Fillmore Glen Autumn
The first week of November 2023 I posted a series of photographs from Fillmore Glen from the Canon 5D Mark IV. Today, I present a series of photographs from the same day using the Sony Alpha 700 dslr using a variable 18-200 mm lens.
Woodland goldenrods in the Finger Lakes Region contribute to ecosystem biodiversity and resilience.
In the Finger Lakes Region of Central New York State, a tapestry of flora unfurls across the landscape, marked by the vibrant yellows of woodland goldenrods. These wildflowers are not just a visual spectacle; they are integral to the ecosystem, contributing to its biodiversity and offering a feast for pollinators.
Woodland goldenrods (Solidago species) are part of a larger genus that encompasses over 100 species, many of which thrive in the varied habitats of the Finger Lakes. This region, with its rich soils, ample rainfall, and diverse topography, hosts an array of goldenrod species, each adapted to specific niches within the woodland understory.
Solidago caesia, commonly known as blue-stemmed or wreath goldenrod, is one species that graces these woods. Unlike the typical roadside goldenrods, this species thrives in the dappled shade, its delicate arching stems culminating in small bursts of yellow flowers that appear like beaded necklaces draped over the greenery.
Another species, Solidago flexicaulis, or zigzag goldenrod, earns its name from the characteristic bending pattern of its stem, which zigzags between leaf nodes. Its flowers are more clustered, favoring the shade and moist conditions of the forest floor. Its presence is often a sign of a healthy, undisturbed woodland.
Solidago odora, or anise-scented goldenrod, brings a sensory delight to the mix with leaves that emit a licorice-like fragrance when crushed. This goldenrod favors the edges of woodlands and clearings, where sunlight can reach its clusters of tiny, bright yellow flowers.
The downy goldenrod, Solidago puberula, is yet another species that decorates the region’s woodlands. It prefers dry, sandy soils, often found on the slopes and ridges that contour the Finger Lakes. Its name comes from the fine hairs that cover its stems and leaves, a characteristic that distinguishes it from its kin.
Each of these goldenrods plays a role in the woodland ecosystem. Their flowers provide nectar and pollen for a variety of insects, from bees and butterflies to beetles and flies. The seeds are a food source for birds, and the plants themselves offer habitat to numerous woodland creatures.
The presence of woodland goldenrods also indicates the health of the region’s forests. These plants are often pioneers in disturbed areas, contributing to soil stabilization and the natural succession process. They are resilient and adaptable, capable of surviving in a range of conditions from full sun to dense shade, though each species has its preference.
In the Finger Lakes Region, the goldenrods bloom from late summer into the fall, their golden hues a prelude to the coming autumnal display. They stand as a testament to the beauty and complexity of these woodlands, their very existence a reminder of the delicate balance within these ecosystems.
In conclusion, the woodland goldenrods of the Finger Lakes are more than just a splash of color in the verdant forests. They are a vital part of the ecological tapestry, contributing to the biodiversity and resilience of the region. Each species, with its unique adaptations and preferences, adds to the rich natural heritage of Central New York State, reminding us of the intricate web of life that thrives in these woodlands.
The maple leaf is here portrayed as a symbol of life’s journey, intricacy, and impermanence, offering profound reflections on existence and human aspiration.
The maple leaf, a symbol cast from the arboreal giants that stand sentinel over the forests of the North, is an emblem woven into the very fabric of the natural world and the ethos of nations. In the hush of the woodland, where light dapples through the canopy, one might find the ground strewn with these deciduous gems, each a small testament to the grandeur of the cosmos and the cyclical poetry of life.
A maple leaf is an allegory for the human condition. The leaf, in its singular form, is a paragon of symmetry, its serrated edges a crown of nature’s meticulous artisanship. The veins that stretch across its surface, much like the lines upon an aged hand, speak of life’s intricate network, the invisible bonds that connect and sustain us. Each leaf, a verdant vessel, courses with the sap of existence, a lifeblood shared in the quiet brotherhood of the forest.
Yet, as the seasons wheel from the halcyon days of summer to the mellowing glow of autumn, the maple leaf undergoes a transformation as profound as any in the human soul. It becomes a canvas upon which the twilight of the year is painted. Scarlet, amber, and gold – these are the hues of the leaf’s maturation, a visual sonnet to the passage of time. Mann may have mused on this metamorphosis, the leaf becoming an artifact of beauty at the very precipice of its own demise, a reflection on the bittersweet nature of all earthly endeavors.
Philosophically, the maple leaf’s journey from bud to decay is a microcosm of existence itself. In spring, it burgeons forth from the stark limbs of its parent tree, a symbol of rebirth and the perennial hope that accompanies new beginnings. In its zenith, it offers shelter and sustenance, an unheralded giver of life. But as it yields to the inevitable fall, swirling in the autumn winds to its rest upon the soft earth, it evokes a meditation on the impermanence of all things. The leaf, once the very emblem of vitality, now melds with the soil in quietus, a return to the elemental from which it sprung.
The maple leaf, then, is not merely an object of transient beauty, nor simply a token of the land it hails from. It is a narrative, a silent orator of the eternal truths that bind the soul of the artist to the canvas of the universe. It is a vessel for the musings of poets and philosophers, a simple yet profound cipher for the myriad complexities of existence.
I find maple leaves imbued with a weight of existential significance: its simple, pleasing shape a metaphor for the human aspiration towards beauty and the poignant inevitability of its corruption. For in the visage of the leaf, one might glimpse the duality of passion – the longing for the sublime, coupled inexorably with the sorrow of its fleeting grasp. Thus, the maple leaf, in its silent splendor, becomes a memento mori, a delicate reminder of the rapturous agony of life and the solemn peace of death.
Shelf fungi, known for their ecological role and unique physical features, hold significant cultural and practical importance in Native American traditions, medicine and art.
Shelf fungus, also known as bracket fungus, comprises various species of polypore mushrooms that grow on trees, logs, or branches, forming shelf-like structures. These fungi are integral to forest ecosystems, functioning as decomposers that break down the cellulose and lignin in wood, facilitating nutrient cycling. They possess a hard, woody basidiocarp — the fruiting body — which can persist for years. The spore-producing surface is typically on the underside, featuring numerous tiny pores where spores are released. Shelf fungi are diverse, with species ranging from saprophytic to parasitic, some contributing to tree diseases like heart rot.
Shelf fungi captivate me with their silent tenacity, perched like wooden sentinels on forest guardians. Their presence is a reminder of nature’s cycles, breaking down the old to nourish the new. Each time I spy their intricate layers and earthy hues, I’m reminded of life’s layered complexities. They are nature’s artists, painting decay with a purposeful brush, turning fallen timber into rich soil. To me, they symbolize resilience, a testament to thriving in place, despite the odds. In their quiet existence, they echo the beauty of transformation, an emblem of life’s perpetual motion within the stillness of the woods.
The relationship between Native Americans and shelf fungi is rooted in a profound understanding of the natural world, where every element has a role in the cultural and practical life of a community. Shelf fungi, with their sturdy, shelf-like projections from trees, have been an integral part of Native American tradition, utilized for both medicinal and practical purposes.
Medicinally, various tribes recognized the healing properties of certain shelf fungi. The Iroquois, for example, used bracket fungi in poultices to treat wounds and swelling. Other tribes found uses for shelf fungi as anti-inflammatory agents or as a means to stop bleeding, embracing the fungi’s natural anticoagulant properties.
In everyday life, the unique physical properties of shelf fungi lent themselves to multiple uses. The Piptoporus betulinus, commonly known as the birch polypore, was carried by the Otzi the Iceman, a natural mummy dating back to over 5,000 years ago, likely for its antiseptic properties and as a means to carry embers due to its ability to smolder without flame. This hints at a broader prehistoric and indigenous use of fungi for fire carrying.
The tinder fungus, a type of shelf fungus, was particularly valued for its ability to hold a flame. Native Americans often used this fungus to transport fire between camps. They would hollow out a section of the fungus, fill it with hot embers, and cover it to create a portable and long-lasting source of fire. This was an essential technology for survival, especially during long treks or in adverse weather conditions.
Moreover, the Ganoderma species, commonly referred to as the Artist’s Conk, served as a canvas for art. These fungi have a white pore surface that darkens when touched. Native American artists utilized this characteristic to etch drawings and messages, turning these fungi into storytelling and communicative tools.
The profound connection between Native Americans and shelf fungi illustrates a deep ecological wisdom where even a simple fungus is interwoven into the fabric of cultural and survival practices. This symbiosis underscores the importance of every organism within an ecosystem, a lesson that resonates with contemporary efforts to understand and preserve our natural world.
Fillmore Glen Autumn
As the season of harvest waned to the deep, fiery heart of November, I found myself beneath the boundless expanse of heaven’s azure, wandering the untouched expanses of the wilds. The sun, in its unwavering journey, cast its gaze upon the earth, illuminating the realm with a clarity that seemed to transcend the ages. It was upon such an afternoon that mine eyes beheld a vision of yesteryear’s industry, a relic from a time long since passed into the annals of history—an ancient dam and pond, nestled in the forest.
The water, a mirror to the sky, held within its embrace the autumnal celebration of the maples. Leaves, flames of red and gold, lay scattered upon the surface, drifting languidly atop the pond. Amongst this mosaic of nature’s final flourish, green tendrils of algae weaved patterns, as though the very spirits of the forest sought to lay claim to the waters with their verdant touch.
The trees, mighty sentinels of maple, stood in grandeur around the pond, their boughs heavy with the weight of the season. Their leaves, caught in the throes of change, were painted with the brilliant hues of yellow and red, a testament to the time when the earth itself becomes an artist of unrivaled skill.
And there, frozen in the midst of this tranquil domain, stood the gears of the mill race, once alive with industry’s hum, now silent and immobile. They reached towards the heavens, their shadows etched upon the pond below, as if in a final, defiant stand against the passage of time.
Such a sight, in the clear, sunny afternoon of this November day in the year 2511, spoke to me of the enduring dance between man’s creations and the relentless, reclaiming hand of nature. It was a scene that stirred within me a profound reverence, a sense of communion with the generations that had walked these woods before. Here, in this hallowed place, time seemed to pause, allowing me a moment of solemn reflection in the ceaseless flow of eternity.
Fillmore Glen Autumn
Within Fillmore Glen, as autumn unfurls its vibrant tapestry, there lies a path that seems to exist between the pages of an unwritten folklore. It is a trail not marked for travel, bearing a solitary sign, “Not a trail. Do not enter,” which stands like a silent sentinel amidst the riot of colors. Yet, the path stretches on, an irresistible lure, a golden ribbon that meanders through the heart of the wood, carpeted with leaves that have taken their final, graceful descent to create a mosaic of reds, oranges, and yellows.
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The path is a secret thoroughfare, known only to the whispering trees and the shy creatures that watch from the underbrush. The air here is thick with the scent of damp earth and the musk of decay that heralds the deepening of autumn. It is a place out of time, where the distant sound of falling water is a constant undertone, a reminder of the unseen river that carves its way through the glen, its voice rising and falling with the wind.
The leaves that blanket the path rustle with the passage of unseen feet—perhaps the fox, or the silent owl that hunts at twilight. The golden footpaths are corridors of light, as the sun filters through the thinning canopy, casting long shadows and illuminating patches of the forest floor with a warm, amber glow.
Here, one’s footsteps become a part of the glen’s own rhythm, a soft tread upon the sacred ground. The sign’s warning goes unheeded by the whispering woods, which seem to beckon with a voice as old as the hills, inviting the soul to wander and to wonder. In Fillmore Glen, the path is not just a physical journey but a passage through the soul of autumn itself, a dance with the ephemeral, a fleeting embrace of the golden, transient beauty of the fall. It is not merely a place to walk; it is a path to feel, to breathe, to exist in harmony with the quiet pulse of the earth.
Here we have the harmony between humans and nature, represented through woodland shelters like lean-tos and birdhouses. It portrays these shelters as spaces of coexistence, mutualistic masterpieces blending function, form, and aesthetic in nature.
In the dappled sanctuary of the woodlands, where the rustle of leaves is a constant whisper and the breeze carries the secrets of the earth, there lies an unspoken harmony between the realm of the rooted and the realm of the roving. Here, the art of shelter is not just necessity but poetry—a dialogue between man and nature, bird and branch, leaf and sky. It is in the woodland shelters—those humble lean-tos and the charming birdhouses—that this conversation finds its most enchanting expressions.
A lean-to, a simple structure, a slant of sanctuary against the embracing trunk of a venerable oak or the crook of a steadfast pine, rises like an ode to minimalist refuge. It is both a testament to human ingenuity and a bow to the grandeur of the forest. Constructed from the very bones of the woods, with limbs that have fallen in the last tempest’s dance, it is clad in the textures of the wild—a tapestry of bark, a patchwork of leaves. It does not impose but rather suggests, whispering, “Here, rest awhile, where the earth holds you and the canopy cradles the sky.”
Within this woodland embrace, the lean-to is the hermit’s haven, the hiker’s pause, the dreamer’s alcove. It is the place where one can commune with the murmur of the brook, the chitter of the squirrel, and the silent flight of the owl at twilight. It is here that the smoke of a small fire mingles with the mist of dawn, where stories unfold to the rhythm of the crackling embers and the forest listens.
And what of the birdhouses, those quaint dwellings that pepper the woodland tableau? They are not mere shelters but the grand stages for the aerial ballet of wings and the morning serenades of feathered minstrels. Each is a mansion of possibility, an invitation etched in wood and lovingly placed among the boughs. They are the outposts of avian dreams, where the pulse of tiny hearts beats in time with the dripping of rain and the warmth of the sun’s caress.
The birdhouse is a symbol of the generosity of the woodsman’s spirit, a gift to the skyborne, a token of respect to the delicate denizens of the firmament. Here, the chickadee, the finch, the nuthatch, and the wren find respite and nurture the next generation of sky dancers. Each hole is a portal to a home, each perch a threshold to the warmth within, and every departure and return is witnessed by the vigilant trees, the silent sentinels of the forest.
Lean-tos and birdhouses, these woodland shelters, are the chorus of the sylvan symphony, the unseen chords that bind human to habitat, life to life. They are proof that in the quiet places of the world, where humanity treads lightly and the wild holds sway, there can be a beautiful coexistence, a mutualistic masterpiece painted on the canvas of the wilderness. They stand as symbols of the beauty that arises from the marriage of function and form, purpose and aesthetic, the innate and the crafted.
In the woodland shelters, there is a rhapsody played in the key of nature—a song of simplicity, of connection, of the perpetual dance between the earth and its many children. It is here, in the lean-tos and birdhouses, that the heart of the woods beats strongest, beneath the watchful eyes of ancient trees and the endless sky.
Ferns, ancient plants with unique reproduction strategies and ecological significance, adapt to diverse environments while contributing to overall biodiversity and human culture.
In the vast tapestry of the plant kingdom, ferns occupy a unique and enduring place. These ancient plants, often overlooked in favor of their flowering counterparts, have a fascinating and seemingly eternal existence that spans millions of years. Ferns, with their lush green fronds and distinctive reproductive mechanisms, offer us a glimpse into the enduring legacy of life on Earth and the remarkable adaptations that have allowed them to persist through the ages.
Ferns belong to the group of plants known as Pteridophytes, which evolved more than 360 million years ago during the late Devonian period. Their evolutionary history predates the appearance of flowering plants, making ferns some of the oldest living organisms on our planet. This remarkable longevity raises the question: how have ferns managed to survive and thrive for so long?
One key to the success of ferns lies in their unique reproductive strategy. Unlike flowering plants that produce seeds, ferns reproduce via spores. These small, dust-like structures contain the genetic material necessary for ferns to reproduce. When mature, ferns release spores into the environment, where they can be carried by the wind or water to new locations. Once a spore finds a suitable environment, it can germinate and develop into a new fern plant.
The spore-based reproduction of ferns is not only ancient but also highly efficient. It allows ferns to colonize diverse habitats, from moist, shaded forests to arid deserts. Additionally, ferns can form extensive networks of underground rhizomes, which are creeping stems that give rise to new fronds. This vegetative propagation further contributes to their resilience and adaptability.
Ferns have also developed a range of adaptations that enable them to thrive in various environmental conditions. Some fern species, such as the resurrection fern (Pleopeltis polypodioides), can endure extreme desiccation. When conditions are dry, these ferns curl up and appear dead, but they can quickly revive and unfurl their fronds when moisture returns. Backpacking through mountainous Arizona wilderness I encountered small ferns growing in the shade of rock ledges, maybe this was Phillips Cliff Fern (Woodsia phillipsii). My guide called it “Ridgeline Fern” and claimed it was important for desert survival, could be eaten in extremis situations. This remarkable ability to withstand drought and promote human survival is a testament to the tenacity and usefulness of ferns.
Another intriguing aspect of ferns is their mutualistic relationship with mycorrhizal fungi. These fungi form symbiotic associations with fern roots, aiding in nutrient absorption and enhancing the fern’s ability to thrive in nutrient-poor soils. This partnership has likely contributed to the fern’s ability to colonize a wide range of habitats and compete with other plant species.
While ferns have proven to be resilient survivors, they have also played a crucial role in shaping Earth’s ecosystems. Ferns are often early colonizers in disturbed or newly formed habitats, and their presence can help stabilize soils and create conditions suitable for the establishment of other plant species. In this way, ferns contribute to the ecological succession and overall biodiversity of ecosystems.
Beyond their ecological significance, ferns have captured the human imagination for centuries. Their delicate and intricate fronds have inspired art, literature, and even garden design. Many garden enthusiasts cultivate ferns for their ornamental beauty and unique charm.
In conclusion, the eternal life of ferns is a testament to the remarkable adaptability and resilience of these ancient plants. Their longevity, dating back millions of years, serves as a reminder of the enduring nature of life on Earth. Ferns have evolved unique reproductive strategies, adaptations to various environments, and mutualistic relationships that have allowed them to persist and thrive. Whether they are serving as pioneers in newly formed habitats or gracing our gardens with their elegance, ferns continue to capture our fascination and enrich the natural world. Their legacy reminds us of the intricate and interconnected web of life that has persisted on our planet through the ages.
The red berries of the Jack-in-the-Pulpit plant play a key role in seed dispersion, wildlife sustenance, and fueling its energy storage organ, the corm.
As the crisp air of autumn settles in and the leaves begin their spectacular transformation into hues of red, orange, and yellow, the forest floor comes alive with a myriad of hidden wonders. Among these wonders, the Jack-in-the-Pulpit (Arisaema triphyllum) stands out for its striking red berries and the role they play in the fall glory of the woodland ecosystem. In this essay, we will explore the beauty and significance of these red berries and how they are intrinsically linked to the plant’s corm.
The Jack-in-the-Pulpit, a native perennial herbaceous plant of North America, is known for its distinctive appearance, featuring a hood-like structure known as the spathe and a tall, slender stalk called the spadix. It is during the fall season that the plant’s fascinating red berries make their appearance, contrasting vividly against the backdrop of autumn’s colors. These berries are the result of a process that begins in the spring, when the plant first emerges from its underground corm.
Throughout the growing season, the Jack-in-the-Pulpit devotes its energy to producing these striking red berries, which serve several important ecological functions. The red berries are not only visually appealing but also function as a means of reproduction for the plant. They contain seeds that, once mature, can be dispersed to establish new Jack-in-the-Pulpit plants. These seeds are often transported by animals that consume the berries, such as birds and rodents, which then disperse them in their droppings, contributing to the plant’s spread throughout the forest.
The bright red color of the berries is a key feature that attracts birds, making them an essential food source during the fall and early winter months. Birds like thrushes, cardinals, and robins are known to feed on the Jack-in-the-Pulpit berries, aiding in seed dispersal while benefiting from the nutrient-rich fruits. This mutualistic relationship between the plant and its avian dispersers showcases the interconnectedness of the forest ecosystem, where each species relies on the other for survival and propagation.
The significance of the Jack-in-the-Pulpit’s red berries extends to the corm beneath the surface. The corm serves as an energy storage organ for the plant, helping it survive through the harsh winter months when the above-ground parts of the plant wither and die. During the fall, as the plant directs its energy toward producing berries, it also transfers nutrients to the corm, ensuring its vitality and readiness for the following spring.
Furthermore, the corm itself can serve as an energy reserve for the production of future berries and the growth of new shoots. As the plant enters dormancy, it relies on the stored energy in the corm to fuel its growth when conditions become favorable in the next growing season. In this way, the corm and the red berries are intricately linked, with the berries representing the culmination of a year-long process of energy accumulation and reproduction.
In conclusion, the red berries of the Jack-in-the-Pulpit are a captivating and vital component of the fall glory that graces our woodlands. Their vibrant color and ecological role in seed dispersal highlight the plant’s contribution to the forest ecosystem’s richness and diversity. Moreover, these berries are a testament to the interconnectedness of nature, as they are not only visually stunning but also an essential food source for wildlife. As we marvel at the beauty of fall and explore the wonders of the natural world, let us take a moment to appreciate the significance of the red berries of the Jack-in-the-Pulpit and their role in the intricate web of life that surrounds us.
when the elms blazed a glorious yellow.
A staircase leading to the Fillmore Glen Gorge
on a perfect October evening
when the elms blazed a glorious yellow.
Filled with Golden Elms
Fillmore Gorge is full with slippery elms.
The constant infall of the gorge keeps these trees small.
Once a year, for a few days, all the elms turn at once. We were lucky to visit at the perfect moment.
The elms blaze yellow for a day or two, early October.
Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
Michael Stephen Wills Photography 