Ginkgo and Sycamore: Nature’s Beauty Amid Climate Change

On Thanksgiving 2023, I reflected on climate change’s impact while observing contrasting ginkgo and sycamore leaves during the Turkey Trot.

The air was soddenly warm that Thanksgiving morning in 2023, carrying a foreboding of climate change. Standing on the grounds of Ithaca High School, I couldn’t help but feel the incongruity of the unseasonable warmth. The annual “Turkey Trot” was unfolding around me, an event filled with cheerful camaraderie, yet beneath the surface of this tradition, the world itself seemed to whisper a warning. My attention drifted from the runners to the ground, where fallen leaves painted a story that echoed this uneasy tension.

The ginkgo leaves, their vibrant golden hues glowing against the damp grass, seemed almost out of place in the humid air. Ginkgos are ancient survivors, trees that have witnessed millennia of change, yet even they now face a future shaped by the rapid pace of human disruption. Their fan-like shapes, so delicate and timeless, carried an irony—symbols of endurance scattered on a landscape where the seasons no longer held the predictability they once did. That morning, their luminous beauty felt like a quiet plea, a reminder of nature’s fragility in the face of human indifference.

As a spectator of the 2023 “Turkey Trot” on Thanksgiving Day I found these Ginko and Sycamore leaves at Ithaca High School, Ithaca, Tompkins County New York. Finger Lakes Region

Among them, the sycamore leaves lay darker and more rugged, their broader forms curled and weathered by the elements. The sycamore is a resilient tree, often thriving in difficult conditions, yet its leaves bore a somber note against the warmth of the day. Together, the ginkgo and sycamore leaves formed a poignant tableau—a meeting of strength and delicacy, both subject to the same unrelenting forces of change. As I stood there, the leaves seemed to whisper their own story, a testament to survival amidst an increasingly uncertain world.

Ginko Leaves and Honey Locust Pods, Stewart Park on a December 2023 afternoon

The Turkey Trot unfolded with its usual energy—children dashed ahead with gleeful abandon, adults paced themselves in cheerful determination, and older participants moved with quiet dignity. The warmth seemed to amplify the human vibrancy of the event, yet it also cast a shadow of dissonance. This race, this celebration of resilience and community, was happening against the backdrop of a world in flux. The warmth of the morning was a reminder that even cherished traditions like this might one day feel the strain of climate shifts.

I crouched to capture the leaves in a photograph, drawn by their interplay of color and form. The ginkgo leaves glimmered like gold coins scattered across the ground, while the sycamore leaves added a depth and weight that anchored the scene. Together, they reminded me of the cyclical nature of life, the beauty and decay that coexist within the same space. Yet this year, the warmth in the air added an unsettling layer to the story. These leaves, so central to the rhythm of seasons, were now falling in a world where those rhythms seemed increasingly disrupted.

Bare Ginko tree with leaf pattern, Stewart Park on a December afternoon 2023

As the sunlight broke through the clouds, it illuminated the edges of the ginkgo leaves, making them shimmer with an almost otherworldly light. I lingered in that moment, feeling the weight of its quiet truth: life is fleeting, but its beauty endures in the connections we foster and the memories we hold. That Thanksgiving, the humid warmth of the air reminded me that we live in a time of profound change, yet even amid uncertainty, there is still wonder to be found beneath our feet. It is a wonder worth preserving.

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A Shoreline Spectacle: The Power and Grace of Military Aviation

While beachcombing I witnessed an awe-inspiring moment where tranquility meets military prowess.
Discover the captivating blend of nature and technology in my latest post.

As I approached the placid stretch of sand known as Second Beach, adjacent to the Patrick Space Force Base, the Atlantic breeze carried a tang of salt that mixed with the distant, almost imperceptible hum of powerful engines. The sand, still cool beneath my feet, bore the imprints of morning walkers and the scuttle marks of sandpipers. It was a peaceful canvas, soon to be underscored by the might of aviation prowess.

Having walked barely a tenth of a mile along the shoreline, the tranquil horizon was interrupted by the advancing silhouette of the Lockheed Martin C-130J Super Hercules. The Hercules, a titan of the skies, made its approach, its four Rolls-Royce AE 2100D3 turboprop engines altering the cadence of the ocean’s whispers. There’s a unique blend of awe and humility one feels in the presence of such human engineering, a craft capable of touching the farthest reaches of the globe, delivering hope or strategic might with equal prowess.

As the Hercules descended, its shadow enveloped my position, transient and thrilling. The aircraft’s formidability was evident in the robust structure and the propellers cutting through the air with surgical precision. The six-bladed composites, in harmonious rotation, seemed like the spokes of some celestial chariot, ushering the giants of the sky onto the earthly stage. Even as it neared the runway, the versatility of the Super Hercules was unmistakable; crafted for austere conditions, yet here it was, gliding over a picturesque landscape, a sentinel on a peaceful mission.

The Hercules passed overhead with a display of grace uncharacteristic of such a large aircraft, the whirring of its engines a testament to the ceaseless vigil it keeps across the skies. As it touched down, the craft transformed from a spectral giant back into a tangible instrument of air superiority and logistical support.

After an interlude of peaceful wave breaks another form caught my eye. The sleek, more modern contours of the Boeing P-8 Poseidon emerged from the azure, its twin engines a whisper of progression against the roar of the Hercules before it. This maritime patrol aircraft, with its lineage traced back to the reliable Boeing 737, represents the evolution of aerial surveillance and anti-submarine warfare.

As the P-8 Poseidon drew closer, descending with an elegant ease, its profile cut a striking contrast against the gray clouds above. Its advanced radar arrays, mounted under the wings and fuselage, hinted at the craft’s hidden eyes—eyes that watch over the ocean’s expanse with vigilance. There was an undeniable presence of precision and technological advancement that surrounded the Poseidon as it sailed through the air.

It passed over with a smoothness that belied its tactical purpose, a guardian of the seas ensuring the unseen threats remained held at bay. It was an ethereal sight, the embodiment of modern warfare’s stealth and strategic intelligence. The Poseidon’s landing gear, deployed and ready, connected with the tarmac in a seamless dance of man, machine, and purpose.

Standing there, I felt enveloped in a narrative much larger than myself—a narrative of human ingenuity, the relentless pursuit of security, and the silent promise of guardianship from above. With the passing of these large warplanes, I was reminded of the thin line between serene shores and the turbulent skies, and the ever-vigilant watch kept by these titans of the sky.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Near and Far — the last day of 2023

Discover a heartfelt story woven from the sands of Cocoa Beach on New Year’s Eve, where shells and stars intertwine, inviting you to ponder the delicate dance of near and far.

On the last day of 2023, as the sun began its descent on Cocoa Beach, I found myself tracing the contours of a heart laid out in Ark Clam shells. Each shell, with its ridges and grooves, felt like a chronicle of the ocean’s whispers. This artful mosaic, set against the granular canvas of the beach, was a testament to the playful hands of time and tide. I marveled at the intention behind it, the human desire to create and connect, to leave a mark, however fleeting, on the vastness of nature.

I found this beach heart while walking on Cocoa Beach on the last day of 2023. It is composed of the various shade of Ark Shells. Ark clam is the common name for a family of small to large-sized saltwater clams or marine bivalve molluscs in the family Arcidae. These are the most common shells found there.

The shells were cool and firm under my fingertips, each one a unique piece of the year’s mosaic. Some were a pristine white, while others bore the earthy tones of the sea’s floor. I pondered the journeys they had taken, tumbling in the ocean’s embrace before resting here, on the threshold of a new year. The act of arranging them into a symbol of love felt like an ode to the past year’s collective joys and sorrows, an offering to the unknown adventures of the year to come.

As the day waned, my gaze shifted from the shells to where the water met the sky. There, a sailboat floated serenely, a silent sentinel between two worlds. It was a picture of solitude, a single vessel on the brink of the infinite sea, beneath the expanding dome of the heavens. On the horizon, the silhouette of a cargo ship whispered stories of distant lands and the ceaseless pulse of commerce and exploration that defined our modern era.

On New Years Eve 2023 this sailboad moored off North 1st Street, Cocoa Beach, Brevard County, Space Coast, Florida.

The beach was quiet, the sounds of the day giving way to the evening’s peaceful lull. The sailboat’s stillness was a stark contrast to the perpetual motion of the cargo ship, each representing different paths on the water’s vast canvas. One was an emblem of leisure and simplicity, the other of industry and complexity. Both near and far, they were the day’s quiet companions, their stories part of the fabric of the Space Coast.

As twilight deepened into night, the stars began to emerge, one by one, until the sky was a tapestry of celestial wonder. With my iPhone 14 Pro Max, I captured this cosmic dance, the constellation of stars that had been the silent witnesses to Earth’s revolutions. The constellations, those mythic shapes that have long sparked human imagination, seemed to hold the secrets of what had been and what was to come. They were distant suns, their light traveling unfathomable distances to reach me, to reach us, as we stood on the brink of a new beginning.

Orion

I couldn’t help but feel a connection to the stars, a kinship with their ancient light. They reminded me that we, too, are part of this grand cosmic design, our lives stitched into the universe’s expansive quilt. On the beach, with the shells at my feet and the stars overhead, I was caught in the delicate balance of near and far—the tangible reality of the shells I could touch and the distant glow of starlight from ages past.

Orion, the belt and sword in center.

As the year ticked closer to its end, I stood between the intimate artistry of the shell heart and the boundless majesty of the star-filled sky, a lone observer of time’s relentless march. The Space Coast, with its unique blend of earthly beauty and human aspiration, was the perfect stage for this reflection. Here, on Cocoa Beach, I embraced the last moments of 2023, ready to welcome the new year, with its promise of continuance and change, its constant dance of near and far.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Life of an Osprey: From Nest to Sky

Read about this osprey’s journey, from a hatchling to a fledgling soaring over Cayuga Lake.

Continue reading “Life of an Osprey: From Nest to Sky”

Hands of Frogs and the Innocence of Babies

Autumn leaves whisper,
By the calm inlet they dance,
Maple’s red embrace,
History in every branch,
Nature’s heart in silent chant.

Continue reading “Hands of Frogs and the Innocence of Babies”

ScienceCenter with Grandchildren

The ScienceCenter museum encourages learning about nanotechnology’s prevalence and unpredictable, unique behaviors.

Our day of science began with measurement: each grandchild’s growth is represented on this corner. Even as young adults they visit and are re-measured. Here Rory is making his mark.

Our science inspired museum, ScienceCenter, is full of fun activities.

Nothing like touching a space object: an iron-nickel meteorite.

So much to learn and discover. Here is Sam perusing a “nano” display.

Nanotechnology is pervasive, existing both in nature and within our technological innovations. Nature offers numerous instances of nanoscale phenomena. For instance, the iridescent hues seen in certain butterflies and the adhesive properties of geckos’ feet are both outcomes of nanostructures.

In our everyday products, nanotechnology plays a significant role. You’ll find it in items you use regularly, such as computer chips featuring minuscule nano-sized components and sunscreen containing nanoparticles. Looking ahead, nanotechnology will play an even more prominent role in our lives.

The question is: Where can you spot the influence of nanotechnology in your own life?

Materials exhibit distinct behaviors at the nanoscale. Tiny particles of gold appear red or purple, as opposed to their conventional shiny, golden appearance. When nanoparticles of iron are dispersed in a liquid, they give rise to a remarkable substance known as ferrofluid, which is a liquid that exhibits a magnetic attraction.

The nanoscale realm also harbors other surprising phenomena. Here, different physical forces dominate, leading to unexpected behaviors. For instance, at nanoscale the force of gravity becomes nearly imperceptible, while static electricity exerts a much greater influence.

Scientists are actively exploring ways to harness these unique nanoscale properties in the development of novel materials and cutting-edge technologies.

Nanotechnology enables us to construct structures much like nature does: atom by atom. Everything in the world is composed of “building blocks” known as atoms. In nature, varied combinations of atoms create diverse materials. For instance, diamond, graphite, and carbon nanotubes are all composed entirely of carbon atoms, but their unique properties emerge from the distinct arrangements of these carbon atoms.

In the field of nanotechnology, we are gaining the knowledge and capability to craft small, functional objects from individual atoms. Remarkably, some new nanomaterials have the capacity to self-assemble, opening up new possibilities for nanotechnology.

Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Treman Early Autumn Walk XIV

The post discusses the Hepatica acutiloba plant, highlighting its characteristics, growth, historical medicinal use, and its natural habitat in central eastern North America. It also includes an observation made in Robert H. Treman Park.

These characteristic leaves are Hepatica plants growing on the sun dappled southern rim of Robert H. Treman Park captured on a bright late September morning.

“Hepatica acutiloba, the sharp-lobed hepatica, is a herbaceous flowering plant in the buttercup family Ranunculaceae. It is sometimes considered part of the genus Anemone, as Anemone acutiloba, A. hepatica, or A. nobilis. Also generally known as Liverleaf and Liverwort.”


“The word hepatica derives from the Greek ἡπατικός hēpatikós, from ἧπαρ hêpar ‘liver’, because its three-lobed leaf was thought to resemble the human liver.”


“Each clump-forming plant grows 5 to 19 cm (2.0 to 7.5 in) tall, flowering in the early to mid spring. The flowers are greenish-white, white, purple or pinkish in color, with a rounded shape. After flowering the fruits are produced in small, rounded columned heads, on pedicels 1 to 4 mm long. When the fruits, called achenes, are ripe they are ovoid in shape, 3.5–4.7 mm long and 1.3–1.9 mm wide, slightly winged and tend to lack a beak.”

Hepatica Flowers in early spring on the Rim Trail

“Hepatica acutiloba is native to central eastern North America where it can be found growing in deciduous open woods, most often in calcareous soils. Butterflies, moths, bees, flies and beetles are known pollinators. The leaves are basal, leathery, and usually three-lobed, remaining over winter.”

“Hepatica was once used as a medicinal herb. Owing to the doctrine of signatures, the plant was once thought to be an effective treatment for liver disorders. Although poisonous in large doses, the leaves and flowers may be used as an astringent, as a demulcent for slow-healing injuries, and as a diuretic.”

Ferns and Mosses growing beneath Red Pines

View of the lower falls and swimming hole from the Rim Trail

Click Me another post featuring Hepatica flowers

References
–text in italics and quotes is from Wikipedia, “Hepatica” and “Hepatica acutiloba.”
–“The Botanical Garden Vol II Perennials and Annuals,” Roger Phillips and Martyn Rix, Firefly Books, 2002.

Copyright 2023 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills

Treman Early Autumn Walk XIII

The Red Pine, Minnesota’s state tree, is a tall, conical, long-lived evergreen with distinctive orange-red bark.

Returning from a Rim Trail walk one April my boots were yellow from a prolific release of pollen from flowers of these tall trees that develop into the woody cones.

Pinus, the pine, is the largest genus in the family Pinaceae, with around 100 species throughout the northern hemisphere.


Red Pine (Pinus resinosa) is Minnesota’s state tree, known there as the Norway Pine. The use of the name “Norway” may stem from early Scandinavian immigrants who likened the American red pines to the Scots pines back home.


“Red pine is a coniferous evergreen tree characterized by tall, straight growth. It usually ranges from 20–35 meters (66–115 feet) in height and 1 m (3 ft 3 in) in trunk diameter, exceptionally reaching 43.77 m (143+1⁄2 ft) tall. The crown is conical, becoming a narrow, rounded dome with age. The bark is thick and gray brown at the base of the tree, but thin, flaky and bright orange red in the upper crown; the tree’s name derives from this distinctive character. Some red color may be seen in the fissures of the bark. The species is self-pruning; there tend not to be dead branches on the trees, and older trees may have very long lengths of branchless trunk below the canopy.”


“It is a long-lived tree, reaching a maximum age of about 500 years. Another member of Pinus, Pinus longaeva D.K. Bailey, the intermountain bristlecone pine, is the longest-lived tree in the world; one in the White Mountains of Nevada is estimated to be 5,000 years old, and by matching rhe rings with even older dead trees, a sequence going back 8,500 years has been established.”

“Red pine is notable for its very constant morphology and low genetic variation throughout its range, suggesting it has been through a near extinction in its recent evolutionary history. A genetic study of nuclear microsatellite polymorphisms among populations distributed throughout its natural range found that red pine populations from Newfoundland are genetically distinct from most mainland populations, consistent with dispersal from different glacial refugia in this highly self-pollinating species.”

Click Me for the first post in this series.

References
–text in italics and quotes is from Wikipedia, “Pinus resinosa.”
–“The Botanical Garden Vol I Trees and Shrubs,” Roger Phillips and Martyn Rix, Firefly Books, 2002.

Copyright 2023 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills

Treman Early Autumn Walk XII

Assistance sought for identification of a plant discovered in Robert H. Treman park, Enfield Gorge.

Can anyone identify this plant found growing on the south rim of Enfield Gorge within the Robert H. Treman park?

Click Me for the first post in this series.

Copyright 2023 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills

Treman Early Autumn Walk XI

Thomas Edison and Henry Ford innovatively used goldenrod to produce rubber, potentially counteracting rubber shortages.

Where the Rim Trail descends to an ending on the Enfield Gorge floor a perennial patch of sunlight promotes an extravagant woodland growth of Zigzag goldenrod.

Solidago flexicaulis, AKA Broadleaf Goldenrod and Ziazag Goldenrod

“Inventor Thomas Edison experimented with goldenrod to produce rubber, which it contains naturally. Edison created a fertilization and cultivation process to maximize the rubber content in each plant. His experiments produced a 12 ft-tall (3.7 m) plant that yielded as much as 12% rubber. The tires on the Model T given to him by his friend Henry Ford were made from goldenrod. Like George Washington Carver, Henry Ford was deeply interested in the regenerative properties of soil and the potential of alternative crops such as peanuts and soybeans to produce plastics, paint, fuel and other products.  Ford had long believed that the world would eventually need a substitute for gasoline and supported the production of ethanol (or grain alcohol) as an alternative fuel. In 1942, he would showcase a car with a lightweight plastic body made from soybeans. Ford and Carver began corresponding via letter in 1934, and their mutual admiration deepened after George Washington Carver made a visit to Michigan in 1937.”

“By the time World War II began, Ford had made repeated journeys to Tuskegee to convince George Washington Carver to come to Dearborn and help him develop a synthetic rubber to help compensate for wartime rubber shortages. Carver arrived on July 19, 1942, and set up a laboratory in an old water works building in Dearborn. He and Ford experimented with different crops, including sweet potatoes and dandelions, eventually devising a way to make the rubber substitute from goldenrod, a plant weed commercially viable. Carver died in January 1943, Ford in April 1947, but the relationship between their two institutions continued to flourish: As recently as the late 1990s, Ford awarded grants of $4 million over two years to the George Washington Carver School at Tuskegee.”

“Extensive process development was conducted during World War II to commercialize goldenrod as a source of rubber. The rubber is only contained in the leaves, not the stems or blooms. Typical rubber content of the leaves is 7%. The resulting rubber is of low molecular weight, resulting in an excessively tacky compound with poor tensile properties.”

References: text in italics and quotes is from the Wikipedia, “Solidago.”

Copyright 2023 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills