Experience the thrill of descending into Utah’s White Canyon—slickrock trails, driftwood ladders, and stunning views await at Sipapu Bridge in Natural Bridges Monument.
The final descent into White Canyon to view Sipapu Bridge, Natural Bridges National Monument near Blanding, Utah
Final Step
Here is a photograph of the final stage of our descent into White Canyon. Here the trail traverseed a type of sandstone called “Slickrock.” For Pam and I the surface was like sandpaper and, for the right type of shoes, provides great traction.
That day I wore Lowe hiking boots with a harder sole and these could slip at times. I’d recommend a different shoe for the trail, but my boots come over the ankle and provide great support. Plus, the canyon bottom is sandy, so high boots prevent sand from falling into the shoe. A perfect choice for this trip is a high boot that provides support, with a softer sole on a hard and light shank (to protect you against sharp rocks).
What is Slickrock?
Slickrock was named by the first settlers and explorers who discovered their iron shod horses lost footing on the steep slopes of this sandstone.
This was another feature of Pam and my descent into White Canyon. The sandstone weathers in a way that produces steep slopes over which the trail must pass and the traveler navigate. I chose this image as a Fine Art print (part of a series featuring Natural Bridges National Monument) because this part of the trial is strange and beautiful.
The hard rock cliffs are resistant to wear and, in this climate, weather to provide rounded surfaces. The cliff face is scalloped and marked with desert varnish striations that “pop out” from the red rock. Then, there is the clear light and bright morning sky on a summer morning that promised thunderstorms.
Gratitude
Then, there are the personal memories of that iron railing drilled into the rock and that marvelous looking ladder created from driftwood found in the canyon. That ladder is a work of art!! The photograph does not reproduce the feeling Pam and I had at that point of the descent. I needed to climb down the ladder backwards (facing out) and holding on .
We were both grateful to reach the sandy stream bed in White Canyon.
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Copyright 2025 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
Experience the joy of small-town tradition as three generations celebrate cows, community, and colorful floats at the 2025 Dryden Dairy Day Parade in upstate New York.
On a glorious Saturday morning—June 14, 2025—the small village of Dryden, New York, once again came alive with one of its most beloved traditions: the Dairy Day Parade. I had the joy of attending this year’s festivities with my daughter-in-law, Jennifer, and my two grandsons, Sam and Rory. We set up along Main Street, folding chair ready and anticipation high, surrounded by a growing crowd of families, neighbors, and out-of-town visitors drawn by the charm of this time-honored event.
Dryden Dairy Day, first held in 1980, has long celebrated the area’s agricultural roots—particularly the dairy farms that once dotted the Finger Lakes region in greater number. Though the rural landscape has changed, the community spirit endures, embodied each year in this cheerful, inclusive parade. And what a parade it was.
Sam and Rory, who started out quietly nestled together in a red camp chair, quickly leaned forward in excitement as the opening marchers passed. Veterans in pressed blue shirts and caps bore the flags solemnly, stepping to the rhythm of distant drumbeats. The boys gladly collected candy thrown to the crowd by the paraders.
Then came the color and music—floats festooned with balloons, hay bales, streamers, and, of course, cows. The Jerry Dell Farm float, labeled “LegenDAIRY Superheroes,” stole the show with its red metal rails, a large cutout Holstein suspended in mid-leap, and enthusiastic kids handing out “Got Milk?” flyers. The float’s theme—half play, half tribute—offered a nod to the hardworking farmers past and present who’ve kept local dairies running despite national challenges.
Behind them, children waved from trailers turned farmyard dioramas. In one, rabbits and baby chicks nestled on pastel blankets inside red and gray wagons, drawing audible “awws” from the crowd. Another float featured kids feeding baby goats from white pails, an irresistible scene that reminded us of the joys of hands-on farm life.
Marching groups followed, each bringing their own spark. A contingent from Tompkins Cortland Community College, all in matching green shirts, smiled and waved. Their banner and cheetah logo brought cheers from alumni in the crowd. Girl Scouts from Troop 427 of Golden Meadows brought peace signs, love hearts, and Girl Scout green to life as they passed, handing out candy and smiles with equal generosity.
We clapped for the “Wreaths Across America” semi-truck—a rolling tribute to fallen soldiers. Its stars-and-stripes exterior and the wreath-emblazoned motto “Remember. Honor. Teach.” was a solemn visual counterpoint to the general jubilation, grounding us in gratitude amid celebration.
One of the most magical sights for Sam and Rory came next: a medieval knight on horseback, gleaming in armor, carrying a long lance. This was no Renaissance Fair actor but a local reenactor embodying chivalry and pageantry for the kids. Rory, eyes wide, whispered, “Is that a real knight?” and I nodded with a smile. The horse, a proud palomino with flowing mane, trotted as regally as any steed from storybooks.
At one point, we found ourselves surrounded by people wearing cow-print headbands and passing out themed goodies—a detail that would feel odd anywhere else but felt perfectly at home here. Even the Girl Scouts managed to mix tradition with whimsy, some donning glittering horns and cow ears for the occasion.
I selectively captured photos, while Jen and the boys soaked in the sights and sounds: the distant whinny of ponies, the rustle of candy wrappers on the pavement. Parades like this are entertainment and intergenerational bridges, connecting the past with the present, the seasoned farmer with the wide-eyed child, and the local with the visitor.
As the parade wound down and the last float passed, we lingered a while longer. The boys were still buzzing with excitement, eager to share their favorite parts—“the knight!” said Rory, “the baby goats!” said Sam. For me, the most treasured moment was watching my grandsons engage so deeply with the richness of local heritage, waving to friends in the parade feeling part of something bigger than themselves.
Dryden Dairy Day reminds us that community is people lining the street on a Saturday morning. It’s floats handmade with care. It’s generations walking side by side—and sometimes sitting in the same chair—laughing, learning, and loving the place they call home.
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A walk through Sims-Jennings Preserve unveils ancient cliffs, vibrant bird calls, and the quiet wisdom of maples and waterfalls along Cayuga Lake’s forested edge.
I arrive early, the sun still climbing its slow arc, brushing the eastern sky in pastels as I step into the Sims-Jennings Preserve at Cayuga Cliffs. The trailhead, tucked neatly along NYS Route 34B, is a doorway into an ancient chapter of the Finger Lakes—one rich with the scent of moss, the hush of leaf-dappled silence, and the layered echoes of stone and birdsong.
The first thing that strikes me is the expanse of mowed meadow, rimmed with goldenrod and patches of milkweed. From here, the land rolled gently westward until it ends abruptly in cliffs that plummeted toward Cayuga Lake. A map at the entrance speaks of the Sherburne and Renwick Formations, shale and siltstone laid down when the land was covered in warm Devonian seas. The cliffs themselves stand like watchmen over time, protecting 4,000 feet of lakeshore from erosion, whispering tales older than mammals.
A side trail leads to this mowed meadow and Cayuga Lake overlook
On the meadow edge is this Carya ovata, or shagbark hickory, unmistakable from its elongated leaflets and distinctive bark that peeled in long, curled strips. The leaves shimmered in the breeze, their green etched with pale speckles of recent rain, as if nature herself had hand-painted them.
Shagbark Hickory on the edge of meadow.Leaves of the Shagbark HickoryShagbark Hickory bark / trunk
I follow the yellow-blazed trail into a thicket where tall sugar maples—Acer saccharum—arched overhead. Their leaves caught the morning light, each palm-sized blade glowing like a shard of stained glass.
Throughout the preserve I find large holes like these in a pine tree snag, the work of a Pileated Woodpecker.
A sudden fluting note from the trees stops me in my tracks. “Ee-oh-lay,” the Wood Thrush sang, its call cascading through the forest like water over stone. Moments later, the rapid, accelerating trill of an Ovenbird joins in—a sound like “teacher-teacher-teacher” echoing from the understory. The forest is alive.
Watch on YouTube for the best experience.
I descend into the shade. A narrow stream runs over the flat gray ledges of the Ludlowville Formation, forming delicate waterfalls no taller than a man but intricate as lace. One fall, framed by a colonnade of black cherry and beech trees, poured over stone like a ribbon of silk. The water’s voice changed with each ledge—first a murmur, then a chuckle, then quiet confidence as it wound through the woods.
Here, a Scarlet Tanager flashes like flame through the canopy, its red feathers shocking against the sea of green. Above, the Eastern Wood-Pewee calles its own name from a high perch—“pee-a-wee”—a humble herald of summer. Lower down, a Tufted Titmouse flits from branch to branch, a gray blur with a whistle like curiosity incarnate.
Further along, a looping vine coils around a pair of trees like an ancient signature. Possibly a native bittersweet, its woody stem thick as a child’s arm. It reminds me of how all life here is entangled—flora, fauna, stone, and stream woven into one vast web.
I pause at the overlook, where the trail skirts the cliffs. From this height, the view opened to Cayuga Lake, vast and gleaming in the morning light. Across the water, the hills of the western shore softened into a watercolor horizon.
Crowbar Point on the west lake shore is visible, partially hidden by trees. Sims-Jennings Preserve at Cayuga Cliffs, Finger Lakes Land Trust on a May morning 2025, Lansing, Tompkins County, Finger Lakes Region
On the walk back, a robin sings its measured phrases from a nearby hawthorn, and I think how common birds often hold the deepest solace. The robin’s voice rises above the silence, not grand, not rare, but reassuring in its familiarity—like a good friend’s greeting.
A shale ledge, Renwick Formation (?)
I leave the preserve changed gently, like the soft indent of a footstep in moss. The Sims-Jennings Preserve at Cayuga Cliffs is a place that reminds you to listen. To the birds, to the trees, to your own breath. And in listening, you remember what it means to be wholly present in the world.
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Perched above Taughannock Gorge, a moss-covered ledge and cascading falls reveal ancient stories—where Devonian seas once flowed and time’s layers whisper through stone and water.
The morning sun had only just breached the rim of the gorge, sending long slants of golden light across the forest floor. Walking the South Rim Trail of Taughannock Falls State Park, I came upon a quiet, unassuming spot—just a few paces off the path—where the forest seemed to pause in reverence. What greeted me was a small marvel of persistence and time.
There, rooted precariously atop a slab of brittle shale, was a tenacious shrub rising from a bed of moss, its spindly frame etched in sharp contrast to the soft, green sprawl beneath it. The moss had taken hold on a shelf of rock cantilevered over the gorge like a green tongue of earth defying gravity. Cracks traced the shale’s surface like veins, silent records of the forces that shaped this place—heat, ice, pressure, time. Together, the moss and the bush formed an improbable community, surviving against odds, bound together by the thin soil cradled in stone.
This ledge, suspended over the abyss, seemed less a part of the earth than a question it asked—how much life can cling to the edge before the edge itself gives way?
Beneath this living fragment, the gorge dropped away. Layers upon layers of shale revealed themselves, stacked like a collapsed library of time. Here, the Devonian Period lies exposed to wind and rain, and to those willing to pause and wonder. Each stratum holds the fossil whisper of ancient seas, where trilobites scuttled and coral reefs once stood. This gorge was not carved quickly. It was not born of a moment, but of many—countless raindrops, millennia of ice melt, the slow, sure work of water over stone.
From this natural balcony, I looked out and down to the gorge floor where the creek shaped the land with an artist’s patient hand. The falls, seen from above, no longer thundered—they danced. Spread like the folds of a fan, water curled over smooth stone in steps of white silk. From here, the cascade looked deliberate, choreographed—an elemental performance halfway between gravity and grace.
How many times had this water flowed, reshaped, receded? How often had it carved these grooves, smoothed those ridges, erased the footprints of what came before? Looking at the exposed rock, one could trace the signature of ancient glaciers, feel the memory of long-gone floods. It was humbling—this intersection of change and continuity.
Above it all, the trees stood still. Pine and oak, rooted well back from the edge, offered a kind of sentinel presence. Their shadows stretched long and angled, tracing the contours of both earth and memory. For a moment, I let go of all thought and simply listened—to the murmur of wind through leaves, the faint rush of water far below, and the silence that presses in when the land itself seems to be remembering.
This spot—so easily missed by a hurried hiker—offered a parable of resilience and impermanence. The moss did not grow with certainty, nor the shrub reach with confidence. They survived on the edge because they adapted. They made do with less. They took root where others could not. There was no security in that place, only presence. Only the now.
And isn’t that a lesson worth carrying?
We so often seek stability, firm ground, a clear path. Yet, some of the most beautiful things live just beyond comfort—on ledges, in cracks, in the margins of the known. To pause here was to acknowledge that life thrives not only in sheltered valleys but also at the edge of what seems possible.
As I stepped back onto the trail and continued along the South Rim, the image of that mossy outcrop stayed with me. I carried it in my thoughts like a talisman—proof that even on the brink, life finds a way. And that from above, the most chaotic falls can appear as ordered motion, as a flow toward something larger.
Later, when the sun climbed higher and the light lost its slant, I would look back on this moment not as a spectacular highlight but as something more intimate: a quiet encounter with nature’s subtle artistry, its layered truths, and its enduring invitation to look closely, feel deeply, and walk softly.
For here, above the gorge, at the edge of earth and time, even a whisper leaves a mark.
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A bench beside a cedar, unchanged through time, stirred memory and gratitude—reminding me that some places wait quietly, holding space until we find them again.
A lingering memory hovers over this spot. The soft crunch of gravel beneath my boots, the filtered light through pine and oak, the scent of warm stone and moss—all of it felt at once familiar and distant, like a half-remembered tune that returns in full when you hear the first few notes. I hadn’t thought about the simple bench until I turned the bend this summer day on the South Rim Trail.
It was still there. The same humble bench nestled beside a cedar, its weathered frame now bearing the patina of years. The tree remained slightly bowed as if in silent conversation with the bench it had embraced.. The space between them, still and shaded, seemed to invite reflection without demanding it.
Welcome Summertime Shade
I sat down, letting the moment settle around me. In the gorge below, water moved quietly through sculpted shale, the same layered gray that once caught my attention through a camera lens long packed away. From this overlook, the view had scarcely changed: stone and water, green clinging to cliff, sky rolling in above it all. My photograph captures it now just as it might have then—perhaps from the same angle. The gorge unfolding in a graceful arc, with trees perched impossibly along the sheer face.
It struck me, not as a grand revelation but with quiet certainty, that very few places in life offer such stillness. So much shifts in the world—landscapes erode, trails are rerouted, lives move forward. Yet here I was again, sitting in the same spot, as though the intervening decades had folded in on themselves.
The Why for the Bench
Back then, I had rested here out of curiosity, pausing to take in the view, enjoy a respite. Now, I sat with a deeper kind of stillness. The second photograph holds the space as I found it—quiet, dappled with shadow, edges softened by time. The fence beyond it remains, unchanged, a modest boundary between the trail and the deep gorge beyond.
I don’t remember what thoughts filled my mind that first time. But today, a kind of gentle gratitude rose instead. Gratitude for the bench, yes—but also for the path that led me here again, for the act of remembering, and for the rare gift of finding something familiar, something steady.
Left Behind or an Offering?
A final image frames just the bench, its surface worn smooth, its structure slightly leaning now. A single flower petal had fallen on the wood—a quiet grace note in the morning light. I stood and took that last photo as a way of holding the moment, though I knew no picture could fully capture what it meant to find something that had waited without fanfare.
As I turned and walked back along the rim, I felt lighter. Not because time had reversed or been conquered, but because it had been witnessed—and somehow, that was enough.
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The wind carried the scent of the sea as we stood at Punta de las Salinas, the furthest tip of Punta del Este, Uruguay. This was a place of myth and mystery for us, where the Atlantic Ocean merged with the Río de la Plata, and where the rocks bore witness to the timeless interplay of water and stone. Here stood “El Canto de las Sirenas” (The Song of the Mermaids), an evocative art installation by Lily Perkins, first completed in 2012. The sculptures seemed perfectly at home here, their placement deeply intertwined with the mythology they evoked.
This is at Great Britain Square, Punta de las Salinas of Punta del Este. We are at the tip of the peninsula, the easternmost point of Uruguay. This is the art installation El Canto de las Sirenas” (The Song of the Mermaids) (2012) by the artist Lily Perkins. Punta del Este, Departamento de Maldonado, Uruguay
The sirens of ancient lore were said to dwell at perilous points where land met the untamed sea, luring sailors to their doom with haunting songs. These rocky outcrops, both a boundary and a threshold, have long held symbolic power as places where the natural world is at its most raw and elemental. Punta de las Salinas is such a place. Its jagged rocks and churning waves create an environment as beautiful as it is treacherous. It is easy to imagine mythical sirens choosing this very spot to weave their spellbinding melodies.
This is at Great Britain Square, Punta de las Salinas of Punta del Este. We are at the tip of the peninsula, the easternmost point of Uruguay. This is the art installation El Canto de las Sirenas” (The Song of the Mermaids) (2012) by the artist Lily Perkins. Punta del Este, Departamento de Maldonado, Uruguay
Lily Perkins’ installation captures this essence. The sculptures are not idealized depictions of mermaids; they are rugged and raw, encrusted with shells, stones, and marine debris. Their weathered forms mirror the harsh, untamed beauty of their surroundings. It is as if they have emerged from the ocean itself, born of the waves and the salt-laden air, to stand as sentinels at the edge of the world.
The central figure, with her face turned skyward, evokes the myth of the siren’s song—a melody so enchanting that it drove sailors to risk their lives against the rocks. Her posture suggests longing, perhaps for a connection beyond the horizon, or perhaps for the very mortals she is fated to ensnare. Nearby, a broken figure reclines against the rocks, her form partially encased in green netting and mosaic-like tiles. She seems more grounded, her siren’s call muted, as if weighed down by the realities of the modern world. The use of marine materials in her construction—a blend of natural and human-made debris—suggests an awareness of humanity’s impact on the seas.
The third figure, slightly apart, is the most enigmatic. Encrusted with barnacles and weathered by the elements, she seems lost in thought. Her gaze is directed not toward the sea but toward the land, as if contemplating her place at this meeting of worlds. In mythology, sirens were liminal creatures, existing between realms—the sea and the shore, the mortal and the divine. This figure embodies that in-between state, rooted in the rocks yet shaped by the sea.
The placement of these sculptures at Punta de las Salinas is no accident. This headland is the easternmost point of Uruguay, a natural boundary and a crossroads where two vast bodies of water meet. For centuries, sailors navigated these waters, their journeys fraught with danger. The rocks here are unforgiving, and the waves crash with relentless power. To stand at this point is to feel the raw energy of the ocean and to understand why myths of sirens arose in such places. The sirens symbolize both allure and peril, a reminder of the ocean’s capacity to inspire and to destroy.
As I walked among the sculptures, the mythology seemed to come alive. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks could easily be imagined as the sirens’ song—a hypnotic rhythm that draws you in and holds you spellbound. The figures, though silent, seemed to hum with an energy that echoed the sea’s eternal motion.
I feld these sculptures were not merely placed at Punta de las Salinas; but had emerged from it, their forms shaped by the same forces that shaped the rocks beneath our feet. The shells and stones embedded in their surfaces tied them physically to the sea, while their mythical resonance tied them spiritually to the place.
The mythology of the sirens speaks to the duality of the sea—its beauty and its danger, its capacity to give and to take away. Standing at Punta de las Salinas, surrounded by Perkins’ sculptures, I felt that duality in a profound way. The ocean stretched endlessly before us, a vast, unknowable expanse, while behind us lay the solid ground of the peninsula—a place of safety, but also a place that ended here, at this edge.
Lily Perkins sculptures are restored…..
As we left, the figures seemed to watch us go, their silent song lingering in my mind. The sirens of Punta del Este are more than art; they are a dialogue between myth and reality, between the natural world and the human imagination. In their weathered beauty, they remind us of the stories the sea has always told, and of the enduring power of those who give those stories form.
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The Louisa Duemling Meadows celebrate conservation and biodiversity, showcasing vibrant flora and honoring Louisa Duemling’s legacy as a steward of nature.
The Louisa Duemling Meadows, nestled within the expansive embrace of Sapsucker Woods, offers a vibrant tableau of life, brimming with opportunities for exploration and a sense of wonder. This new trail, winding through golden fields and punctuated by bursts of wildflowers, whispers tales of the land’s natural and cultural heritage.
Louisa Duemling: A Steward of Nature Louisa Duemling, the meadows’ namesake, was a dedicated conservationist and philanthropist who supported the Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s mission to protect birds and their habitats. Her legacy lives on in these serene fields, where her commitment to preserving the environment is reflected in every thriving plant and songbird.
Black-eyed Susans: The Meadow’s Golden Treasure Dominating this summertime landscape with their radiant yellow petals and dark central disks, Black-eyed Susans (Rudbeckia hirta) are a hallmark of the meadows. These cheerful blooms are a delight to the eye, a cornerstone of meadow ecosystems. As members of the Asteraceae family, their composite flowers serve as a rich nectar source for pollinators like bees and butterflies, ensuring the vibrancy of these fields.
Historically, Black-eyed Susans have been used in traditional medicine by Native American tribes for their putative anti-inflammatory properties. Their ability to thrive in diverse conditions also makes them a symbol of resilience and adaptability.
A Symphony of Green and Gold Walking through the trail, one is greeted by the harmonious interplay of goldenrods (Solidago spp.), milkweeds (Asclepias spp.), and asters (Symphyotrichum spp.). Goldenrods, with their feathery clusters of yellow blooms, are often mistaken as allergenic culprits, though it is the inconspicuous ragweed (Ambrosia artemisiifolia) that deserves this reputation. Milkweeds, with their milky sap and delicate pink or white flowers, are vital to monarch butterflies (Danaus plexippus), serving as the sole food source for their larvae.
Among these botanical wonders, the birdhouse stands as a sentinel, a reminder of the intricate relationship between flora and fauna. These wooden structures provide safe havens for cavity-nesting birds like Eastern Bluebirds (Sialia sialis) and Tree Swallows (Tachycineta bicolor), fostering biodiversity within the meadow.
A Horizon Framed by Pines and Clouds The open meadow trails, flanked by clusters of Eastern White Pines (Pinus strobus) and punctuated by the azure sky, invite reflection and renewal. This is a place where the human spirit can align with the rhythms of nature, where each step reveals new layers of beauty and discovery.
Embracing the Spirit of Discovery To wander the Louisa Duemling Meadows is to immerse oneself in the timeless dance of life. The trail, carefully marked yet wild in essence, invites visitors to lose themselves in its beauty while finding solace in its quietude. This is not just a path through nature—it is a journey into the heart of conservation and a celebration of the life that thrives under Louisa Duemling’s enduring legacy.
As you leave the meadow, carry with you not just the memory of golden flowers and vibrant skies but the inspiration to cherish and protect the natural world. The Louisa Duemling Meadows are not only a gift to those who walk its trails but a reminder of the profound impact one can have in preserving our planet’s fragile beauty.
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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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Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
It was a high summer day as I enjoyed a customary hike around of Taughannock Falls State Park on the South and North Rim trails. Here sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, dappling the forest floor with shifting patches of light. Along the trail, my attention was drawn to a cluster of pink blossoms rising on slender, upright stems. Intrigued by their delicate beauty, I crouched down for a closer look. The plant rose above the forest floor, its trifoliate leaves broad and prominently veined, each leaflet slightly larger than I would have expected. These leaves seemed to anchor the plant to the shaded understory, while its flowers reached upward, as though eager to catch the fleeting rays of sun. I captured the plant in this photographs, later used it to identify Hylodesmum glutinosum, or Large-Flowered Tick Trefoil.
Characteristics of the Plant
The Large-Flowered Tick Trefoil is a striking member of the pea family (Fabaceae). Its pink, pea-like flowers are arranged in graceful racemes along the upper portions of its stems, their vibrant color contrasting beautifully with the green foliage around them. The leaves, broad and trifoliate, lend the plant its distinctive appearance. The name “tick trefoil” refers to the plant’s seed pods, which are flat and segmented, equipped with tiny hooks that cling stubbornly to passing animals or hikers, hitchhiking their way to new locations.
The plant is native to eastern North America, including the forests and trails of New York State. Its preference for rich, well-drained soils in partially shaded woodlands makes it a common sight in places like Taughannock Falls State Park. Blooming from mid to late summer, it provides an essential nectar source for bees and other pollinators, playing its part in the intricate web of the forest ecosystem.
Etymology of the Name
The genus name, Hylodesmum, was established only twenty-five years ago when the plant was reclassified from the genus Desmodium to a new genus within the tribe Desmodieae. The name reflects its forested habitat, with “hylo” derived from the Greek word for “wood” or “forest.” Previously described in 1802 as Hedysarum glutinosum and later placed in Desmodium, the species name glutinosum remains unchanged, meaning “sticky” in Latin. This aptly describes the plant’s seed pods, which adhere to anything that brushes past them. Together, these names encapsulate both the botanical structure and the unique dispersal strategy of this plant.
History and Folklore
Native Americans and early settlers were intimately familiar with tick trefoils. The plant’s seeds, notorious for clinging to clothing and fur, earned it a reputation as a nuisance, but its resilience and utility could not be overlooked. Indigenous peoples utilized various parts of the plant for medicinal purposes. The roots and leaves were brewed into teas to treat fevers and digestive ailments, while poultices made from the leaves were applied to wounds to promote healing. Such uses highlight the depth of knowledge early inhabitants had about their environment.
The plant’s sticky seed pods also became the subject of folklore. Children in rural communities would playfully call it “hitchhiker’s weed,” competing to see who could collect the most seeds on their clothing during outdoor adventures. These seeds, so adept at attaching themselves to passersby, were seen as symbols of persistence and adaptability, traits that many admired.
Uses and Ecological Role
While Hylodesmum glutinosum is not commonly cultivated, its ecological contributions are significant. As a member of the Fabaceae family, it has the ability to fix nitrogen in the soil through a symbiotic relationship with rhizobia bacteria in its root nodules. This makes it a valuable plant in maintaining soil fertility in its native ecosystems. Its flowers attract pollinators like bees and butterflies, ensuring that the forest remains vibrant and full of life.
In addition to its ecological importance, the plant’s seeds have a curious modern use: they’ve been studied for their ability to help detect movement in the environment. Researchers have examined the sticky pods’ structure as a natural model for creating adhesives and tracking devices, proving once again that even the smallest details in nature can inspire human ingenuity.
A Moment of Reflection
As I rose to my feet, brushing the leaf litter from my hands, I felt a renewed sense of wonder for the intricate lives of the plants surrounding me. The Large-Flowered Tick Trefoil, with its vivid pink flowers and ingenious seed pods, seemed to embody the essence of the forest: a harmonious blend of beauty, resilience, and interconnection.
Walking away, I carried with me not just the memory of its vibrant blooms, a deep respect for its role in the natural world. In the quiet of Taughannock’s wooded trails, Hylodesmum glutinosum had shared its story, a tale of persistence, adaptation, and the hidden wonders that flourish when we take the time to notice.
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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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Michael Stephen Wills Photography 