whispered promise of order amidst the chaos of the wild.

As I moved closer, the buildings revealed their intricate secrets. Circular windows stared like unblinking eyes, portals to a world shaped by creativity and purpose. Towers and cubes jutted confidently into space, their bold geometry softened by the earthen hues of concrete and weathered wood. These materials, neither foreign nor intrusive, seemed born of the very soil beneath my feet. There was an undeniable rhythm to the place—a harmony where art, function, and the timeless desert converged.

I walked among the structures, their forms towering above me like sentinels of some ancient philosophy reborn for a modern age. The elevated walkways beckoned with a quiet invitation, connecting one sanctuary of thought to another. Circular motifs repeated like a mantra, reminding me of the cycles of life, of the sun and the moon, of the unbroken circles that hold us together. Here, design was not merely a tool but a hymn, sung in concrete and glass.

Then, I turned my gaze outward, to the land that cradled this creation. The desert was alive, though its voice was quiet and deliberate. Rocks, worn smooth by the patient hand of time, rested among tufts of sage and grasses that swayed in the breeze. The light played its own game, casting shadows that danced across the ground, a choreography as old as the sun. Paths meandered through this terrain, their curves a gentle suggestion rather than a command, inviting me to wander but not to conquer.

Arcosanti

The trees stood tall and still, their presence both steadfast and serene. The cypress trees, their slender forms reaching toward heaven, seemed like exclamation points on the landscape, their verdant green cutting through the sky’s azure expanse. Beside them, olive trees spread their silvered arms, their gnarled trunks telling stories of endurance and quiet strength. One cypress, in particular, caught my attention—so perfectly straight, so impossibly regal, as if it had been planted by the hand of a god.

Beneath the olive trees, I paused, tracing my fingers along the bark’s intricate patterns. The sunlight filtered through the leaves in golden shards, dappling the earth beneath with shifting shapes. The air carried the scent of something ancient and vital—a blend of dry earth, sun-warmed bark, and the faintest hint of blooming life. It was a reminder that even in this place of human creation, nature reigned supreme.

I wandered to the edge of a canyon, its rugged walls carved by time’s relentless flow. The raw power of the landscape stretched out before me, a tapestry of stone and shadow that humbled and awed. Here, the boundaries between human vision and natural grandeur blurred. The olive and cypress trees, so carefully placed, seemed less an intrusion and more a part of the desert’s rhythm. They were a bridge, a whispered conversation between what is made and what simply is.

Finally, the paths called me back, their winding lines leading me deeper into reflection. Each step felt deliberate, as though I were tracing the lines of a poem etched into the earth. The trails curved gently, like the desert’s own breath, and I followed, not as an intruder but as a guest. The buildings now stood behind me, a testament to the balance we strive for—between the ephemeral dreams we build and the eternal landscape that cradles them.

This place is a meeting of stone and sky, a meditation: reminding us that, if we listen, the land will teach us how to live in harmony. Here, in the desert’s embrace, I found space to ask better questions, my heart as open and unbroken as the endless horizon before me.

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Saint Fin Barre’s Cathedral: A Marvel of Victorian Architecture

Saint Fin Barre’s Cathedral, a Gothic Revival masterpiece by William Burges, symbolizes artistry and faith in Cork, Ireland.

MichaelStephenWills6 Comments

Approaching from the east, we see the polygonal apse at the eastern end houses the high altar and is a key liturgical and architectural feature. Each angular bay is delineated with tall lancet windows filled with stained glass, adding to the richness of the design. Saint Fin Barre’s Cathedral, a masterpiece of Gothic Revival architecture, stands as a beacon of faith and artistry in the heart of Cork, Ireland. Designed by the renowned Victorian architect William Burges, the cathedral is both a testament to the spiritual fervor of its time and a bold statement of artistic vision.

Approaching from the east, we see the polygonal apse at the eastern end houses the high altar and is a key liturgical and architectural feature

Commissioned in 1862, the cathedral replaced an earlier structure, marking a new chapter in Cork’s ecclesiastical history. William Burges, known for his theatrical approach to design, was the perfect choice for this ambitious project. His vision for Saint Fin Barre’s Cathedral blended medieval inspiration with Victorian ingenuity, creating a building that is as much a work of art as a place of worship.

Burges, a figure of eccentric brilliance, was deeply influenced by the principles of the Gothic Revival movement, which sought to recapture the grandeur of medieval European architecture. Drawing from this aesthetic, he designed the cathedral with meticulous attention to detail. Its three spires dominate the Cork skyline, with the central spire rising to an impressive height of 73 meters. These spires are not merely structural; they are symbolic, reaching heavenward in a gesture of devotion.

The exterior of the cathedral, constructed from Cork limestone and Bath stone, is adorned with intricate carvings and sculptures. These include depictions of biblical scenes, saints, and gargoyles, all painstakingly crafted under Burges’s watchful eye. Every detail reflects his belief that architecture should educate as well as inspire. Bishop Street, The Lough, Cork City, County Cork, Ireland

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Exploring Rincon Peak: Hiking Adventures in Arizona

As we stood atop Rincon Peak, the sky darkened with the approach of a sudden thunderstorm. Below us, the San Pedro River valley sprawled, with the Mae West Peaks to the left and the legendary Dragoon Mountains straight ahead. This photograph captures that exhilarating moment—standing on the summit with the world at our feet and the wild Arizona sky closing in. Curious about how we got there and our race against nature’s fury? Join me on the blog to delve into the full adventure and explore more stunning images from the heart of the Rincon Wilderness.

MichaelStephenWills7 Comments

The Rincons are one of 42 Sky Island mountains isolated from each other due to gradual warming and drying climate changes since the last ice age, 10,000 years ago. While this marvelous environment of oak and pine forests is accessible only on foot and with significant effort, it is visible from every point of the Tucson valley, home to a million inhabitants.

The name ‘Rincon,’ Spanish for ‘corner,’ reflects the mountains’ shape as they enclose a space on the west and northwest. This area, formerly used for ranching, is now being developed for tract housing. In contrast, the mountains themselves are preserved as wilderness, with parts designated within the Saguaro National Park and the Coronado National Forest.

In the past 51 years, I have been lucky enough to visit the Rincon Wilderness interior four times, shouldering different style backpacks onto the mountain and walking in different boots. My first trip was during college in the 1970s, when a party of six of us left from the end of Speedway, heading up the Douglas Springs trail. The climb was an exercise in desert survival that several friendships did not survive, replaced by new friends met on Mica Mountain. I have no photographs from that experience, only memories and the backpack.

Decades later, reconnecting with Arizona in 2004—thirty-one years after that first experience—I took no chances. This time, my attempt on Rincon Peak was a success. I reduced risk and effort, though not eliminating them, by hiring a guide for the four-day trip. We reached Rincon Peak via the Turkey Creek Trail out of Happy Valley, climbing a mountain buttress with views that widened and lengthened with every step.

Capturing these moments, I took several photographs during that experience. Two years later I added a landscape of the peak at sunset.

Along the Turkey Creek trail, Sego Lilies bloomed among a stricken oak and drying grasses, offering a vivid glimpse into the region’s delicate ecosystem. It is the winter rains that trigger such a bloom.

Sego Lilies -- CLICK ME!!!!

Enthralled by their beauty, we paused while I unpacked my gear to photograph the Sego Lilies growing along the trail.

Sego Lilies -- CLICK ME!!!!
Sego Lilies -- CLICK ME!!!!

When we reached Deer Head Spring at the top of Turkey Creek Trail on April 27, 2004, it was a moist spot with no accessible water. With only about a gallon of water each remaining, we pressed ahead to Heartbreak Ridge and climbed into Happy Valley Saddle, where, thankfully, the creek—though low and full of algae—was usable. It was here that I caught my first glimpses of Rincon Peak, looking across the aptly named Heartbreak Ridge and Happy Valley Saddle.

Distant View of Rincon Peak-- CLICK ME!!!!
Telephoto view of Rincon Peak -- CLICK ME!!!!

From Rincon Peak, the view to the south was breathtaking. The white rocks at the lower right formed the Valley of the Moon wall. Below lay the San Pedro River valley, with the Mae West Peaks at the left margin and the Dragoon Mountains with Cochise Stronghold at the center. I took this photograph around 12:30 PM on April 28, 2004, just as a thunderstorm was approaching.

View from Rincon Peak -- CLICK ME!!!!

Rotating the camera to the south-southwest, the view stretched over the Valley of the Moon to the eastern Tucson Valley and the Sky Islands of the Whetstone Mountains (Apache Peak), with the Santa Ritas behind them. In this vast landscape, the works of man are overpowered by sky, rock, and distance.

View from Rincon Peak -- CLICK ME!!!!

We made a hasty departure ahead of the thunderstorm. Attempting the peak that day had been a touch-and-go decision, but we reached the summit with moments to spare.

On the morning of April 29, 2004, the day after reaching Rincon Peak, I set up my tripod near our Happy Valley Saddle camp. In the serene early morning sunlight, I captured images of Rincon Peak, reflecting on the previous day’s ascent.

Rincon Peak from Happy Valley Saddle, dawn -- CLICK ME!!!!

On the day we descended to the X9 Ranch via the Rincon Creek trail, we were granted a unique opportunity. My guide’s grandfather had a homestead at the X9, and his access to the trailhead through private lands opened this ro ute for us. That evening, I took a photograph of the sunset on Rincon Peak from the X9 Ranch, looking east from the ‘Rincon’—the corner formed by the massifs of Rincon Peak, Mica Mountain, and Tanque Verde Ridge.

The X9 ranch sits in the Rincon (spanish for corner) made by the massifs Rincon Peak, Mica Mountain and Tanque Verde ridge.

Two years later, on the evening of November 2, 2006, I climbed the Tanque Verde trail in Saguaro National Park East for about 30 minutes to reach a vantage point of Rincon Peak. Intending to capture the peak bathed in golden light, I waited until just before the sun set behind the Tucson Mountain. Afterwards, I raced the sun hiked back to the car. In my hurry, I tripped on a stepped turn and dove headfirst into a large prickly pear cactus. It was a very painful experience. Large spines pierced my face, while tiny, pesky spines covered my chest and back. The large spines, not being barbed, came out easily, but I needed to visit a physician to remove the rest.

Click me for a framed version of this photograph
Rincon Peak from the X9 Ranch-- CLICK ME!!!!

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Exploring Lime Hollow: Nature Walks with My Grandsons

Enjoy a memorable visit to Lime Hollow Nature Preserve by a grandfather and his grandsons, exploring nature, observing wildlife, and connecting through shared experiences, fostering curiosity and appreciation for the environment.

MichaelStephenWills4 Comments

The October sunlight was gentle as we entered Lime Hollow Nature Preserve from Gracie Road, my grandsons, Sam and Rory, bursting with excitement beside me. Sam, the eldest, took the lead, confidently striding ahead along the Sunset Trail while Rory, his younger brother, stayed close to my side, his eyes wide with wonder at the forest around us.

Descent to the Pond


The trail wound through the woods, dappled with the golds and reds of early autumn. Sam spotted a squirrel darting between trees, and Rory pointed to the sky, “Look, Grandpa, a woodpecker!” I smiled at their enthusiasm, feeling grateful for these moments of connection to nature and family.

We descended toward the pond via the Pond View Trail, the sound of trickling water drawing us closer. As we approached, the landscape opened up, revealing the calm, reflective surface of the water, bordered by reeds swaying in the light breeze. I remembered bringing the boys here last spring, how different the pond looked then—brimming with life as frogs leapt from the banks and dragonflies zipped across the water’s surface. Today, the scene was quieter, but no less magical.

Rory, ever the adventurer, crouched by the pond’s edge, watching for frogs. Sam, too, paused to observe but soon grew restless, his curiosity pushing him onward. “Come on, Grandpa! Let’s see what’s next!” His voice echoed through the trees as he darted back onto the trail, Rory quick to follow.

Encounter with the Giant Fungus


The path led us deeper into the forest, and soon we turned onto the Brookside Trail, which merged with the High Ridge Trail. Here, the air grew cooler under the dense canopy of trees, and the forest floor softened beneath our feet with layers of leaves. It was then that we stumbled upon the most magnificent sight of the day: an enormous bracket fungus, its wide, layered shelves clinging to the trunk a hoary snag.

Rory gasped in delight, running over to inspect it more closely. “Look how big it is!” he exclaimed, his small hands hovering just above its ridged surface. Sam, never one to be outdone, knelt beside it, carefully touching the spongy layers. “It’s a staircase for squirrels,” he said, grinning up at me.

Turkey Tail bracket fungus (Trametes versicolor) is a common wood decay fungus found on dead and decaying hardwoods. Named for its concentric, colorful bands resembling a turkey’s tail, it plays a vital role in forest ecosystems by breaking down lignin, facilitating nutrient recycling. It’s also valued for its medicinal properties. Lime Hollow Nature Center, Cortland, Cortland County, New York State. Finger Lakes Regions

As I watched them, I couldn’t help but think back to all the times I had wandered these trails alone before they were born. Now, these woods had become a classroom for them—full of discoveries that sparked their curiosity and wonder. It was a beautiful moment of generational connection, this passing on of my love for the natural world to Sam and Rory.

Fascinating Beech Tree Roots


On the way out, we took the Brookside / Pond View / Sunset trails once again, but this time, this intricate network of roots from a massive beech tree fascinated us. The roots twisted and coiled across the path like veins, in our imaginations the gnarled shapes snagged our feet. Sam, ever the explorer, stepped cautiously along the roots, balancing himself as if walking a tightrope. Rory followed suit, his giggles filling the air.

An American beech (Fagus grandifolia). These trees are quite common in northeastern forests.
The beech tree is known for its smooth smooth, gray bark, which can become marked with scars or etchings as the tree ages. Additionally, its leaves are typically dark green, with serrated edges, and turn yellow to bronze in the fall, often staying on the tree through winter. Lime Hollow Nature Center, Cortland, New York State

“These roots are older than us,” I told them. “Beech trees can live for hundreds of years. Just think, this tree has seen many more seasons than we ever will.”

Sam’s eyes widened at the thought, while Rory gave the tree a gentle pat, as if to thank it for its wisdom. I marveled at how something as simple as a root system could captivate their imaginations and bring the lesson of time and growth to life.

Reminiscing on the Chicago Bog

In the 1830’s there was a village named Chicago along Gracie Road, which gives it the name we have today. The Chicago Bog is home to many carnivorous plants, including sundew, the pitcher plant, and more. The deepest depth of the bog is about 7.2 ft. The bog is along the Phillips Memorial Trail, which can be found on Gracie Road. Lime Hollow Nature Center, Cortland, New York


As we walked, my mind wandered back to a visit we had made to the Chicago Bog just a year before. I remembered the day clearly—how we had trekked through the wetland on a warm June afternoon, the ground soft beneath our feet, alive with the buzzing of insects and the vibrant green of new growth.

The chalk-fronted corporal (Ladona julia) is a skimmer dragonfly found in the northern United States and southern Canada.
Juveniles of both sexes are light reddish brown, with white shoulder stripes and a black stripe down the middle of the abdomen. As they mature, males develop a white pruinescence on the top of the thorax and at the base of the abdomen, while the rest of the abdomen turns black. Females become almost uniformly dark brown, with a dusting of gray pruinescence near the base of the abdomen; a few develop the same color pattern as the males.
Chalk-fronted corporals often perch horizontally on the ground or on floating objects in the water, flying up to take prey from the air. They are gregarious for dragonflies, and are commonly seen perching in groups. They readily approach humans to feed on the mosquitoes and biting flies that humans attract.

It was there, by the edge of the bog, that we had encountered a dragonfly, a Chalk-fronted Corporal, resting on a fallen log. Its dark, iridescent wings shimmered in the sunlight, and Sam had been mesmerized by its delicate beauty. He had asked so many questions that day—about how dragonflies flew, what they ate, and where they lived. I had done my best to answer, but truth be told, I learned as much as he did in that moment.

Nearby, a meadow of buttercups had stretched out before us, their yellow blooms dancing in the breeze. Rory had run through them, his laughter ringing out as he tried to catch a butterfly that flitted between the flowers. The memory of that field of gold still brought a smile to my face as we made our way through Lime Hollow today.

A Day to Remember


As we neared the end of our hike, the afternoon light filtering through the trees, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment. These outings with Sam and Rory had become more than just walks in the woods—they were opportunities to share, to learn, and to make memories that I knew would last a lifetime.

“Grandpa, can we come back?” Rory asked, his face flushed with excitement.

“Of course,” I said, smiling. “We’ll always have time for another adventure.”

The American Basswood: A Journey of Discovery

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

MichaelStephenWills7 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Discovering Nature’s Secrets: A Grandfather’s Tale at Comstock Creek

Join me on a heartwarming adventure at Comstock Creek with my grandchildren, Sam and Rory, as we explore the wonders of nature, create lasting memories, and celebrate the legacy of the Comstock family.

MichaelStephenWills2 Comments

The morning sun filtered through the lush canopy of trees as I guided my grandchildren, down the familiar path towards Comstock Creek of the Cayuga Nature Center. The children were familiar with the creek from time spent in summer camp. This little haven of nature is a favorite spot of theirs. Comstock Creek, named after the Comstock family, stands as a testament to their significant contributions to entomology and nature education. John Henry Comstock, a renowned entomologist, and his wife, Anna Botsford Comstock, a pioneering figure in nature study, left an indelible mark on the Ithaca area and beyond. Their legacy lives on, not just in the academic world, but in these very waters where my grandchildren now play.

As we reached the creek, the children wasted no time kicking off their shoes and wading into the cool, shallow water. My grandson, in his red shirt, and granddaugter, in her green one, both radiated joy and curiosity. The sunlight danced on the water’s surface, casting shimmering reflections that seemed to animate the entire scene.

The youngest was the first to discover a small pool where the water had carved out a deeper spot. “Look, Grandpa!” he exclaimed, his voice full of excitement. He crouched down, peering intently at the tiny fish darting around his feet. His sister joined him, her initial apprehension giving way to a wide-eyed fascination as she watched the underwater ballet.

Their time was spent turning over rocks to find little aquatic creatures and marveling at the delicate balance of nature. The children’s laughter echoed through the woods, blending with the sounds of rustling leaves and the gentle babble of the creek. Their sense of wonder reminded me of the Comstocks’ passion for nature, a passion they had so fervently shared with the world.

After a while, we decided to take a break and walked through the meadow past where tall reeds swayed gently in the breeze. He knew of a small, tranquil pond that reflected the sky like a mirror. He leaned the water’s edge,hoping to grab a frog. I stood back, capturing this peaceful moment with my camera, knowing that these images would become treasured memories.

As noon approached, we travelled back to Ithaca for an ice cream treat, promised them as a reward for their adventurous spirit. Their faces lit up with delight as they savored their treats, their expressions reflecting pure contentment.

The day wouldn’t have been complete without a splash in the pool. Back home, grandmother set up the inflatable volleyball net while the kids changed into their swimsuits. The pool became a hub of activity as they splashed around, their laughter blending with the sound of the water.

Reflecting on the day, I felt a deep sense of gratitude. The Comstock family’s dedication to nature education had inspired generations, including my own. Their legacy was evident not just in the academic institutions of Ithaca, but in the simple, joyous exploration of nature that I shared with my grandchildren. I hope this day at Comstock Creek will be remembered fondly, a chapter in our family’s ongoing story of discovery and connection with the natural world.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Epiphyte

Discover the enchanting world of Epiphyllum, where the “Night Blooming Cereus” thrives without soil, capturing moisture and nutrients from the air. Explore its unique beauty and ecological significance. Read more to delve into this fascinating plant’s story.

MichaelStephenWills10 Comments

The Epiphyllum genus, which includes my “Night Blooming Cereus,” consists of epiphytic plants. The term “epiphytic” comes from the Greek epi- (meaning “upon”) and phyton (meaning “plant”). Epiphytic plants, sometimes called “air plants,” do not root in soil. However, this term can be misleading, as many aquatic algae species are also epiphytes on other aquatic plants (seaweeds or aquatic angiosperms). Therefore, it’s essential not to confuse the genus root word “phyllum” (leaf) with the generic term “phytic” (plant), even though they share the common prefix “epi.” A plant can be epiphytic without being part of the Epiphyllum genus.

Double Blooms

These were captured with the Canon EOS 5D Mark IV dslr on a Manfrotto tripod.

An epiphyte is a plant or plant-like organism that grows on the surface of another plant, deriving its moisture and nutrients from the air, rain, or debris accumulating around it. The host plants on which epiphytes grow are called phorophytes. Unlike parasites, epiphytes use other plants merely for physical support and do not negatively impact the host. Epiphytes can also be called epibionts when growing on non-plant organisms. Common in both temperate zones (mosses, liverworts, lichens, algae) and the tropics (ferns, cacti, orchids, bromeliads), epiphytes enhance biodiversity and biomass in their ecosystems. They make excellent houseplants due to their minimal water and soil needs and create rich habitats for various organisms, including animals, fungi, bacteria, and myxomycetes.

Epiphytes are not connected to the soil and must source nutrients from fog, dew, rain, mist, and decomposing organic material. They have an advantage in the canopy, where they access more light and are less vulnerable to herbivores. Epiphytes also benefit animals that live in their water reservoirs, like some frogs and arthropods.

Epiphytes significantly affect their host’s microenvironment and the broader ecosystem. They hold water in the canopy, reducing soil water input, and create cooler, moister conditions, which can decrease the host plant’s water loss through transpiration. Non-vascular epiphytes, like lichens and mosses, are particularly efficient at rapid water uptake.

Click me for another “Cereus” Post.

Reference: my post draws heavily on this source: Wikipedia, “Epiphyte.”

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved