Tag: Finger Lakes

Beauty and Struggle: Flowering Rush in Stewart Park

Crossing the footbridge in Stewart Park, I encountered the graceful yet invasive Flowering Rush. Its delicate beauty hides a deeper story about nature’s resilience, human impact, and the fragile balance of our ecosystems.

MichaelStephenWills2 Comments

While crossing the suspension footbridge over Fall Creek in Stewart Park, there’s a sense of stepping into a world that’s more peaceful and attuned to nature. The bridge is familiar to me—a steady, quiet companion—but each visit feels new, as though the park has secrets it only reveals in small whispers. In this photograph the green steel beams rise like sentinels, standing tall against the backdrop of shifting autumn colors. Below, the water reflects the vibrant reds, golds, and greens of the trees, creating an illusion of depth that draws me in.

Footbridge to the Fuertes Bird Sanctuary, Stewart Park, Ithaca, New York, October 2012

This past summer I stopped midway across, leaned against the railing, just listening. The creek moved slowly, like time itself decided to pause here for a while. That’s when I saw them: delicate pink blooms rising up from the water’s edge, their petals small and star-shaped, catching the light as they sway in the gentle breeze. There’s something striking about these plants—graceful, elegant, almost otherworldly in their simplicity. They reach up, as though trying to escape the confines of the water and the muddy banks.

My subsequent research revealed these to be Flowering Rush, or Butomus umbellatus. I often see them now, their soft pinks and slender leaves creating a quiet beauty that’s hard to ignore. They’re beautiful, but I have come to know they don’t belong here. This is one of those moments in nature that gives me pause—a reminder that not everything lovely is innocent.

Flowering Rush Growing in Fall Creek, Stewart Park, June 2024

Flowering Rush, a European import from centuries ago, was not meant to take root here. Brought to North America for ornamental ponds, its allure quickly became its danger. It spread, silently, like a secret carried on the wind, slowly overtaking the native species that have long called these waters home. And yet, standing here now, I cannot help but admire its tenacity, its quiet determination to thrive. Nature, in all its forms, has this incredible will to survive, even if that survival sometimes comes at a cost.

My mind drifts to the plant’s history. In its native lands Flowering Rush, or Grass Rush, was useful—its roots, though bitter, were harvested for food, and its fibrous stems woven into mats and ropes. How interesting that something as delicate as this has a rugged, practical side. This contradiction makes perfect sense when I think of the plant’s journey across continents, carried over oceans by human hands and curiosity. We are responsible for its presence here, and now, like so many other invasive species, it’s become a fixture of this landscape.

I think about the dual nature of this invasion. Flowering Rush is beautiful—there is no denying that. Its soft, pink flowers contrast sharply with the darker tones of the water and the dense green of the grasses that surround it. But its beauty masks a quiet destruction. It chokes out the native plants that once thrived here, altering the ecosystem in ways we cannot always see. I wonder what fish and aquatic life struggles beneath the surface, their food sources slowly disappearing. What birds find fewer insects and fewer safe places to nest?

And yet, is this plant a villain? Flowering rush is doing what it was meant to do—grow, spread, survive. That is what everything in nature does, after all. It does not have malice or intent; it just is. It is humans who have changed the balance, who introduced this species to a place where it didn’t belong, setting off a chain reaction we’re still trying to fully understand.

Today, as I walk across the bridge, heading toward the Fuertes Bird Sanctuary, path ahead invites quiet reflection, the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves providing a peaceful soundtrack. But the Flowering Rush lingers in my mind. It reminds me of how interconnected everything is, how one small action—a plant brought from a distant land—can ripple out and affect entire ecosystems. It’s a lesson in responsibility for those willing to listen.

As I step into the sanctuary, the air feels lighter, filled with the sound of birds that dart between the trees. I think of the delicate balance of life here, and how easily it can be disrupted by the presence of something foreign, something invasive. Yet, there is a strange comfort in knowing that nature, for all its fragility, has its own resilience.

The Flowering Rush, with its roots deep in the muddy banks of Fall Creek, is a testament to that resilience. It may not belong here, but it has found a way to adapt, to make this place its home. And in that, I find both a warning and a kind of hope—hope that we, too, can learn to live more thoughtfully, more in tune with the world around us, before we upset the balance any further.

For now, though, I simply walk, grateful for the beauty around me, even if it comes with complications. Each step takes me deeper into this world, and I am reminded once again of the profound connection we have to the land, the water, the plants, and the creatures that share this space.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

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The Majestic Cottonwoods of Stewart Park

Discover the timeless beauty of two towering Cottonwood trees along the shores of Cayuga Lake. Explore their natural history, cultural significance, and how they’ve shaped the landscape of Stewart Park for generations.

MichaelStephenWills13 Comments

Walking with Pam in Stewart Park, the shores of Cayuga Lake shimmer under the bright September sun, offering a serene setting for reflection. Ahead, two towering Cottonwood trees stand in quiet majesty, their branches spreading wide, casting long shadows over the grass and walkway. Drawn toward them, I find myself in awe of their presence—these two trees, ancient sentinels by the water, who have silently borne witness to the changing world around them.

View Facing East/Southeast, September 10, 2024

Cottonwoods, scientifically known as Populus deltoides, are members of the poplar family and are among the tallest trees in North America. The ones before me have thrived for decades, their thick, furrowed trunks a testament to the endurance of life on the edge of the lake. It’s remarkable to think of all the storms and seasons they’ve weathered—their roots digging deep into the moist earth, nourished by the lake’s constant ebb and flow. I feel as though these trees, standing side by side, companions, connected through the unseen networks of roots beneath the soil. Their relationship to one another seems profound, they have grown up together, providing support and strength as they aged. Their canopies overlapping as though embracing one another.

There’s an undeniable symmetry to their relationship, both in form and function. One can imagine them as silent witnesses to the changing landscape around them—the gradual expansion of the park, the families that come and go, the laughter of children playing nearby, and the quiet conversations of couples walking hand in hand. These trees have become part of the fabric of Stewart Park, deeply entwined with the human history that unfolds here every day.

View Facing East, September 10, 2024

The branches reach skyward, their leaves shimmering in the breeze, producing the characteristic fluttering sound of Cottonwoods. There’s something deeply soothing about this rustling—the way the wind seems to dance through the leaves, creating a rhythm that feels eternal. It reminds me that these trees have long been part of human experience, a backdrop to countless strolls, picnics, and quiet moments of contemplation here at Stewart Park.

Cottonwoods are fast-growing, often found near bodies of water where their shallow roots can tap into consistent moisture. And yet, their rapid growth comes with a trade-off; their wood is soft and brittle, prone to breaking in high winds. But in Stewart Park, these two trees have found a perfect balance, their large, sweeping canopies offering shade and shelter without suffering too much damage from the storms that blow through the Finger Lakes. Their resilience is remarkable—a reminder of nature’s ability to thrive in challenging conditions.

Historically, Cottonwoods have played a significant role in the lives of the people who encountered them. Native Americans once used the bark for medicinal purposes and fashioned the wood into canoes. Early settlers appreciated the trees for their rapid growth and ability to provide shade and timber in otherwise open expanses of the Midwest and Northeast. Even today, their legacy endures as they continue to offer shade and shelter, albeit more for leisure than for survival.

I notice how the pathway itself bends gently to accommodate the Cottonwoods. The paved trail, so clearly designed with these majestic trees in mind, arcs around their broad bases as if to honor their presence. In a world where nature is so often bent to human will, it’s refreshing to see this small, quiet gesture of deference—a reminder that in our modern parks, nature can sometimes lead the way.

View Facing West, June 25, 2024

The path doesn’t cut through or impose upon these trees. Instead, it respects their claim to the land, curving around them in a way that feels organic, almost reverent. The roots of these Cottonwoods must reach far beyond what I can see, extending outward in all directions beneath the soil, beneath the path itself. It’s as though the trees and the human-made elements of the park have reached a compromise—a harmonious balance where both can coexist without either having to sacrifice too much.

In their wisdom, the planners of this park understood that these trees had already laid their claim long before the park’s paths were laid out. It’s a small but profound testament to the enduring power of nature and the foresight of those who designed this space. As I walk along the path, I feel the subtle shift in the landscape—the way the curve of the trail encourages a more leisurely pace, inviting visitors to pause for a moment and take in the grandeur of these ancient trees.

The curve itself creates a sense of flow, as if the path is gently nudging us toward a deeper appreciation of the Cottonwoods. There’s no rush here. The trees stand in their place, rooted and steadfast, while we are invited to move around them, to change our course slightly in order to make space for something larger than ourselves. The path becomes a metaphor for our relationship with nature—we must sometimes bend and yield to its greater forces, rather than insist on our own straight and rigid lines.

This curved path speaks to the broader theme of adaptability—how both nature and humanity have learned to accommodate one another. The Cottonwoods have withstood the test of time, their roots dug deep into the soil, while we have found ways to move alongside them, adjusting our course to allow for their growth. It’s a quiet but powerful reminder of the importance of coexistence and respect, of making space for the natural world rather than always seeking to dominate it.

As we pass by, I notice the texture of their bark—deeply furrowed and rough, a tactile reminder of the passage of time. Each ridge and crevice holds the story of countless seasons—of dry summers, harsh winters, and everything in between. I reach out and touch one of the trunks, feeling the coolness of the bark under my hand. There’s a vitality here that can only be sensed up close, a quiet hum of life that pulses just beneath the surface.

Yet, despite their imposing size and age, the Cottonwoods remain humble in their role. They do not demand attention like a flowering dogwood or a brightly colored maple. Instead, they offer something more enduring—a quiet, steady presence that provides shelter and shade without fanfare. Their leaves turn a brilliant yellow in autumn, adding to the kaleidoscope of colors that make up the Finger Lakes’ fall landscape. But even in winter, when the leaves are gone, their bare branches stand against the cold sky, offering a stark beauty all their own.

As I step back to take in the full view of these two Cottonwoods, I am filled with a sense of gratitude. Their lives, so intimately tied to this place, remind me of the interconnectedness of all living things—the way nature, time, and humanity overlap in ways both seen and unseen. These trees, growing together on the shores of Cayuga Lake, are not just part of the landscape—they are part of the story of Stewart Park and, in a broader sense, the story of this region. They remind me that, like them, we are all shaped by our surroundings, by the people and places that stand beside us as we grow. And in that way, we are never truly alone.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Queen Anne’s Legacy: A Wildflower’s Role in the Finger Lakes Ecosystem and History

Amid the rolling hills and meadows of the Finger Lakes, Queen Anne’s Lace stands tall, its delicate white blooms weaving a tapestry of nature’s resilience and beauty. Discover the rich history, legends, and ecological importance behind this elegant wildflower.

MichaelStephenWills


In the Finger Lakes region of New York State, fields come alive with the delicate beauty of Queen Anne’s Lace—a wildflower that embodies nature’s elegance. Scientifically known as Daucus carota, its flowering umbels resemble intricate lace, lending poetic charm to the landscapes it graces. Beyond aesthetics, the history and mythology behind Queen Anne’s Lace, combined with its ecological importance and cultural significance, reveal a plant deeply intertwined with both nature and human culture.

The Name and Its Myths


The name Queen Anne’s Lace derives from English legend. According to the tale, Queen Anne, consort to King James I, was challenged to create lace as beautiful as the flower. While sewing, she pricked her finger, and a single drop of blood stained the lace—represented by the tiny purple floret at the center of many Queen Anne’s Lace blossoms. This intricate network of white flowers surrounding a central floret mirrors the lacework attributed to Queen Anne, giving the plant a royal and historic association.

Scientifically known as Daucus carota, Queen Anne’s Lace is also known by several other common names, including wild carrot and bird’s nest, the latter inspired by the way the flower head curls inward as the seeds begin to develop, resembling a nest. The flower is closely related to the cultivated carrot, and its roots, though much smaller and woodier, share the familiar carrot scent. In fact, Queen Anne’s Lace is considered the wild ancestor of the domestic carrot, with a lineage stretching back thousands of years.

In the meadows of the Brock-Harvey Forest Preserve, Queen Anne’s Lace thrives among the native flora, showcasing its delicate beauty. The function of the central dark florets of D. carota has been subject to debate since Charles Darwin speculated that they are a vestigial trait. It has been suggested that they have the adaptive function of mimicking insects, thus either discouraging herbivory, or attracting pollinators by indicating the presence of food or opportunities for mating. Research conducted in Portugal suggests that the dark central florets of Daucus carota mimic insects, attracting pollinators like the varied carpet beetle (Anthrenus verbasci). Inflorescences with more dark florets experienced increased visitation, indicating these florets may enhance pollination efficiency.

Queen Anne’s Lace in Finger Lakes Ecology


Beyond its rich mythology, Queen Anne’s Lace plays a significant role in the ecology of the Finger Lakes region. Throughout the expansive landscapes of the Finger Lakes, from lush meadows to roadsides, Queen Anne’s Lace stands tall, its delicate blossoms dotting the green with clusters of white. This wildflower can be observed in various stages of its life cycle, from budding umbels to the intricate ‘bird’s nest’ formation.

The fields around the Finger Lakes, often framed by rolling hills and ancient forests, offer the perfect habitat for Daucus carota. The plant thrives in well-drained soils and open sunlight, often outcompeting other flora. Its deep taproots, a characteristic inherited from its cultivated cousin, the carrot, allow it to flourish in the rocky soils of the region.

In these fields, Queen Anne’s Lace performs a vital ecological role. The plant attracts a variety of pollinators, including bees, butterflies, and beneficial insects like lacewings, which help to control aphid populations. The wide, flat umbels provide an ideal landing platform for these insects, who in turn pollinate the flowers, ensuring the plant’s continued spread.

A History of Use


The plant’s ecological importance is matched by its historical uses throughout human civilization. Queen Anne’s Lace has long been a part of human history, both for its beauty and for its practical applications. The plant’s medicinal uses stretch back to ancient times. The seeds and roots were used by the ancient Greeks and Romans as a natural remedy for a variety of ailments, including digestive issues and inflammation. The seeds, when chewed, were believed to prevent conception and were used as a natural form of birth control.

For Native American tribes in the Finger Lakes region, Queen Anne’s Lace was a valuable plant. The roots were often used in the preparation of poultices to treat minor wounds and skin irritations. Additionally, the seeds were used for their diuretic properties, often in teas to help with urinary tract issues. The plant’s close relation to the domestic carrot also meant that its roots could be used as food, though they required careful preparation due to their tough texture and strong flavor.

A Symbol of Resilience and Elegance


The symbolism of Queen Anne’s Lace is steeped in both the fragility and strength it represents. Like the lace it mimics, the flower appears delicate and ephemeral, yet it is a hardy species that thrives in even the most inhospitable conditions. Its deep taproot enables it to survive droughts and poor soil, symbolizing resilience and perseverance in the face of adversity.

In Cayuga County, near Fillmore Glen State Park in Moravia, New York State, farm fields are often adorned with the intricate blooms of Queen Anne’s Lace.

Each summer, the fields of the Finger Lakes burst forth with Queen Anne’s Lace, their towering stalks reaching upward, crowned with intricate blossoms that sway gently in the breeze. As the season progresses, the once-flat umbels curl inward, forming a tight bird’s nest—a final act of elegance before the plant disperses its seeds to ensure future generations.

In capturing the essence of this flower in photographs that accompany this essay, the delicate yet persistent nature of Queen Anne’s Lace is evident. Whether standing tall against a backdrop of green hills, or growing alongside weathered hay bales, Queen Anne’s Lace offers a moment of reflection on the intersection of beauty, history, and nature. Its quiet presence in the Finger Lakes is a reminder that even the smallest, most unassuming plants can carry with them deep histories, enduring stories, and a legacy of utility and elegance.

As golden hues of sunset bathe the rolling hills of the Finger Lakes, the ethereal silhouettes of Queen Anne’s Lace stand as a testament to the region’s natural splendor. Whether admired for its aesthetics, revered for its medicinal uses, or simply appreciated for its ecological role, Queen Anne’s Lace remains an iconic and beloved part of the Finger Lakes’ wildflower tapestry.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Echoes of Flight: The Summer the Monarchs Did Not Come

Contemplate the quiet sorrow of a summer without monarchs. Click on the photo to read the full story and reflect on this profound sense of loss on my blog.

MichaelStephenWills18 Comments

This past summer, an absence visited our garden—a loss more profound than the quieting of wind. It was the virtual silence of an empty sky where monarch butterflies should have danced. Each day, we waited, hoping to catch a glimpse of those delicate wings, vibrant with orange and black, fluttering above the milkweed. But the familiar sight never came.

Monarch butterflies, those ethereal creatures that once graced our summers, seemed to have forgotten us.

Macro of the Monarch butterfly chrysalis. The black stalk attached to the silk pad is call a cremaster.

The photograph of the monarch chrysalis, a delicate gem hanging on a thread of life, speaks to the fragility of nature itself. Each chrysalis is a promise—a quiet, patient promise of transformation and renewal. Yet this summer, those promises vanished, leaving us to wonder where the monarchs had gone, what changes in the world pulled them away from our home in the Finger Lakes.

Our first monarch butterfly of 2023 just after emergence from the chrysalis and after wing expansion. This female will hang for several hours while the wings dry.

Another image from a time not so long ago, yet now seeming distant, shows a monarch caterpillar nestled among the milkweed blossoms. This was a time when our garden was alive with their presence, each caterpillar a testament to the cycle of life that once thrived here. The sight of them devouring the leaves was a sign of hope, a prelude to the transformation that would soon unfold. Now, that vibrant energy has vanished, leaving behind a quiet that speaks of loss and absence.

We are left to reflect on this silence, on the empty milkweed leaves and the air where monarchs once flew. The memories of summers past, when the monarchs filled our garden with their grace, are bittersweet now. They remind us of a time when the connection between the earth and its creatures was still intact, when the balance of nature had not yet been so precariously tipped.

In their absence, the monarchs leave behind a message—a reminder that their delicate beauty is not guaranteed, that the balance we once took for granted can be lost. The summer without monarchs urges us to look inward, to consider what must change, what must be protected, so that future summers may once again be filled with the fluttering of wings and the promise of life renewed.

The garden absence this year is a call to action, a plea from the earth itself to remember the delicate threads that connect us all. May we answer that call, so that this summer of loss will not reach into the future, but will be a pause, a moment of reflection before the return of the monarchs, and with them, the return of hope.

Request to my North American readers: leave comments exploring your experiences of Monarch butterflies the summer of 2024

Here are links to more Monarch photographs and videos.

Flight

Monarch Caterpillar to Chrysalis

Monarch Emergence

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

The American Basswood: A Journey of Discovery

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

MichaelStephenWills7 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Forest Gems – The Natural History and Lore of Hepatica

Join us on a journey through the enchanting forests of the Finger Lakes as we explore the fascinating world of Hepatica nobilis. Discover the lore, natural history, and beauty of these early spring bloomers. Dive into the magic of the wild!

MichaelStephenWills9 Comments

As I ventured along the Gorge Trail of Robert H. Treman New York State Park, I stumbled upon a captivating sight. Amidst the rich leaf litter and emerging greenery, clusters of Hepatica plants caught my eye. Although the flowers had already gone to seed, their distinctive leaves and stems told a story of early spring beauty in the heart of the Finger Lakes Region, Tompkins County. Using my Apple iPhone 14 ProMax, I documented these charming plants, eager to delve deeper into their fascinating world.

Hepatica, scientifically known as Hepatica nobilis, also goes by several common names including Liverleaf, Liverwort, and Kidneywort. The genus name “Hepatica” comes from the Greek word “hepar,” meaning liver, due to the shape and color of its leaves, which resemble the lobes of a human liver. This resemblance led to the plant being used historically in herbal medicine to treat liver ailments, in line with the Doctrine of Signatures—a belief that plants resembling body parts could cure ailments of those parts.

Fillmore Glen New York State Park, Moravia, New York on an April afternoon.

The common names of Hepatica reflect its historical medicinal uses. “Liverleaf” and “Liverwort” both reference its liver-shaped leaves, while “Kidneywort” likely arose from the kidney-like appearance of its seeds. These names have endured through centuries, reflecting the plant’s significant role in both folklore and herbal medicine.

Hepatica is a perennial plant in the buttercup family, Ranunculaceae. It thrives in deciduous forests, often found in shaded areas with rich, well-drained soil. The plant is one of the first to bloom in early spring, producing delicate flowers in shades of white, pink, blue, or purple. By the time I encountered them on my hike, the flowers had already transitioned to seed, but the distinctive lobed leaves remained vibrant and lush.

Fillmore Glen New York State Park, Moravia, New York on an April afternoon.

Reproduction in Hepatica is primarily through seed, though the plant can also propagate vegetatively. The flowers are insect-pollinated, attracting early-season pollinators such as bees and flies. Once pollinated, the flowers produce seeds encased in small, fuzzy fruits. These seeds are often dispersed by ants, a process known as myrmecochory, which helps ensure the plant’s spread throughout the forest floor.

Native American tribes, including the Iroquois, valued Hepatica for its medicinal properties. They used the leaves to brew teas believed to treat liver disorders, digestive issues, and skin ailments. European settlers adopted similar practices, incorporating Hepatica into their own herbal remedies.

In European folklore, Hepatica was often associated with healing and protection. The plant was believed to ward off evil spirits and protect against various maladies. In the language of flowers, Hepatica symbolizes confidence and bravery, reflecting its early emergence in the harsh conditions of early spring.

Fillmore Glen New York State Park, Moravia, New York on an April afternoon.

Today, Hepatica continues to enchant nature enthusiasts and hikers with its early blooms and lush foliage. It plays a crucial role in the ecosystem, providing a vital source of nectar for early pollinators and contributing to the biodiversity of deciduous forests.

Walking through the gorge, I felt a deep connection to the natural history and cultural significance of Hepatica. The plant’s resilience and beauty, even in its seeding stage, served as a reminder of the enduring cycles of nature and the intricate relationships between plants, animals, and humans.

In conclusion, Hepatica nobilis, or Liverleaf, is a plant of remarkable beauty and historical significance. Its early spring blooms and distinctive leaves make it a cherished sight in the forests of the Finger Lakes. As I continued my hike, I felt a profound appreciation for the rich tapestry of life that Hepatica represents, a testament to the enduring wonders of nature.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

The Enchanting Sweet White Violets of Treman Gorge

Discover the enchanting Sweet White Violets (Viola blanda) in Treman Gorge. Join us as we explore their natural history, lore, and beauty in the heart of the Finger Lakes. Dive into the magic of spring time blooms!

MichaelStephenWills12 Comments

As I walked the Gorge Trail of Robert H. Treman New York State Park, my attention was captivated by a lush carpet of delicate white flowers nestled among the vibrant green foliage. These enchanting blooms, known as Viola blanda or Sweet White Violets, were a delightful sight against the backdrop of the rugged terrain of the Finger Lakes Region in Tompkins County. Armed with my trusty Apple iPhone 14 ProMax, I couldn’t resist capturing the moment.

Viola blanda, also known as Sweet White Violet or Pale Violet, derives its scientific name from Latin. “Viola” is the classical Latin name for violets, while “blanda” means charming or pleasant, an apt description for these delightful little plants. The name “Sweet White Violet” alludes to the delicate and sweet fragrance of its flowers, a scent that is often subtle but unmistakably pleasant when noticed.

Sweet White Violets are perennial plants, part of the Violaceae family, and are typically found in moist, wooded areas. They are one of the first wildflowers to bloom in spring, their pure white petals standing out amidst the fresh green growth of the forest floor. The leaves are heart-shaped with finely serrated edges, and they form a dense mat that can cover the ground in a verdant blanket.

The reproduction of Viola blanda is fascinating. These plants produce both cleistogamous and chasmogamous flowers. The chasmogamous flowers, which are the ones most of us are familiar with, are the showy, white blooms that open fully and are pollinated by insects. Cleistogamous flowers, on the other hand, do not open and are self-pollinating. This dual strategy ensures that the plant can reproduce even in the absence of pollinators, securing its presence in the ecosystem year after year.

Native Americans, particularly the Iroquois tribes whose region this included, held violets in high regard. They used the plant medicinally to treat colds, coughs, and headaches. The leaves were often brewed into a tea, believed to have soothing properties. European settlers, too, were fond of the violet. They would often use the leaves and flowers in salads and as a garnish, taking advantage of both its nutritional value and pleasant taste.

Interestingly, in folklore, violets were associated with love and were often used in love potions. The ancient Greeks believed that violets could moderate anger and induce sleep. In the language of flowers, which was particularly popular during the Victorian era, violets symbolized modesty and faithfulness.

In modern times, the Sweet White Violet continues to charm nature enthusiasts and hikers alike. It plays a crucial role in the ecosystem, providing early spring nectar for pollinators such as bees and butterflies. The plant also serves as a host for certain butterfly species, which lay their eggs on the leaves. As the caterpillars hatch, they feed on the leaves, continuing the cycle of life.

Walking through the gorge, I felt a profound connection to the natural world. The Sweet White Violet, with its humble beauty and rich history, served as a reminder of the intricate web of life that thrives in these woods. Each step on the trail was a journey through the park and a walk through time, connecting me to the countless generations who have walked these paths before me, enchanted by the same delicate flowers.

In conclusion, the Viola blanda, or Sweet White Violet, is more than just a pretty face in the forest. It is a plant steeped in history, folklore, and ecological importance. As I continued my hike, I felt grateful for the opportunity to witness such beauty firsthand and to share in the timeless joy that these charming plants bring to the world.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Floral Anchors: Early Saxifrage’s Survival Dance in Treman Gorge

Step into the serene realms of Robert H Treman State Park, where the Early Saxifrage blossoms amidst ancient stones, embodying resilience and the timeless beauty of nature’s persistence against all odds.

MichaelStephenWills

Ambling along the rugged Gorge Trail within the serene expanse of Robert H Treman State Park, my gaze is caught by the delicate clusters of Early Saxifrage (Micranthes virginiensis), formerly known as Saxifraga virginiensis. Nestled in nooks and crannies along the limestone-rich corridors, this resilient plant, also colloquially known as “Virginia saxifrage” or “rockfoil,” presents a mesmerizing spectacle against the moss-draped backdrop of the gorge’s ancient stones.

Early Saxifrage thrives in these modest crevices, its roots gripping tightly to the scant soil amidst the rocks, drawing nourishment from the most unlikely of places. The plant’s small, white star-like flowers blossom in dense clusters, creating a soft contrast against the rugged gray of weathered stone. The base of the plant, typically hidden, burgeons with rosettes of spoon-shaped leaves, which persist through the winter, ready to embrace the spring with vigor.

This plant not only captures the eye but also whispers tales of medicinal lore. Historically, Early Saxifrage has been utilized in folk medicine, primarily valued for its supposed efficacy in dissolving kidney stones—a testament to its name, “saxifrage,” which means “stone-breaker.” Though modern usage does not commonly reflect these ancient practices, the plant’s presence here speaks to the deep-rooted herbal knowledge passed down through generations.

As I tread lightly over the worn paths that weave through the gorge, the sight of Early Saxifrage serves as a poignant reminder of the park’s ecological tapestry. This flora, modest yet striking, symbolizes the tenacity of life, blooming splendidly in the stark environment it calls home. It is a beacon of endurance and beauty, inviting us to pause and appreciate the quieter, often overlooked wonders of nature.

In this corner of the Finger Lakes, where water and stone sculpt the landscape, Early Saxifrage flourishes. It stands as a testament to the persistence of the wild, a delicate yet resilient inhabitant of this storied terrain, weaving its subtle magic into the fabric of the gorge. Here, among the whispers of streams and the echoes of stone, it finds its place, a fragile star in the vast, enduring sky of green.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Whispers from the Rocks: The Vivid World of the Red Columbine

Discover the vibrant Red Columbine of Treman Gorge, a masterpiece of adaptation and survival nestled among ancient rocks. Explore how this delicate beauty thrives in the harsh cliffs of the Finger Lakes.

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Wandering through the verdant paths of Treman Gorge, amidst the rough-hewn charm of the Finger Lakes Region, I find myself entranced by a striking botanical jewel, the Red Columbine (Aquilegia canadensis). Amid the prehistoric tapestry of shale and limestone, these delicate red and yellow flowers stand out with a vivacity that seems almost audacious against the stoic gray of their rocky backdrop.

The Red Columbine, with its unique, nodding bell-like flowers, is more than just a feast for the eyes. Each bloom is a masterclass in the art of survival and adaptation. The elongated, tubular structure of its flowers, splashed with a bold red that fades into a sun-kissed yellow, is nature’s perfect lure for its pollinators. The petals curve back, as if arching away in a graceful flare, exposing the stamens and pistils in an inviting display for hummingbirds, which, in their quest for nectar, become unwitting partners in the dance of pollination.

As I tread softly along the mossy stones, the sheer cliff faces of the gorge serve as a stark reminder of the relentless passage of time. Yet here, in this ancient cradle, the Red Columbine thrives in pockets of soil that seem to defy gravity. It’s a botanical ballet, with each plant performing its survival routine rooted in crevices that gather just enough humus to sustain life.

The air is cool and moist, the faint murmur of Enfield Creek a constant whisper beneath the chorus of bird calls. This is a place of subtle enchantment where every glance reveals the rugged beauty of nature intertwined with the delicate persistence of life. The columbines, with their whimsical spirals of spurs and lush, lobed leaves, appear almost otherworldly. They thrive here in the dappled sunlight, a testament to their resilience and a reminder of nature’s quiet defiance against the odds.

Red Columbine with steel rebar driven into the rock to anchor lifesaving lines. Found near Lucifer Falls, Robert H Treman New York State Park, Ithaca, Tompkins County

In this serene alcove, time slows. The Red Columbine’s pendulous blooms sway gently with the breeze, each movement a soft ballet in the verdant amphitheater of Treman Gorge. This flower, with its fiery hues and intricate form, embodies the spirit of the wild that surrounds us. It stands as a vibrant contrast against the somber stones, a living splash of color against the monochrome palette of the gorge.

As I pause to capture this moment, camera in hand, I am reminded of the fragile beauty that thrives in these hidden corners of the earth. The Red Columbine, with its enchanting flowers and rugged perseverance, is a symbol of the wild heart that beats strong within the quiet solitude of Treman Gorge. Here, in the heart of the Finger Lakes, beauty and resilience bloom in the most unexpected places, painting the landscape with strokes of floral brilliance.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Early Spring IV

exploring Trillium habitat

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Trillium as subjects are a continual challenge to find the compelling composition. Click me for another Trillium posting.

This afternoon’s sky was overcast, perfect for photographing wildflowers: clouds thin enough for light to pour through. In the clouds’ shadow there is not enough light for the plant to cast its own distracting shadows. Compare an earlier trillium photograph (click me to go there).

For the following photograph is a study in habitat. At f32, focusing on the trillium, the surroundings are clearly identifiable: several budding Foam Flower heads (Scientific Name: Tiarella), fern, rotting wood, the forest floor hidden by leaf clutter.

I released the shutter (with a 2 second delay) during a break in spring breezes, the overcast lighting bright enough for a speedy 1/8 second exposure. The focus on the opening trillium bloom is just as crisp in this exposure as the next.

Click photograph for larger image. To do this from WordPress Reader, you need to first click the title of this post to open a new page.

f32 / 1/8 second

At 4 f-stop, the entire plant is in focus while many habitat elements are a soft blur. An interesting point is the leaf on the left. It is in focus somewhat and is a distraction. This was an issue, in my opinion, for the first photograph.

f4.5 / 1/320 second
Click for my “Finger Lakes Memories” Fine Art Photography Gallery.

Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills