Tag: Tompkins County

Lessons in the Woods: A Grandfather’s Nature Walk

On a crisp September morning, a grandfather leads his grandsons on a nature walk, discovering the mysteries of the forest. Together, they encounter a curious caterpillar and uncover the wonders of the natural world.

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Unseasonably warm September morning air gently stirred the leaves as I guided my grandsons, Sam and Rory, through our woods near Freeville. Our boots crunched softly on the damp earth, and the sounds of nature enveloped us like an old, familiar melody. Today we were on a mission of discovery, with Mother Nature as our guide.

“Grandpa, look at this!” Sam called, excitement radiating from his face. Rory, always close behind his older brother, crouched down, his bright eyes scanning the ground for any movement. I smiled. Sam’s sharp curiosity and Rory’s quiet attentiveness reminded me so much of myself at their age, exploring the woods.

We stopped at a patch of earth, where the boys had found a small hole in the ground, evidence of something recently disturbed. “Do you think it’s a mole, Grandpa?” Rory asked, his voice a mix of wonder and uncertainty.

“Maybe,” I said, leaning down beside them. “Or it could be something larger, like a chipmunk. These woods are full of surprises.”

As they explored further, I glanced at the trees, their trunks coated in a rich tapestry of moss and lichen. Then, something caught my eye—a familiar white and black figure on the bark of a young tree, I’ll call it a hickory.

“Hey, boys, come over here for a second. I’ve got something to show you,” I called, my voice calm but laced with excitement. Sam and Rory, ever eager, bounded over. “Look at this caterpillar.”

Their faces lit up when they spotted it. “Whoa, it’s so fuzzy!” Sam exclaimed.

“Yeah, but don’t touch,” I warned gently, kneeling to get a better look. “This little guy is called a Hickory Tussock Moth Caterpillar. See those long white hairs? Some of them can irritate your skin. Always good to admire from a distance.”

Rory looked up at me, wide-eyed. “What does it turn into?”

I smiled. “That’s the magic of it. This caterpillar will eventually become a moth, a Hickory Tussock Moth, in fact. But right now, it’s preparing for a long journey. In just a few weeks, it’ll spin itself a cocoon and wait all winter before emerging as a moth in the spring.”

Sam squinted at the caterpillar, studying its every bristle. “So it’s it’s going to sleep for the winter?”

“Exactly,” I said, pleased with his understanding. “It’s one of nature’s ways of resting and preparing for something new.”

The boys stared at the caterpillar in silence for a moment, and I could tell their young minds were spinning with thoughts. Maybe they were thinking about their own journeys—how each season brought something new to learn, something new to experience.

As we moved on from the caterpillar, deeper into the woods, I couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of gratitude. These moments, small as they may seem, were the kinds of memories that last a lifetime. I was passing down not just knowledge but a love for the natural world, a connection to the earth that I hoped would stay with them long after I was gone.

We finished our adventure with planting two oak saplings. The boys dug in the rich soil, each working carefully as we prepared a young sapling to take root. I watched as they placed the sapling into the earth, their hands gentle yet sure. Together, we packed the soil around its base.

“You know,” I said softly, “these oaks will grow just like you two. Stronger every year. And one day, you’ll bring your own children here to see it.”

Sam and Rory exchanged a look, a flicker of understanding passing between them, and I knew the lesson had landed. Nature has a way of teaching us that growth, whether in a tree or in ourselves, takes time and patience.

As we packed up to leave, I glanced back at the hickory tree where the caterpillar still clung, a tiny, determined creature, preparing for the change to come. In that moment, I felt the same sense of wonder I’d seen in the boys’ eyes earlier. Even after all these years, nature never ceased to amaze me.

“Come on, boys,” I said, with one last glance at the woods. “Let’s see what other adventures await us.”

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.

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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

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.

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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 Last Bloom and the Bee’s Blessing

In the final bloom of the season, a honeybee’s delicate dance with the Queen of the Night captures the fleeting beauty of nature’s cycles. Discover the profound connection between flower, bee, and life’s rhythms.

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The Epiphyllum oxypetalum, commonly known as the Queen of the Night, is a remarkable plant. Native to Central America, this epiphyte is known for its large, fragrant flowers that bloom only once a year and last just for a single night. The fleeting nature of its bloom makes it a symbol of transience and beauty in many cultures. For me, this flower is a quiet, intimate connection to the rhythms of nature that play out around our home in Ithaca, New York.

The images you see include the last flower of the season, a white starburst of delicate petals encasing a universe of intricate details. As the day progresses, the flower remains open, revealing the next chapter in its life cycle—the possibility of forming fruit. This potential is entirely dependent on pollination, a process that is both beautifully simple and astonishingly complex.

A honeybee, a tiny yet essential participant in the grand scheme of things, hovers and lands delicately on the flower. In the first image, the bee appears tentative, exploring the outer fringes of the flower’s central structures. Its wings are still, as if it has just touched down after a careful, deliberate approach. The stamens, like a thousand arms extended in welcome, offer their pollen. Each grain of pollen is a promise, a potential seed, carried with the hope of propagation. The bee is the flower’s messenger, moving from one bloom to another, ensuring the continuity of life.

As I observe the bee’s actions through these photographs, I can’t help but reflect on the importance of these small creatures. Their work often goes unnoticed, yet without them, our ecosystems would collapse. The honeybee, in particular, has been a focus of concern in recent years due to declining populations, largely attributed to human activities. But here, in my garden, this bee is simply going about its day, unaware of the broader implications of its existence. It is focused on the task at hand, a model of mindfulness in action.

In the second and third images, the bee has moved deeper into the flower, its body now dusted with pollen. It is fully engaged in its work, undeterred by the enormity of its task. The pink style of the flower contrasts sharply with the white petals and the yellow stamens, creating a vibrant tableau of life. The bee’s body is now part of this scene, its presence both functional and aesthetic. It is not just a visitor; it is an integral part of the flower’s story.

The fourth and fifth images capture the culmination of the bee’s efforts. Having gathered what it came for, the bee is ready to move on, its job done here. The flower, too, has fulfilled its role for the season. The energy it expended to produce this magnificent bloom will now be directed towards forming fruit, provided that the pollination process is successful. If it is, this single flower will give rise to a new generation of plants, continuing the cycle of life.

But there is another, more personal layer to this story. This is the last flower of the season. It carries with it the weight of finality, the knowledge that soon the plant will rest, conserving its energy for the next year’s bloom. As I contemplate this, I am reminded of the cycles that govern not just plant life, but all life. There is a time for blooming, a time for fruiting, and a time for rest. Each phase is essential, each one a preparation for the next.

A bonus view of the honeybee in action

In allowing this flower to form fruit, I am participating, in a small way, in this cycle. We are stewards of the natural world, responsible for nurturing and preserving the life forms that share our planet. The honeybee, the flower, and I are all connected in this intricate web of life, each playing our part in the unfolding drama of existence.

These photographs are a meditation on life, a reminder of the beauty and fragility of the world around us. They capture a moment in time, brief encounters between a flower and a bee, but they also speak to something larger, something timeless. The Epiphyllum oxypetalum may bloom for just one night, but its impact, like that of the honeybee, reverberates far beyond that brief window. And in that, there is a profound lesson for all of us.

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.

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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

Epiphyte

Discover the enchanting world of Epiphyllum, where the “Night Blooming Cereus” thrives without soil, capturing moisture and nutrients from the air. Explore its unique beauty and ecological significance. Read more to delve into this fascinating plant’s story.

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The Epiphyllum genus, which includes my “Night Blooming Cereus,” consists of epiphytic plants. The term “epiphytic” comes from the Greek epi- (meaning “upon”) and phyton (meaning “plant”). Epiphytic plants, sometimes called “air plants,” do not root in soil. However, this term can be misleading, as many aquatic algae species are also epiphytes on other aquatic plants (seaweeds or aquatic angiosperms). Therefore, it’s essential not to confuse the genus root word “phyllum” (leaf) with the generic term “phytic” (plant), even though they share the common prefix “epi.” A plant can be epiphytic without being part of the Epiphyllum genus.

Double Blooms

These were captured with the Canon EOS 5D Mark IV dslr on a Manfrotto tripod.

An epiphyte is a plant or plant-like organism that grows on the surface of another plant, deriving its moisture and nutrients from the air, rain, or debris accumulating around it. The host plants on which epiphytes grow are called phorophytes. Unlike parasites, epiphytes use other plants merely for physical support and do not negatively impact the host. Epiphytes can also be called epibionts when growing on non-plant organisms. Common in both temperate zones (mosses, liverworts, lichens, algae) and the tropics (ferns, cacti, orchids, bromeliads), epiphytes enhance biodiversity and biomass in their ecosystems. They make excellent houseplants due to their minimal water and soil needs and create rich habitats for various organisms, including animals, fungi, bacteria, and myxomycetes.

Epiphytes are not connected to the soil and must source nutrients from fog, dew, rain, mist, and decomposing organic material. They have an advantage in the canopy, where they access more light and are less vulnerable to herbivores. Epiphytes also benefit animals that live in their water reservoirs, like some frogs and arthropods.

Epiphytes significantly affect their host’s microenvironment and the broader ecosystem. They hold water in the canopy, reducing soil water input, and create cooler, moister conditions, which can decrease the host plant’s water loss through transpiration. Non-vascular epiphytes, like lichens and mosses, are particularly efficient at rapid water uptake.

Click me for another “Cereus” Post.

Reference: my post draws heavily on this source: Wikipedia, “Epiphyte.”

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

A Late Winter Walk Through Cornell University Campus

Explore a late winter walk through Cornell University’s scenic campus, discovering blooming snowdrops, historic landmarks, and the striking “Magna Dancer” sculpture. Uncover the beauty and heritage captured in each step of this serene journey.

MichaelStephenWills16 Comments


On the late winter afternoon of March 1, 2024, I decided to take a long walk starting from Cascadilla Park Road, making my way up through the Cornell University campus, and ending at Fall Creek near the Mundy Wildflower Garden before returning to my starting point. The sun was shining brightly, casting long shadows, and the crisp air was filled with a hint of spring. Carrying an Apple IPhone 14 Pro Max smartphone, I set off to capture the beauty and essence of this serene day.

Starting Point: Cascadilla Park Road

The walk began on Cascadilla Park Road, where I was greeted by a delightful patch of snowdrops (Galanthus nivalis) nestled among the glossy green leaves of periwinkle (Vinca minor). These delicate white flowers, blooming despite the chill, were a hopeful sign of the approaching spring. Their pristine petals contrasted beautifully with the dark, shiny leaves, creating a picturesque start to my journey.

These flowers were found in a garden on Cascadilla Park Road, Ithaca, March 1, 2024. Snowdrops (Galanthus nivalis) are among the first flowers to bloom in late winter and early spring, often pushing up through the snow. These plants are known for their nodding, white, bell-shaped flowers and are a common sight in gardens during this time of year. The glossy green leaves belong to a plant known as Periwinkle (Vinca minor). Periwinkle is a popular ground cover plant, often found in gardens due to its ability to spread quickly and form a dense mat of evergreen foliage. It typically has glossy, dark green leaves and produces small, blue or purple star-shaped flowers in the spring.

Climbing the Steps to Steps to Myron Taylor Hall

My path led me up flights of granite steps toward Myron Taylor Hall. As I climbed, I could feel the history and tradition of Cornell University enveloping me. The McGraw Tower bells chimed softly, adding a melodic backdrop to my ascent.

Steep steps leading from a parking lot off West Avenue to the Cornell Law School (Myron Taylor Hall).

Discovering “Magna Dancer”

Reaching the top of the steps, I encountered, at the entrance to Hughes Hall museum, the striking “Magna Dancer” sculpture by Arline Peartree. Its bold red forms stood out vividly against the backdrop of the historic stone buildings. The plaque at the base provided a glimpse into its significance, commemorating the contributions of Cornell alumni. The sculpture’s dynamic lines and vibrant color injected a sense of modernity into the historic setting.

“Magna Dancer” steel and enamel sculpture, 1992 by Arline Peartree. Plaque on the sculpture plinth located outside Hughes Hall (behind Myron Taylor Hall – Cornell Law School), 241 Campus Road
The Cornell University Center for Advanced Computing (CAC), housed at Frank H. T. Rhodes Hall on the campus of Cornell University, 136 Hoy Road
Barton Hall, 117 Statler Dr, Ithaca, Tompkins County, New York State
Ives Hall,B07 Tower Road, Ithaca, NY 14853
Ives Hall,B07 Tower Road, Ithaca, NY 14853
This art installation is located on the corner of Garden Avenue and Reservoir Avenue near Martha Van Rensselaer Hall
Continuing my walk through the campus

Winter Buds and the Robinson Herb Garden

Here, I passed through the Robinson Herb Garden, where the late winter buds of a Cornelian Cherry Dogwood (Cornus mas) were beginning to unfurl. These bright yellow clusters heralded the arrival of spring, standing out against the bare branches and muted tones of the garden. It was a reminder of the cyclical nature of life and the resilience of the natural world.

The tree in the photograph with the yellow buds is a Cornelian Cherry Dogwood (Cornus mas). It is one of the first trees to bloom in late winter to early spring, producing clusters of small, bright yellow flowers before the leaves emerge. Cornelian Cherry Dogwood is often used in landscapes and gardens for its early bloom and attractive appearance. This tree grown in the Robinson Herb Garden, Cornell University

Mundy Wildflower Garden and Fall Creek

At Mundy Wildflower Garden, a hidden gem nestled beside Fall Creek, the landscape transformed into a tranquil haven, with the gentle sound of water flowing nearby. Though it was still early in the season, the promise of blooming wildflowers lingered in the air. The garden’s carefully maintained paths and rustic benches invited quiet contemplation.

These steps lead from the Robison New York State Herb Garden to Judd Falls Road and the Mundy Wildflower Garden

Exploring the Common Ferns Display

As I ventured further, I came across a display showcasing common ferns. The display included photographs and names of various ferns, such as the Christmas Fern (Polystichum acrostichoides) and Goldie’s Fern (Dryopteris goldiana). This educational exhibit was both informative and visually appealing, highlighting the diverse flora found on the campus.

Displayed on a display in the Mundy Wildflower Garden, part of Cornell (University) Botanical Gardens.

Observing the Weather Station

Nearby, a weather station stood tall, equipped with various sensors to monitor climate conditions. A sign explained its purpose: to help understand how climate change is affecting plants in the area. The data collected here would provide valuable insights into the phenological changes occurring within the garden.

Traversing the Slope to Olin Library

Returning, I made my way toward Olin Library. The path took me along a steep incline, “Lib Hill,” where I could see the stark branches of deciduous trees reaching toward the sky. The steps seemed to stretch endlessly upward, mirroring the journey of knowledge that students undertake within the library’s walls. The modern architecture of the library contrasted sharply with the surrounding natural landscape, symbolizing the intersection of nature and human achievement.

Approaching McGraw Tower

As I neared the heart of the campus, the McGraw Tower stood tall and prominent, albeit encased in scaffolding for restoration work. The historic building, with its distinctive clock face, was an emblem of Cornell’s rich heritage. Despite the scaffolding, the tower retained its majestic presence, a testament to the ongoing efforts to preserve its legacy.

This view is from Central Avenue. Morrill Hall is on the left. The tower is part of Uris Library. Cornell University, Ithaca, Tompkins County, New York State

Returning to Cascadilla Park Road

As descended the hill, following Cascadilla Creek, reflecting on the six mile journey, I felt a profound connection to the enduring beauty and resilience of both nature and human creativity. The walk had taken me through time and space, from historic landmarks to natural wonders, each step revealing a new facet of the Cornell University campus.

Reflecting on History

My walk took me past a plaque commemorating the site of the first settlers’ log cabin in Tompkins County, built in 1788. The plaque, erected by the Cayuga Chapter D.A.R. in 1927, was a poignant reminder of the area’s deep-rooted history and the pioneering spirit that shaped it.

This plaque on the corner of University Avenue and Cascadilla Park Road Road, “Near this spot in 1788 a log cabin was built by the first settlers of Tompkins County — Peter Hinepaw, Isaac Dumond, Jacob Yaples. Erected by Cayuga Chapter Daughters of the American Revolution 1927

This late winter walk, captured through my lens, was a celebration of the quiet splendor of the season and the enduring spirit of a place that thrives on discovery and growth.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

The Wonder of Penstemon hirsutus in Treman Gorge

Discover the enchanting Hairy Beardtongue nestled in Treman Gorge. Learn about its striking lavender blooms, unique adaptations, and fascinating history in our latest nature exploration. Dive into the beauty of Penstemon hirsutus!

MichaelStephenWills5 Comments

On a sunny day at the end of May 2024, I embarked on one of my cherished walks through Robert H. Treman Park, located in the heart of Ithaca, New York. The park, with its stunning gorges and waterfalls, never ceases to amaze me with its natural beauty and diverse plant life. This time, my exploration led me to a delightful discovery along the south-facing walls of Treman Gorge: Penstemon hirsutus, commonly known as the Hairy Beardtongue.

As I navigated the rocky terrain, my attention was caught by a cluster of delicate, tubular flowers emerging from the crevices of the gorge walls. Their soft lavender hues stood out against the rugged backdrop of moss-covered rocks and shale. Upon closer inspection, I noticed the characteristic hairy stems and leaves, confirming that I had indeed found Penstemon hirsutus.

Penstemon hirsutus is a perennial herbaceous plant native to eastern North America. It typically reaches a height of 1 to 3 feet, with erect stems covered in fine hairs. The leaves are lanceolate, arranged oppositely along the stem, and also bear a slight fuzziness. The flowers, which bloom from late spring to early summer, are tubular and two-lipped, resembling a small beard—a feature that likely inspired the common name “Beardtongue.” Each flower is about 1 to 1.5 inches long, with a delicate lavender color that fades to white at the throat.

The genus name “Penstemon” is derived from the Greek words “pente,” meaning five, and “stemon,” meaning stamen, referring to the plant’s five stamens—four fertile and one sterile, the latter often appearing as a small, hairy tongue within the flower. The species name “hirsutus” comes from Latin, meaning hairy, a nod to the plant’s hirsute stems and leaves.

The Hairy Beardtongue thrives in well-drained soils and can often be found in rocky, open woodlands, meadows, and along cliffs—exactly the kind of environment provided by Treman Gorge. This plant is well-adapted to the microhabitats created by the gorge’s south-facing walls, where sunlight and moisture create ideal growing conditions. The rock walls not only offer physical support but also help retain heat and moisture, creating a microclimate that supports a variety of plant species.

Historically, Penstemon hirsutus and its relatives have been valued for their ornamental beauty and ecological benefits. The flowers attract a variety of pollinators, including bees, butterflies, and hummingbirds, making them an important component of the local ecosystem. Native Americans also recognized the medicinal properties of some Penstemon species, using them to treat ailments such as toothaches, sore throats, and respiratory issues.

In recent times, gardeners and horticulturists have come to appreciate Penstemon hirsutus for its hardiness and low maintenance requirements. It is often used in native plant gardens, rock gardens, and naturalized areas to add a touch of wild beauty. The plant’s ability to thrive in poor soils and its resistance to deer browsing make it a valuable addition to any garden aiming to support local wildlife and biodiversity.

Finding the Hairy Beardtongue in Treman Gorge was a moment of pure joy and wonder. It reminded me of the resilience and adaptability of nature, as this delicate yet sturdy plant has carved out a niche for itself in the rocky walls of the gorge. The sight of its soft lavender blooms swaying gently in the breeze was a testament to the beauty and tenacity of life in even the most rugged environments.

As I continued my hike, I felt a renewed sense of connection to the natural world. The discovery of Penstemon hirsutus was not just a botanical find but a reminder of the intricate and interconnected web of life that thrives in Treman Gorge. Each plant, each flower, has a story to tell—a story of survival, adaptation, and beauty that enriches our understanding of the natural world and our place within it.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

The Joy of Adventure at Treetops

Join us as we explore the enchanting “Treetops” treehouse at Cayuga Nature Center. Discover the joy of hide and seek, and the magic of nature, through the eyes of my grandsons on a serene Sunday morning.

MichaelStephenWills12 Comments

The air was crisp and cool as I strolled hand in hand with my grandsons, Sam and Rory, through the vibrant greens of the Cayuga Nature Center. The leaves rustled gently in the Sunday morning breeze, their whispers the only company we had. It was a quiet, serene moment, with no one else around, and the boys’ excitement was palpable as they chattered about their previous visits.

“Grandpa, do you remember this place?” Sam asked, his eyes twinkling with anticipation. Rory, not to be outdone, chimed in, “We have to show you the treehouse! It’s the best part!”

Their enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself eager to see this magical place they spoke of. We followed a winding path, each step bringing us deeper into the lush woodland, until at last, the imposing structure of the “Treetops” treehouse came into view. It stood tall and mysterious; an intricate wooden edifice cloaked in the verdant embrace of the forest.

The treehouse was a marvel, its towering form constructed of twisted branches and sturdy planks, blending seamlessly with the natural surroundings. A wooden bridge led up to the entrance, and as we approached, the boys’ pace quickened.

“Let’s play hide and seek!” Rory suggested, his voice echoing with excitement. Sam nodded vigorously, already darting towards the treehouse entrance. “You count, Grandpa!” he called over his shoulder.

I began counting aloud, my voice mingling with the sounds of nature—the chirping of birds, the gentle rustle of leaves. When I reached twenty, I opened my eyes to find the boys had disappeared into the labyrinth of the treehouse. I stepped inside, the cool shade a welcome respite from the sun’s gentle warmth.

The interior was a maze of hidden nooks and winding staircases, each turn revealing a new secret. I could hear the faint giggles of the boys as they tried to stifle their laughter. The treehouse was alive with the echoes of their joy, each sound bouncing off the wooden walls like a symphony of childhood exuberance.

As I navigated the winding paths, I couldn’t help but marvel at the intricate details of the structure. The signs scattered throughout added an educational touch, detailing the lives of the birds and spiders that called this place home. One sign, titled “A Place For Everyone,” explained how each bird species had its niche, much like the boys had found their hiding spots.

“Found you!” I called out, spotting Sam’s bright red shirt from behind a wooden beam. He laughed and dashed off, his footsteps a rhythmic drumbeat on the wooden floor. Rory was next, his giggles giving away his hiding spot behind a thick cluster of branches.

We continued our game, the treehouse transforming into a magical playground where time seemed to stand still. The boys’ laughter filled the air, mingling with the natural symphony of the forest. We explored every corner, from the highest platform with its breathtaking view of the surrounding forest to the dark, cozy nooks perfect for hiding.

Phillips Falls is a picturesque waterfall located on Comstock Creek in view of the Treetops treehouse within the Cayuga Nature Center in Ithaca, New York. The falls are a highlight of the Nature Center, offering visitors a scenic and tranquil spot to enjoy the natural beauty of the area. The waterfall is accessible via the nature trails that wind through the Center’s diverse landscapes, including forests and meadows. Here are a few key points about Phillips Falls: Scenic Beauty: Phillips Falls is known for its serene and beautiful setting, making it a popular spot for nature enthusiasts, hikers, and photographers. Hiking Trails: The falls can be reached by hiking trails within the Cayuga Nature Center. The trails vary in difficulty, providing options for different levels of hikers. Educational Programs: The Cayuga Nature Center often includes Phillips Falls in its educational programs and guided tours, focusing on the ecology and geology of the area. Wildlife Habitat: The area around Phillips Falls is home to a variety of wildlife, making it a great spot for birdwatching and observing other animals in their natural habitat. Seasonal Changes: The appearance and flow of the waterfall can change with the seasons, offering a different experience for visitors throughout the year. Overall, Phillips Falls is a cherished natural feature of the Cayuga Nature Center, providing both a peaceful retreat and an educational experience for visitors.

After our game, we stood on the bridge, looking out over the creek below. The water sparkled in the sunlight, a serene contrast to our playful morning. “This place is amazing,” I said, turning to the boys. They nodded, their faces flushed with happiness.

“We love coming here,” Sam said. “It’s like a secret world.”

Rory nodded in agreement. “And now you know our secret too, Grandpa.”

As we made our way back down the path, I felt a deep sense of gratitude for this moment, for the chance to share in the boys’ joy and to see the world through their eyes. The “Treetops” treehouse had not only been a place of play but also a bridge between generations, a testament to the simple, timeless pleasures of exploring nature together.

Phillips Falls on Comstock Creek, seen from Treetops

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved