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.
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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).
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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
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
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.
Embark on a journey through the serene Rincon Mountain Wilderness with me. Witness the rugged beauty of the Hedgehog Cactus and the whispering Bear Grass through my lens. Let’s unravel the secrets of the desert together, and find solace in the still life of the Happy Valley Saddle. Join me, and let’s capture the enduring spirit of Arizona’s hidden treasures.
Discover a timeless world through my lens: delve into Arizona’s Rincon Wilderness, where lichens and hedgehog cacti narrate Earth’s enduring, untold story. Join me.
In the embrace of the Rincon Mountains, east of Tucson’s hum, lies the Rincon Wilderness, a tapestry of desert life and geological marvels. These mountains, one of the “Sky Island” ranges cradling the Tucson valley, are less rugged than their siblings, the Santa Catalinas and the Santa Ritas, offering a gentler invitation to explore their secrets.
Happy Valley Saddle’s Floral Jewel
Amidst the rugged beauty of Happy Valley, a hidden corner in the quilt of the Rincon Wilderness, a singular red-orange glow caught my eye. There, among the lichen-encrusted boulders, stood the Southwestern Paintbrush, Castilleja integra, its flamboyant bracts a fiery contrast to the muted greens and grays of its surroundings.
A single Castilleja integra (Southwestern Paintbrush) with a lone flower among host grass, fallen oak leaves, lichen covered granite boulders and sand weathered from the rocks. A small oak is growing among boulders. Happy Valley Saddle, Rincon Wilderness, Pima County, Arizona
Portrait of a Parasite
This herbaceous perennial, with its soft downy coat, is a paradox, both painting the desert with life and leeching it from others as a hemi-parasite. Its roots, entwined with those of other desert dwellers, tell a tale of survival that’s as old as the hills themselves.
The Brushstrokes of Evolution
Castilleja integra (Southwestern Paintbrush) Flower among host grasses. Macro using the Sony DSC F828 camera.
Each leaf, narrow and dusted with hairs, speaks to the adaptive artistry of nature, designed to conserve precious moisture. The flowers, with their extended blooming season and generous nectar, court the hummingbirds who dance between the blooms, pollinators in this ancient symbiosis.
A Symbiotic Canvas
The Southwestern Paintbrush, with its colorful allure, draws more than just winged admirers. Its presence among the rocks is a reminder of the complex ecological web of the Rincon Wilderness, a part of Saguaro National Park’s rich mosaic
In the early dawn, I walked the path to Killen, drawn by the legacy of my mother’s Irish youth. An abandoned hay wagon stood, a relic amidst the whispers of history and myth. Join me in uncovering the roots that intertwine family and the enduring Irish land.
Michael Stephen Wills Photography 