Step into an early spring morning where sudden frosts adorn the Waterfall by the Old Mill with fleeting icicles, capturing nature’s delicate balance between freeze and thaw.
New icicles formed overnight from seeps through the sedimentary walls around the Waterfall by the Old Mill. On an early spring day, after a sudden frost, we walked the Rim Trail to capture the moment.
Here icicles formed during the quick April freeze hand above Fish Kill. Kill is an old Dutch word for creek.
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Sedimentary Walls
Here a mix of frost and lichen mottle the rock layers.
These shots were hand held. I used a Sony Alpha 700 dslr with a variable “zoom” lens, great for framing compositions.
Robert H. Treman New York State Park.
Click for a slideshow of this Waterfall of the Old Mill sequence
Falls by the Old Mill, early spring
Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
Join me on a frost-kissed journey along the Rim Trail, capturing the transient beauty of falls freed from winter’s grip, where nature’s power remains untamed and vividly alive.
A day the falls run free of ice. On an early spring day, after a sudden frost, we walked the Rim Trail to capture the moment. Here are three captures of the same waterfall, the first visitors to the upper park encounter and the most visited and photographed right off the parking area.
Fish Kill was captured at this point to provide power to grind grain. Today neither nature nor man control the flow. Kill is the old Dutch word for creek.
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Falls by the Old Mill, early spring
I have never counted the waterfalls from this one to the grand sweep of lower falls. The falls are uncountable because no two people could agree on how small a fall to credit.
Of these three versions, i prefer this one for the foreground inclusion of the enormous limestone blocks set to protect visitors from the drop. This scene is challenging photographically, bifurcated as it is by the bright sun over the fall brink. I prefer to shoot these falls early morning, for this reason, before the sun illuminates the area at all. Long exposures required demand a rock solid tripod, as it is just off the parking lot I use my studio Manfrotto for the work. Here all shots were handheld.
I used a Sony Alpha 700 dslr with a variable “zoom” lens, great for framing compositions.
Robert H. Treman New York State Park.
Click for a slideshow of this sequence of the Waterfall of the Old Mill
Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
Discover the hidden world of Phragmites australis, the common reed: a story of resilience, beauty, and ecological significance, told through the eyes of the wetlands.
On the southern shore of Cayuga Lake, where waters mirror the ever-changing sky, I found this common reed, Phragmites australis, a plant of unassuming grace yet profound influence. This tale unfolds at the broad boarders of earth and water, a refuge and kingdom to countless beings.
Phragmites australis, a reed both simple and complex, begins its journey as a whisper in the mud. From the soft, fertile earth, it bursts forth into the world, a slender shoot reaching for the heavens. Its growth is steady and assured, fueled by the sun’s embrace and the water’s caress. In time, it stands tall, a sentinel in a sea of green, its feathery plumes, called panicles, wafted by the breeze.
This reed, you see, is a cornerstone of its ecosystem, a master architect, shaping its environment, crafting homes and havens for creatures great and small, in keeping with the genus name “Phragmites.” The Greek word “phragma” translates to “fence” or “hedge”, derived from the verb “phrassein”, meaning “to enclose.” Within that realm tiny creatures find refuge. From dragonflies and damselflies to grasshoppers and beetles are found by careful, patient observers. Insects play essential roles in pollination and nutrient cycling. Birds use the dense vegetation for shelter and foraging, you might find red-winged blackbirds, marsh wrens, and rails among the stems. Frogs, toads, and salamanders find refuge in reedy marshes. They lay their eggs in the waterlogged areas, and their tadpoles thrive amidst the reed stems. Phragmites australis is a giver of life, a source of sustenance and protection for many.
Yet, the tale of Phragmites is also one of struggle and resilience. In lands far from its native soil, it is often seen as an invader, a usurper of territories, spreading with a zeal that can overwhelm native flora and alter habitats. Its spread, unchecked, can lead to monocultures, diminishing biodiversity. But in its essence, Phragmites does not seek conquest but survival, thriving in spaces both gentle and harsh, adapting with an elegance that commands admiration.
As seasons turn, the reed undergoes a transformation, its green turning to gold, then to the brown of the earth from which it sprang. But even in decay, it nurtures life, its fallen stalks a shelter for the small and the silent, its seeds a promise of renewal. And when spring whispers anew, Phragmites rises once more, a cycle unbroken, a circle complete.
In the tale of Phragmites australis, we find a narrative of life itself—growth and decay, beauty and conflict, resilience and adaptation. This common reed, standing tall among the waters of the world, is a testament to the enduring power of nature, a reminder of the intricate tapestries of life that flourish in the quiet corners of our planet.
Witness a duel not of might, but of vibrant melodies between the cardinal and song sparrow. This 14-second video captures a fleeting yet profound moment in the Finger Lakes’ springtime chorus. Join us in unraveling the significance behind this avian serenade.
In the serene backdrop of the Finger Lakes in upstate New York, an enchanting encounter unfolds as the first whispers of spring touch the air. It’s March 14th, a day that marks the gentle shift from the silent, introspective winter to the lively, expressive season of spring. On this day, a captivating spectacle takes place — a duel not of might, but of melody. Two distinguished songbirds, a male cardinal (Cardinalis cardinalis) with its vibrant red plumage that seems to capture the very essence of life itself, and a male song sparrow (Melospiza melodia), modest in color yet profound in voice, engage in an early springtime symphony.
This 14-second video, garnished with brevity, captures a fleeting moment in nature’s grand concert, where these feathered musicians compete, not for supremacy, but for the sheer joy of song and the chance to herald the new season. The cardinal, with its rich, whistling tunes, fills the air with a repertoire of songs that resonate with the promise of new beginnings. Meanwhile, the song sparrow, with its intricate melodies that vary dramatically from bird to bird, offers a counterpoint that is both complex and captivating.
This auditory duel, set against the tranquil beauty of the Finger Lakes, is more than just a display of vocal prowess. It’s a ritual that speaks to the heart of nature’s cycle, a testament to the resilience and adaptability of these species. As these songbirds vie for the attention of mates and assert their presence in the spring landscape, they also remind us of the enduring beauty and mystery of the natural world. You’ll also catch the call of a crow and, in the distance, another Cardinal.
This moment, brief yet infinitely rich, invites us to pause and listen, to lose ourselves in the simple yet profound joy of birdsong. It’s a reminder that, even in the quietest corners of the world, life thrums with vibrancy and the promise of renewal. Join us as we delve into the story behind this melodic encounter, exploring the significance of song in the lives of these birds and the heralding of spring in the Finger Lakes.
Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
An unnamed waterfall along the Gorge Trail is memorable for the steps alongside.
I have captured it in all seasons from the beginning of my photography interest. Here it is at midday, early autumn, 2023, taken with the Apple Iphone 14 proMax. Bright sunlight ruins the shot.
Here, evening, early summer 2003, the foreground shaded, late day sunlight on trees beyond. The Sony dsc F828 camera, on a tripod, was used.
Here, bright sunlight at midday is handled by framing the brightly lit waterfall, April, 2002. A handheld Sony Mavica was used.
Daring visitors jump from the wall at right into a plunge pool, seen here as the quiet water at base of wall. It is a doubly dangerous activity as the force of water can hold a swimmer under indefinitely, missing the narrow pool results in striking the rocks. Robert H. Treman New York State Park, Tompkins County, Ithaca, New York.
“Plunge pools are formed by the natural force of falling water, such as at a waterfall or cascade; they also result from man-made structures such as some spillway designs. Plunge pools are often very deep, generally related to the height of fall, the volume of water, the resistance of the rock below the pool and other factors.[4] The impacting and swirling water, sometimes carrying rocks within it, abrades the riverbed into a basin, which often features rough and irregular sides. Plunge pools can remain long after the waterfall has ceased flow or the stream has been diverted. Several examples of former plunge pools exist at Dry Falls in the Channeled Scablands of eastern Washington. They can also be found underwater in areas that were formerly above sea level, for example Perth Canyon off the coast of Western Australia.”
“Plunge pools are fluvial features of erosion which occur in the youthful stage of river development, characterized by steeper gradients and faster water flows. Where softer or fractured rock has been eroded back to a knickpoint, water continues to bombard its base. Because this rock is often less resistant than overlying strata, the water from the higher elevation continues eroding downward until an equilibrium is achieved.”
Reference: text in italics and quotes is from the Wikipedia, “Plunge Pool.”
Copyright 2023 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
A spring rite of ours is caring for three apple trees. We provide each, a Cortland, a McIntosh, a Delicious, with 15 fertilizer spikes ; 45 in all.
I am way past using a hammer to pound in each. The preferred method is to drive a space into the ground beneath the drip line (the other reach of the branches), lift the handle and drop the spike into the ground, remove the spade and tamp down the ground.
These helpers are now experts in the dropping and counting. Then, enough is enough, time for play.
And lunch….
Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
A mass of lavender asters produced for a painterly, restful esthetic. Over the years I have tended beds of these wildflowers. The sunlight of late August/early September here in the Finger Lakes is especially clear and this is when these asters bloom. This were caught on a clear September evening with the sun just behind a stand of large Ash trees.
“Symphyotrichum novi-belgii (formerly Aster novi-belgii), commonly called New York aster. Symphyotrichum, a genus in the family Asteraceae, whose species were once considered to be part of the genus Aster. Plants in both these genera are popularly known as Michaelmas daisy because they bloom around September 29, St. Michael’s Day. The Latin specific epithet novi-belgii (literally “New Belgium”) refers not to modern Belgium, but the 17th century Dutch colony New Netherland which was established on land currently occupied by New York state (as Belgica Foederata was the Latin term for the United Netherlands at the time).“
Reference: Wikipedia “Symphyotrichum novi-belgii.”
Copyright 2023 Michael StephenWills All Rights Reserved
Michael Stephen Wills Photography 