Just opened flowers on long hairy stems, tiny anemones. A crawl and tripod we needed to capture these. The scene scale is revealed by the dried leaves from last autumn.
Click photograph for a larger view. To do this from WordPress Reader, you need to first click the title of this post to open a new page.
Hepatica Blossoms
I call these anemones from the disputations among taxonomists. All agree there is some relationship and differ in the degree. Classifications add a designation “tribe” before genus (hepatica). Alternatively, the genus is designated Anemone instead of Hepatica . A common name for anemones is “wind-flower” for how the flower is sensitive to a slight breeze, on these long stems.
This is the first hepatica capture of the session. There was no breeze at this time and the ISO is 800, f-stop 29 (lending some definition of the background, less than I’d expect) and a relatively slow exposure of 1/4 second. The 100 mm macro lens on a tripod mounted camera.
Gallery of Flowers in this series
Reference: Wikipedia article, “Hepatica.”
Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
Here we have two photographs from the end of the April 20, 2020 session. I finished a series of macro Hepatica and, tired (emotionally, not physically) and not wanting to step up the slope, captured the following grouping of a single Red Trillium, lit by a bolt of sunlight, White Hepatica, fern and the budding White Trillim from yesterday’s post. Not the same trillium, a continuation of all the individuals in bud.
Click photograph for a larger view. To do this from WordPress Reader, you need to first click the title of this post to open a new page.
On the South Rim Trail of Robert H. Treman New York State Park. April 19, 2020.Wildflower Grouping
These were 15 feet or so up the slope above the South Rim Trail. I used the 100 mm macro lens, with the spring breezes ISO set to 2500, f/5.6 for a 1/200 exposure.
Not far away, also upslope, was this flower grouping against a moss covered log. Park forestry leaves fallen trees in place to return to the soil. Camera settings are the same.
Lobe leaved Hepatica
Both photographs were handheld.
Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
Wildflowers flourished where the slope turned to the north and late afternoon light spread across the small ravine created by a small stream. This early in the season White Trillium buds were forming between three green bracts.
Click photograph for a larger view. To do this from WordPress Reader, you need to first click the title of this post to open a new page.
Trillium Grandiflorium
The above photograph taken handheld with a variable zoom lens captures the plant and environment. On the forest floor is twig of hemlock, probably knocked off by squirrels feeding on the tiny cones. Oak leaves from last season frame the dark green bracts. We also see a few wintergreen leaves and the rich soil.
With the low light ISO is 2000, the f-stop of 5.6 allowed crisp details of the hemlock and wintergreen, the focus is soft on the oak leaves. Where is topography allowed sunlight, the White Trillium were a bit further along. Here is a bud opening.
Trillium Grandiflorium
Here I used a travel tripod and a macro lens with f-stop opened up to 3.2, not lens maximum, and all but the forward bract tip are in focus. A lower camera angle places surroundings in distance, allowing all to be blurred unrecognizable: the plant is the star of this shot. ISO 800 with the ample light. I was struggling with the spring breezes, having to wait for a break to take each exposure.
Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
One hundred and fifty feet in a series of steep climbs is the effort expended to reach the relatively level portion of South Rim Trail where the tall Red Pines briefly reign. Here the trees thrive on the northeast facing slope. They grow in this way in one other location, in the upper park, on an eponymous trail.
Encounters with groups of people descending always demanded I step off the trail to allow social distancing. Everyone work a flimsy face covering, although Governor Coumo’s order covers situations where social distancing is not possible. As of you, we do not have the loose masks; but only the N95 or a full respirator (both acquired very early on, our respirators were purchased for spreading lawn chemicals and spray painting).
Click photograph for a larger view. To do this from WordPress Reader, you need to first click the title of this post to open a new page.
Red Pine
Red Pine (Pinus resinosa), also know as Norway Pine, shed pollen prolifically. Some Aprils my boots are covered with it, a dusting of yellow. Not today.
Wintergreen with Red Berry
A species easy to spot among the green, an example of a shrub of the genus Gaultheria, though a very small specimen. The common name is wintergreen and I have never found larger specimens in Treman park. It is growing among the mosses on the wall of Enfield Glen South Rim.
Macro, Red Berry and Leaves of Wintergreen with unidentified moss
The tough wintergreen leaves endue the cold seasons, the name is synonymous with evergreen.
Both shots are handheld, the macro is from a 100 mm “macro” fixed focus lens. ISO 2500, the f-stop to be wide open at 2.8 to gather the sparse light and present the subjects, blurring the immediate background. The overview shot is also a high ISO, 2000, the f-stop 5.8 on a variable focus lens set to 60 mm.
Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
As you glimpse the strewn buoys at Cayuga’s shore, consider the tales they hold—witnesses to history, guiding vessels through New York’s storied waters. Delve into their journey from the Erie Canal’s birth to today’s spring awakening.
As the crisp air of spring begins to soften and the last remnants of winter recede, you might find yourself drawn to the outdoors, eager to participate in the age-old tradition of spring cleaning. It is a time of renewal, of clearing away the old to make way for the new. In Ithaca, this period of rejuvenation extends beyond the confines of cluttered homes and into the expansive natural landscape, as shown in the photograph before you.
Spring cleaning and repair at the Alan H. Treman Marine Boat Park. Ithaca, New York, Tompkins County
Tidying the Shores
There, on the shores of Cayuga Lake, the scene is a stark contrast to the neat rows of daffodils you admired yesterday. Instead, navigation buoys, those steadfast guides of the waterways, lie upended and scattered – casualties of the winter’s harshness or perhaps the diligent work of park employees preparing for the upcoming boating season. These buoys, usually afloat, marking safe passage for vessels, are now being tended to, maintained, and readied. It is an essential process, akin to the annual spring clean, ensuring the safety and smooth sailing in the months to come.
Guardians of the Waterways
Let’s delve into the history these buoys are part of. You, as a curious observer, are witnessing a fragment of a narrative that stretches back over a century. These navigational buoys are descendants of the earliest markers that adorned the inland waters of New York State and the Erie Canal, of which Cayuga Lake is an integral part.
The Erie Canal and Cayuga’s Connection
The Erie Canal, an engineering marvel of the 19th century, opened in 1825, transforming New York and the entire Great Lakes region. It was the superhighway of its time, connecting the Atlantic Ocean to the Great Lakes, and thereby shaping the course of economic and social history in the United States. Cayuga Lake, connected to this system via the Cayuga-Seneca Canal, was part of this vast network of navigable waters.
Navigation Buoys: Beacons of Progress
As commerce flourished, so too did the need for reliable navigation. The buoys, then as now, served as critical signposts, ensuring that vessels could traverse these waterways safely. Imagine the countless boats that relied on these markers – from the large freighters carrying goods to the smaller craft bearing passengers – each buoy a sentinel ensuring their safe passage.
Modern Sentinels
Today, the navigation buoys on Cayuga Lake and other inland waters continue this legacy. They are the modern sentinels of the deep, equipped with the latest technology to guide the way. Just as the Erie Canal once heralded a new era of travel and trade, these buoys now symbolize the enduring importance of safe and efficient water transportation.
The Future of Inland Navigation
As you reflect upon the photograph, consider the ongoing narrative of these buoys and the waterways they mark. In a world increasingly concerned with sustainable modes of transportation, the historical importance of these channels resurfaces. The waterways that once fueled the expansion of a nation may once again play a pivotal role, this time in the quest for greener alternatives to overland routes.
Conclusion: A Cycle of Renewal
The upturned buoys in Cass Park, ready for their spring cleaning, are a microcosm of the cyclical nature of life and progress. They remind you that renewal is not just about beauty; it is also about preserving the functionality and safety that allow society to move forward. Just as the spring cleaning in your home ushers in a new season of clarity and freshness, the maintenance of these navigational aids renews the commitment to a legacy of safe passage – a promise made by the generations that have sailed these waters since the days of the Erie Canal.
With the thermometer in the 60’s on March 10, 2020 the “buttercups” of yesterday are open. When we first moved here, the plants were much thinner. I used fertilizer spikes on the Magnolia tree around which they grow. Each early the flowers pollinate, forming seeds and spreading.
A tripod held the composition steady, and the timer was set to 2 seconds for extra stability at the f25 setting.
Here is a slideshow of yesterday and today’s shots.
Copyright 2021 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
In February 2020, I captured images of the first flowers to bloom on their property with a Canon 5D Mark IV DSLR and a macro lens. The flowers belong to the Eranthis genus, known for early flowering.
These flowers are the first to bloom on our property, around the magnolia tree, and are also the first wildflowers photographed with my then new Canon 5D Mark IV dslr . Each year these “buttercups” grow thicker and spread. The latin scientific name Eranthis hyemalis proclaims the early nature of its flowering both in the genus, “Eranthis” – composed of two Greek language roots meaning “spring flower”, and species, “hyemalis” – a term from the Latin language meaning, “winter flowering.” The genus encompasses eight species, all early flowering plants with the common name winter aconite. These can also rightly be called Buttercups as the plant belongs to family Ranunculaceae, buttercups.
To capture the intricate details possible with the Canon EF 100 mm f/2.8 Macro lens I used here, it’s often necessary to adjust the camera settings to allow for a longer exposure time. This adjustment ensures that enough light reaches the sensor, particularly in macro photography or low-light situations, which helps in producing sharper and more detailed images. All these photographs are from f25. Setting a longer exposure compensates for the reduced light that might be a consequence of using a smaller aperture (higher f-number) for greater depth of field, a common technique in macro photography.”
It’s important to note that while setting a longer exposure can improve image quality by allowing more light to hit the camera’s sensor, it can also introduce the risk of motion blur if the camera or subject moves during the exposure. To minimize camera shake and achieve the best results, I used a Manfrotto “BeFree” tripod and the camera’s built-in timer set to a 2 second delay after a manual shutter release.
With the thermometer hovering above freezing, these blooms did not open today. The calendar says “late winter”, these Aconite are singing “early spring.”
Reference: Wikipedia “Eranthis hyemalis” and “Eranthis.”
Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
Discover the mysterious journey of an ocean-worn hawser on Cocoa Beach. Join me in unraveling its sea-tossed tales and the profound messages the tides bring to our shores.
As I strolled along the familiar expanse of Cocoa Beach, a silver mist hung over the horizon, blurring the line where the Atlantic whispered to the skies. My footsteps, a quiet percussion against the hush of dawn, were the only sound until the waves added their chorus. I was here to greet the sunrise, a ritual that never failed to ground me, but today, the ocean had laid out a surprise – a hawser, heavy and worn, beached like a leviathan of the deep.
Cocoa Beach, Brevard County, Florida on the Space Coast
The Relic of the Sea
There it lay, a colossal rope, its many fibers frayed and clinging to sand, a testament to its battle with the ocean’s might. This hawser, a lifeline once to vessels that dared to navigate treacherous waters, was now at the mercy of the tides that once heeded its command. I approached, curious, reverence growing within me for this unexpected relic of human endeavor.
The High Tide’s Offering
The hawser’s journey to my path was a story written in the ebb and flow of the tides. The high tide, under the pull of the moon’s invisible hands, had surged with purpose, pushing this massive rope to the shore as its offering. High tides are nature’s way of reaching out, touching the land, and sometimes, they bring gifts from the depths, each with a tale to tell.
A Tapestry of Experiences
Touching the hawser, I felt connected to the lives it must have touched, the storms it weathered, and the unspoken histories it held. Each thread was a narrative, a voyage, a storm survived. The macro images of the hawser’s frayed ends resembled the intricate work of a natural tapestry – artful, chaotic, yet purposeful. It was a mosaic of experience, and now, it was a part of Cocoa Beach’s landscape.
The Dance of Man and Nature
The hawser at the foot of the lifeguard station stood as a symbol of humanity’s interaction with the mighty sea. We build structures, craft vessels, and forge hawsers, asserting our presence. Yet, the tides remind us of our place within the grand tapestry of nature. Tides dance around our creations, sometimes reclaiming them, other times presenting them back to us, reshaped, redefined.
Reflecting on the Tides
As I sat by the hawser, the sun broke free from the horizon, casting golden hues over the beach. The tide was retreating, pulling back into the ocean’s embrace, leaving behind patterns on the sand, and the hawser – a silent sentinel of the shore. It was a moment of reflection on the power of the tides, the constant cycle of giving and taking, and the marks they leave upon both the earth and our lives.
Conclusion: The Tides of Life
The tides had brought the hawser to Cocoa Beach, and with it, a moment of connection to the vastness of the sea and the shared journeys of all who traverse it. As I walked away, the hawser remained – a fixture until the tide would rise again, perhaps to claim it back or offer another token of the ocean’s depths. The power of the tides is a powerful metaphor for life’s ebb and flow, each wave a new beginning, each retreat a chance to reflect on the imprints left behind.
Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
Joint me to gaze out upon a mesmerizing view of winter’s embrace over the Finger Lakes, where the setting sun paints an ephemeral masterpiece of ice, water, and twiligh
As I soared into the heavens, bound for Syracuse on the 9th of February in the year 2024, I found myself cradled in the gentle embrace of the port side of our metal chariot. The world unfolded beneath me; a tapestry of natural splendor painted in the golden hues of the setting sun. The view to the west, a grand panorama, beckoned my gaze, luring my senses into the wild embrace of Upstate New York’s finest landscapes.
Flying into Syracuse, February 9, 2024 we sat on the left (port) side of plane, this view to the west took in Canandaigua Lake, Bristol Mountain Ski Area, Honeoye Lake, Hemlock Lake (Canadice Lake is not visible).
Below, Canandaigua Lake lay stretched out like a slumbering giant, its waters glistening with the last kisses of daylight, a mirror to the sky’s fiery canvas. How wondrous it was to perceive the world from such heights, to witness the lake’s serenity from the abode of the gods. It seemed as if Canandaigua herself was remembering whispered tales of ice fishermen and quiet boathouses locked in the winter’s frosty grasp.
Off to the south, the proud shoulders of Bristol Mountain Ski Area rose in defiance against the winter’s chill. The mountain’s snow-laden slopes, carved with the meticulous precision of skiers and snowboarders, reflected the sun’s dying light, a beacon of winter’s joy amidst the sprawling lands. I could almost hear the muffled laughter of families and the swish of skis carving their ephemeral signature upon the mountain’s white canvas.
Nestled in the mountain’s shadow, Honeoye Lake revealed itself, a slender and unassuming sliver of tranquility. Its presence was like that of a quiet companion amidst the grandeur, a reminder of the simpler pleasures—frozen waters awaiting the spring thaw, the promise of lush greenery peering from beneath the white shroud of winter.
Beyond, where the earth kissed the sky, Hemlock Lake offered its secluded beauty, a hidden gem amongst its more renowned siblings. Though Canadice Lake remained shyly concealed from view, I knew it too slumbered there, a silent sentinel guarding the land’s secrets. Together, these lakes stood as custodians of a silent world, the guardians of a tranquility that seemed untouched by the passage of time.
As the plane banked gently, the clouds above me caught fire, ablaze with the colors of the dying day. Wisps of vapor painted streaks of orange, purple, and pink across the expansive canvas, a celestial masterpiece unfolding before my very eyes. The clouds seemed to dance with the joy of existence, a choreographed performance to the symphony of the setting sun.
I found myself lost in the moment, a solitary figure suspended between heaven and earth, caught in the embrace of an ephemeral beauty. The world below whispered of untold stories, of winters past and springs to come, of the endless cycle of life that pulsed beneath the frost. It was a moment of profound connection, a fleeting communion with the heartbeat of the planet.
Michael Stephen Wills Photography 