Tag: Stewart Park

Autumn Trail Adventures: Nature’s Colorful Showcase

The Cayuga Waterfront Trail showcases autumn’s beauty through vibrant plants like pokeweed, oak, Virginia Creeper, and New England Asters.

MichaelStephenWills4 Comments

A Flash of Red: The Mysterious Pokeweed

Our explorations along Ithaca’s Cayuga Waterfront Trail begins with the striking Pokeweed (Phytolacca americana), its ruby-red stems rising like sentinels against a sea of green leaves. At a glance, it’s bold, almost tropical, yet this native plant is a quintessential autumn feature in the Northeast. Those drooping clusters of berries (not yet ripe here) are food for birds like robins and mourning doves — though toxic to us, pokeweed adds a bit of danger to its beauty.

Nature’s Note: While visually stunning, pokeweed’s ripe purple berries were historically used as dye. Early settlers and Native Americans knew its power, though caution is always the rule here!

The Mighty Oak: Sentinel of the Trail

Next, we imnagine the cool shade of an oak tree, its lobed leaves silhouetted like green lacework against the clear blue sky. The photogenic Oaks are ecosystem powerhouses. Supporting hundreds of species of moths, butterflies, and birds, oaks quietly hold the fabric of nature together.

In autumn, these leaves will transform, dropping gently to create warm beds for overwintering insects. Stand beneath its branches long enough, and you’ll swear it whispers stories of the seasons gone by.

Quick Fact: Oaks produce acorns that are a favorite food of squirrels. Ever notice a squirrel “planting” them? That’s nature’s accidental reforestation plan in action.

Reflections of Autumn’s Palette

We reach the water’s edge, where the serene surface where Fall Creek joins Cayuga Lake mirrors the fiery splashes of red Virginia Creeper (Parthenocissus quinquefolia) winding through the trees. This climbing vine, with its scarlet fall foliage, is like nature’s ribbon tying the forest together.

The reflection — a perfect painting — blurs the boundary between land and water. Here, quiet reigns, save for the soft ripple of a fish or the rustle of leaves overhead.

Curious Note: Virginia Creeper is often mistaken for poison ivy. The secret? Virginia Creeper has five leaflets, while poison ivy wears three — nature’s rhyme: “Leaves of three, let it be.”

Aster Alley: A Burst of Purple Beauty

On the trail’s side, a cheerful gathering of New England Asters (Symphyotrichum novae-angliae) steals the spotlight. These vibrant purple flowers, with their golden centers, are late-season treasures. As most blooms fade, asters feed pollinators like bees and butterflies in their final push before winter.

Walk by slowly, and you might catch a bumblebee lazily humming its thanks — a last sip of nectar before the chill sets in.

Did You Know? Asters get their name from the Greek word for star. Fitting, don’t you think?

Nature’s Quilt: Pine Needle Carpet

Finally, we tread across a textured carpet of pine needles, blanketing the ground in warm, earthy hues. Beneath this seemingly simple scene lies a story of renewal. As pines shed their needles, they enrich the soil with organic matter, providing a soft bed for new life to sprout in the spring.

The crunch underfoot feels both nostalgic and meditative — a gentle reminder that every fallen needle is part of nature’s endless cycle.

Fun Observation: Pine needles, often called “nature’s mulch,” are slightly acidic, which helps pine trees thrive while keeping competition at bay.

Closing Thoughts

From the bold reds of pokeweed to the mirrored waters adorned with Virginia Creeper, and the twinkle of asters amid the foliage, autumn along the Cayuga Waterfront Trail is a celebration of nature’s resilience and beauty. It’s a quiet reminder that even as the seasons shift, the world remains vibrant — a living, breathing tapestry stitched together by trees, plants, and reflections.

So, walk slowly, listen closely, and let the stories of leaves, stems, and waters guide your journey.

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Cayuga Lake’s Daylilies: A Symbol of Survival and Adaptation

In Stewart Park, the Hemerocallis fulva, or Tawny Daylily, blooms vibrantly.

MichaelStephenWills10 Comments


Stewart Park, Cayuga Lake, Ithaca, New York

Seen from Stewart Park, these lakefront homes line the southern shore of Cayuga Lake. Tompkins County, Ithaca, New York State. The Finger Lakes Region

On a warm June morning, with the early summer sun casting a golden glow across the shores of Cayuga Lake, Pam and I set out for a walk around Stewart Park. The soft lapping of the water against the shore mixed with the calls of distant birds, and the familiar hum of life in the park settled into a rhythm that has long been a part of this place. As I strolled along a familiar path, a flash of orange caught my eye—the unmistakable brilliance of the Hemerocallis fulva, the Tawny Daylily, in full bloom.

A Glimpse of the Familiar


At first glance, the orange petals of the daylily seemed like small flames scattered across the green of the park, their brightness undimmed by the heat of the day. The sight was both familiar and captivating, for these daylilies are common in garden, parks and roadsides around Ithaca and much of New York State. Despite their prevalence, each encounter feels fresh, like meeting an old friend who always has something new to share.

I knelt closer, letting my eyes follow the curve of the petals, which unfurled gracefully from a vibrant yellow throat. The delicate lines streaked down the petals like rays of sunlight. Though each flower lives only a day, I felt the quiet confidence of this plant, as though it knew its bloom was fleeting, yet still essential in the tapestry of summer.

The Resilience of a Traveler


The daylily’s ubiquity belies its status as a traveler from distant lands. Hemerocallis fulva is not native to New York, nor to any part of North America. It came to these shores from Asia, introduced by gardeners who admired its hardiness and vibrant color. Over time, the daylily escaped the bounds of cultivated gardens, spreading to roadsides, fields, and yes, even here, to the edges of Stewart Park.

I find myself reflecting on the journey of this plant, which began in the faraway lands of China, Korea, and Japan. In its homeland, daylilies have long been symbols of devotion and motherhood, their roots used in traditional medicine, their blooms celebrated in art. Now, as I stand in Stewart Park, I marvel at how far the Hemerocallis fulva has come, adapting to new lands and naturalizing in the wild corners of the American landscape.

The irony of its “wild” appearance does not escape me—this orange beauty, so deeply associated with our rural and parkland settings, is still very much an outsider. And yet, in the soft breeze of the morning, it feels as though this plant has always belonged here, as much a part of the park’s landscape as the willows by the lake or the ducks bobbing in the water.

Nature’s Balancing Act


As lovely as they are, daylilies are not without their complications. The very same traits that make Hemerocallis fulva such a beloved garden plant—its resilience, its ability to thrive in poor soil, and its spreading rhizomes—also make it an unintentional invader. Without careful tending, these plants can spread aggressively, pushing out native species and altering the ecological balance of the areas where they take root.

Here in Stewart Park, where cultivated gardens meet the untamed edges of the lake, the daylilies are a reminder of nature’s delicate balance. They offer nectar to bees and butterflies, providing sustenance to the creatures that flit through the morning air and also represent challenge to the native wildflowers that have long called this place home.

I wonder what plants might have once thrived in this very spot before the Hemerocallis fulva arrived. Perhaps native species, like the delicate Asclepias tuberosa—Butterfly Weed—or the sturdy Rudbeckia hirta, the Black-eyed Susan, held court here, their blooms attracting the same bees now drawn to the daylilies.

The Fleeting Bloom


Despite its role as a naturalized non-native, the daylily has a fleeting grace that draws me in. By tomorrow, these orange blooms will have withered and fallen, replaced by new blossoms that will unfurl in their place. Each bloom’s brief life is a reminder of the ephemerality of beauty, and I find myself appreciating the daylily all the more for its transient nature.

We continue our walk, leaving behind the patch of daylilies but taking with me a sense of quiet reflection. As invasive as they may be, these plants offer a meditation on the impermanence of life and the ways in which non-native species can become a part of the landscape’s fabric, for better or worse. The Hemerocallis fulva may not belong here by birthright, but it has made a place for itself, a symbol of survival and adaptation in the ever-changing world around it.

A Lesson from the Daylily


As I near the edge of the lake, watching the sunlight dance across the water’s surface, I think about the lessons that the daylily offers. Life is fleeting, yes, but also full of color and vibrancy, no matter how brief the bloom. And in that brief bloom, there is the possibility of resilience, growth, and belonging, even in a place far from home.

Much like the daylily, we too find ourselves in unfamiliar places at times, learning to adapt, to thrive, and to leave our mark on the world—if only for a day.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

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

Echoes of Autumn: Finding Beauty and Wonder in a Willow’s Fungal Bloom

On a sunny September morning along the shores of Cayuga Lake, I encountered the vibrant Chicken of the Woods fungus. Its striking colors and intriguing history make it a fascinating discovery in nature’s ongoing cycle of life and decay.

MichaelStephenWills15 Comments

A Serendipitous Discovery on a September Morning


It was a crisp, sunny September morning when Pam and I set out for a leisurely walk along the shore of Cayuga Lake in Ithaca, New York. The lake shimmered in the morning light, framed by the early hints of fall colors on the surrounding hills. We had been walking for some time, enjoying the peaceful rhythm of nature, when something unusual caught my eye—a cluster of bright yellow-orange growths on the trunk of an apparently hale White Willow tree.

Curious, I approached the tree, and upon closer inspection, I realized these growths were something special, took these photographs of the vibrant clusters and later researched them to be Laetiporus sulphureus, commonly known as Chicken of the Woods. The striking colors of the fungus, a combination of deep orange and golden yellow, stood out in stark contrast to the gnarled, dark bark of the willow. It was a discovery that sparked a deeper interest in learning about the fascinating history and characteristics of this unique fungus.

The Vibrant History of Chicken of the Woods


Laetiporus sulphureus has been known to mycologists and naturalists for centuries, and its distinctive appearance has earned it a place among the most recognizable fungi in the world. Its common name, Chicken of the Woods, stems from the texture and flavor of its flesh, which, when cooked, is said to resemble that of chicken. This has made it a popular edible mushroom among foragers, particularly in Europe and North America, where it often grows on hardwood trees such as oak, cherry, and, as I found, occasionally on willows.

The fungus was first scientifically described by German mycologist August Batsch in 1789. Since then, it has been the subject of numerous studies, particularly due to its unique ability to grow on living trees, decaying wood, and sometimes even on dead trunks. This dual nature makes it both a decomposer and a potential pathogen, depending on the health of its host tree.

Historically, Chicken of the Woods has had various uses, ranging from culinary to medicinal. In traditional folk medicine, it was used for its antibacterial properties, and some cultures believed it could help heal wounds or infections when applied as a poultice. Today, research continues into its potential medicinal applications, including its possible role in supporting immune function and its antioxidant properties.

A Friend to Some, a Foe to Trees


While Laetiporus sulphureus may delight foragers and mushroom enthusiasts, it is not always welcomed by the trees it inhabits. The fungus is classified as a saprotroph, meaning it feeds on dead or decaying organic matter. However, it is also capable of acting as a parasite, attacking the heartwood of living trees. Over time, the fungus can cause brown rot, a form of decay that weakens the tree from the inside out. For trees already compromised by age or environmental stress, an infestation of Chicken of the Woods can be the final blow, leading to their eventual death and collapse.

The willow tree I encountered by Cayuga Lake had clearly seen many seasons, its twisted trunk and sprawling limbs a testament to decades of life along the shoreline. The presence of the fungus, while beautiful and intriguing, could also be an indicator that this tree was in decline. Still, the symbiotic relationship between the tree and the fungus was a reminder of nature’s cycles—of life, decay, and renewal.

Culinary and Medicinal Uses of Chicken of the Woods


One of the most interesting aspects of Chicken of the Woods is its edibility. Foragers and chefs alike prize the young, tender fruiting bodies for their chicken-like texture and mild flavor. When prepared properly, the fungus can be sautéed, fried, or even used in stews, providing a nutritious and flavorful addition to a variety of dishes. However, caution is required, as some individuals may experience allergic reactions or gastrointestinal upset after consuming it. Additionally, older specimens of the fungus can become woody and less palatable.

Beyond the kitchen, Chicken of the Woods has a history of medicinal use. In some cultures, it has been used to treat ailments ranging from respiratory infections to digestive issues. Modern research is beginning to explore the bioactive compounds present in the fungus, with preliminary studies suggesting that it may have antibacterial and antioxidant properties. These potential health benefits add yet another layer of intrigue to this already fascinating species.

An Essential Role in the Ecosystem


As well as serving human needs, Chicken of the Woods also plays a vital role in the ecosystems it inhabits. As a decomposer, the fungus breaks down dead and decaying wood, returning valuable nutrients to the soil and promoting the growth of new plant life. In this way, it contributes to the cycle of life and death that sustains forest ecosystems. Various insects and animals, including beetles and birds, may also use the fungus as a food source or shelter, further highlighting its ecological importance.

A Lasting Impression


As Pam and I continued our walk along Cayuga Lake, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for the serendipitous discovery I had made that morning. The sight of the Chicken of the Woods clinging to the willow tree was a vivid reminder of nature’s endless capacity for surprise and wonder. Though this fungus may be humble in its origin, its history, uses, and ecological significance elevate it to a position of great interest and value in the natural world.

In that quiet September morning light, standing beside the lake with the colors of early autumn beginning to emerge, I realized that moments like these—moments of connection with nature—are what keep me returning to the trails and shores of Ithaca, always eager for the next discovery.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Breezes and Memories: Pam’s First Walk and Reflections at Stewart Park

As Pam took her first therapeutic steps through Stewart Park after hip surgery, the wind off Cayuga Lake carried memories of our sailing days. This walk, a milestone along a journey of strength and reflection.

MichaelStephenWills18 Comments

The breeze off Cayuga Lake was lively, stirring the willows and creating waves that rippled across the water’s surface as we arrived at Stewart Park. For Pam, this day marked a significant milestone: her first therapeutic walk since undergoing total hip replacement surgery. The park, located on the outskirts of Ithaca, New York, had long been a place of peaceful walks and scenic reflection for us, but on this day, it took on new meaning. The pathways and views we had enjoyed over the years now served as the backdrop for Pam’s journey of recovery.

As Pam began her walk, using her walker for support, the air felt crisp with the late-summer breeze. She moved carefully along the paved path, her steps steady but measured. The sight of her, framed by the grand trees lining the park, was a testament to the resilience and strength she had displayed throughout the weeks following her surgery. The park’s beauty offered a sense of calm that seemed to support her determination, as though nature itself was encouraging her every step.

Stewart Park, with its sweeping views of Cayuga Lake and towering willows, had always been a special place for us. Over the years, we had spent afternoons such as this sailing the lake’s expansive waters. We ventured out to let the wind carry us across the lake. As Pam walked, we reminisced about those times—how we would navigate the gusty winds that filled our sails, steering into the waves with a sense of adventure. “This wind reminds me your calls to ‘control the jib!!’,” Pam said, smiling as we remembered the thrill of maneuvering the boat to dock.

On days like those, the lake was unpredictable, much like Pam’s journey through recovery had been. Yet, whether on the water or facing the challenges of healing, Pam had always shown a quiet, steadfast determination. Just as we had learned to adjust the sails to accommodate the changing wind patterns, Pam had adapted to her new circumstances, tackling each step of her rehabilitation with grace.

We paused at one of the informational signs along the path. The sign detailed the park’s history, noting that it sits on the ancestral lands of the Gayogo̱hó꞉nǫ’. Originally developed in 1894 for the Cascadilla School’s boathouse, the park had undergone many transformations before becoming the public space it is today. The sign spoke of Mayor Edwin Stewart, who had donated $150,000 to help purchase and renovate the park’s facilities, only to pass away weeks before its official opening in 1921. In 2021, the park was listed on the National Register of Historic Places, a testament to its enduring role in the community.

City of Ithaca Parks Welcome to Stewart Park! This historic park is Ithaca’s most popular waterfront destination with around half a million visitors each year. Stewart Park’s natural beauty, scenic views, diverse amenities and accessibility appeal to people of all ages, races, economic backgrounds and abilities. The park is located on the traditional ancestral and contemporary lands of the Gayogo̱hó꞉nǫʼ nation. In 1894, the Cascadilla School bought a tract of the land to build the Cascadilla Boathouse which is still in use as a boathouse today. Soon after, the remaining land was purchased and run as Renwick Park, a privately owned trolley park where people rode trolleys from downtown to the lakeshore for weekend leisure. Wharton Inc. Studios leased a building and fifty acres of the park, and produced hundreds of silent movies in Ithaca between 1915 and 1920. At the same time, Cayuga Bird Club successfully appealed to the City of Ithaca to preserve the Renwick Wildwood and Fuertes Bird Sanctuary, both still popular birding spots today. In 1921 Ithaca Mayor Edwin Stewart vowed to open Stewart Park to the public and he personally donated $150,000 to help purchase and renovate park facilities. Sadly, Mayor Stewart died just weeks before the park opened to all on July 4, 1921, and the park was soon renamed in his honor. In 2021 Stewart Park was listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Take a walk, look for interesting and rare birds, rent a paddleboard or kayak; play on the accessible playground, rent a pavilion for a gathering, have a picnic, take a spin on the restored 1952 Carousel, stroll, run or bike along the Cayuga Waterfront Trail, relax under the willows and take in the lovely lake views. Stewart Park has something for everyone and is free to all, open dawn to dusk, 365 days a year. Visit the Friends of Stewart Park website to learn more about Stewart Park!

CAYUGA LAKE AND THE ERIE CANAL: ITHACA’S WATERWAY TO THE WORLD

Did you know you can take a boat west from Stewart Park all the way to Duluth, Minnesota? Or southeast to New York City and the Atlantic Ocean? On ancient canoes to steam ships to modern paddlecraft, people have traveled these water routes for millenia.

Before the Erie Canal

Indigenous people lived along these waters long before the Erie Canal was completed in 1825. In 1790, a dugout canoe was found near Elmira, NY, demonstrating the importance of waterways to the early people.

The Cayuga/Seneca Gayogo̱hó꞉nǫʼ who lived here for nearly a thousand years used the lake and rivers to transport people and goods. In the 1600s, French explorers reported meeting the Gayogo̱hó꞉nǫʼ as they traveled east along these waterways. Canoes and later watercraft helped settlers move people, goods, and ideas, transforming upstate New York. With only one lock, the lake’s water level would rise and fall, but goods still needed to be portaged, or moved over land. As the first commercial waterway in the US, the Erie Canal used river systems, canal channels, and lakes to connect New York’s inland towns to world markets.

ITHACA ON THE ERIE CANAL

The canal established the first modern all-water route between the Great Lakes and the Atlantic. Completed in 1825, the canal opened Upstate New York and the upper Midwest to settlement, commercial agriculture, and industry.

The southernmost port of the canal was at Cayuga Lake, near present-day Route 90, where steamboats ferried passengers and freight to and from Ithaca. Products like salt from Syracuse, wood from the region, and coal from Pennsylvania were loaded onto canal boats for shipment to New York City or via Buffalo, to the upper Midwest.

After more than 200 years of service, the canal has evolved into a water route that is primarily used by small boats for recreation. In 2017, the NYS Canal Corporation rebranded the canal as a recreation destination.

As Pam read the sign, she reflected on how the park’s evolution mirrored her own journey. Like Stewart Park, which had undergone multiple transformations over the years, Pam was in the midst of her own renewal. Her new hip, like the park’s renovations, represented a fresh start, a return to activity, and a promise of more days spent outdoors, enjoying the natural beauty that had always brought us peace.

Continuing along the path, we passed several benches nestled beneath the graceful willows, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. Pam took a moment to rest on one of the benches, her eyes focused on the vast expanse of Cayuga Lake. The view stretched toward the distant hills, where the clouds and sun played together, casting ever-shifting patterns of light across the water. For a brief moment, it felt like we were back on our sailboat, riding the waves and allowing the wind to guide us toward new horizons.

As we made our way back along the path, the tall willows swaying and the sound of the waves lapping at the shore, I couldn’t help but feel gratitude. Stewart Park had always been a place of calm and reflection, but on this day, it became a place of healing. Pam’s steps, though slow and deliberate, were filled with the same strength and grace she had shown throughout her life.

The park’s beauty, the history we had shared here, and the memories of our time spent sailing on Cayuga Lake all came together to create a sense of peace. Pam’s recovery journey was far from over, but her progress was undeniable. As we looked out over the lake one last time before heading home, the water shimmered in the sunlight, promising more adventures to come.

Stewart Park, with its windswept trees and timeless views, would forever be tied to this day—Pam’s first steps toward reclaiming her mobility, set against the backdrop of a place that had long been part of our shared story. It was a day filled with hope, strength, and the quiet knowledge that, like the wind, life would continue to move us forward, no matter the challenges.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

A Glimpse into Steamboat Landing, Ithaca, New York

Discover the enchanting beauty of Steamboat Landing in Ithaca, New York. From the quiet winter majesty to the vibrant warmth of spring, this historical waterfront is a testament to the city’s rich past and evolving present.

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Historical Significance and Transformation


Steamboat Landing in Ithaca, New York, is steeped in historical significance, serving as a testament to the city’s rich past and its evolving present. At the dawn of the 20th century, it was a bustling hub where steamboats carried passengers and freight, linking Ithaca to an ever-growing nation. These vessels were vital for the development of commerce, aiding travelers as they embarked and disembarked on their journeys that continued by stagecoach or later, by train.

In 1790, this spot marked the beginnings of commerce in the area, with the establishment of Ithaca’s first store. Over the years, Steamboat Landing has transformed from a pivotal commerce point to a recreational area, housing Ithaca’s Farmers Market—a vibrant hub that mirrors the liveliness of its heyday.

The Evolving Landscape


Today, Steamboat Landing is a place of gathering and serenity. My photographs showcase a tranquil setting moving through winter. In one scene, the rustic benches encircle a barren tree, standing as silent guardians of the land. It’s a still image, almost reminiscent of a painting, where the leafless trees stand vigil over the quiet benches.

A circular bench that has seen better days, a hollowed out tree trunk repurposed as a children’s playgound house, picnic benches and, in background, a portion of the Farmer’s Market pavilion, to the right is Johnson Boatyard, Cayuga Inlet and lake. This is the Steamboat Landing, historically the southern port on Cayuga Lake. Cayuga Waterfront Trail, Ithaca, Tompkins County, Finger Lakes Region, New York State.

Switching seasons, we see the docks adorned with festive wreaths, injecting life and celebration into the scenery. The bright red ribbons stand out against the crisp blue of the water and the sky, suggesting a community that embraces tradition and the joy of the moment.

Connection with Nature and Community


The pictures depict how the landing is woven into the natural tapestry of the area. It is a place where one can sit and watch the placid waters of Cayuga Lake or stroll along the docks, feeling the crisp air against their skin. The images of the clear skies, the open waters, and the flight of birds in the distance are a subtle reminder of nature’s continuous presence.

Steamboad Landing on the Cayuga Waterfront Trail, Farmers Market, Ithaca, Finger Lakes Region, New York State

The waterfront trail exemplifies the community’s efforts to merge history with modernity, providing a space where people can connect with the environment and each other. The docks, once a stage for industrial exchange, now serve as a peaceful retreat, hinting at the deep-seated human desire for connection—not only to each other but also to the very essence of the environment we inhabit.

Seasonal Beauty and Reflection


The change in seasons at Steamboat Landing brings a unique beauty, which the photographs showcase poignantly. From the barren coldness of winter to the lush warmth of spring, each season imbues the landing with a distinct character. The winter images reveal a quiet majesty, with the bare branches and gray skies reflecting the introspective nature of the season. The springtime shots, however, burst with promise and vitality, as greenery begins to cloak the landscape and the water shimmers under the strengthening sun.

Enduring Legacy and Future Prospects


Steamboat Landing’s legacy as a historical transport hub has set the stage for its future as a cherished community locale. The images and historical texts paint a picture of a place that has embraced its past while looking forward to a vibrant and inclusive future. It is a locale that pays homage to its roots through the Farmers Market and other community events, ensuring that the spirit of the old steamboats continues to thrive in the hearts of Ithacans.

In conclusion, Steamboat Landing is a geographic location and a chronicle of Ithaca’s journey through time. Through its transformation, it has become a place where history breathes, nature speaks, and the community finds its heartbeat. It stands as a beacon of heritage, recreation, and beauty—a corner of the world where past and present dance together in harmony.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Nature’s First Green….

…is gold, / her hardest hue to hold, / her early leaf’s a flower; / but only so an hour… Robert Frost

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You walk alone by the waters of Cayuga Lake in Stewart Park, nestled in the heart of Ithaca’s Finger Lakes, where Salix alba, the white willow, stands proudly along the shoreline. You’re immediately drawn to the flurry of yellow flowers, a stark contrast to the still chilly early March air.

The white willow (Salix alba), with its rough, gray bark, is beginning to dress in its spring finery, its branches teeming with tiny, starburst-like flowers. Each one is a miniature sun, casting a glow against the intricate lattice of branches. These aren’t the soft catkins of the pussy willow but the yellow inflorescences that are characteristic of the white willow’s early bloom, a signpost that winter’s grip is loosening.

These trees, you learn, are dioecious, with separate male and female trees. The blossoms you see are likely the male flowers, their stamens dusting your fingers with pollen as you brush against them. It’s this pollen that will soon beckon the bees, urging them to emerge from their hives and begin the work that sustains the ecosystem. You can almost hear the faint buzz, a prelude to the symphony of life that summer will bring. Return in midsummer to find the female catkins comprise numerous small (4 mm) capsules, each containing numerous minute seeds embedded in silky white hairs, which aids wind dispersal.

As you wander further, you note the presence of the white willow’s kin, other deciduous companions some still bare and stretching into the sky and others leafing out. You stand there, at the cusp of seasonal change, where the slumbering trees are on the verge of awakening, and you feel a kinship with them. Like these trees, you have weathered the cold, dark months, and now you stand poised to greet the renewal that comes with spring.

The stark, knotted forms of the white willow branches against the clear sky speak to you of endurance and resilience. These trees have weathered storms and droughts; they have been companions to the lake, mirrors to its moods, and now they are beginning to celebrate the cycle of rebirth and growth.

You take a seat on a bench, the cool wood through your clothes a reminder of the lingering winter. You gaze out across the lake, the water reflecting the brilliance of the sun like a vast, rippling mirror, framed by the elegant silhouettes of the white willows. You feel the peace of the park seep into you, the slow, rhythmic lapping of the water syncing with your breath.

This is a moment of transition, from the sleeping to the awakening world. You think about the Salix alba, how its presence here is a testament to nature’s adaptability, thriving in the moist soil by the lake, offering shade in summer and shelter in winter, its branches a playground for the winds.

As you leave Stewart Park, you take with you the memory of the white willows in early March, the quiet guardians of Cayuga Lake. They remind you of the enduring beauty of nature, the seamless flow from one season to the next, and the quiet joy of standing witness to the first whispers of spring on the shores of the Finger Lakes.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Watching with the Willows

On a brisk day at Stewart Park, I stroll alongside Cayuga Lake, observing Canadian Geese and white willows. The tranquil, interconnected scene proves an enduring memory despite everyday worries.

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The Well

In twilight’s hush, embraced by oaks,
A well of stone, with stories etched in lace,
Now table made, where others’ whispers weave,
And time’s soft hands a tapestry conceive.

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