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.

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

Life Unraveled: An Encounter with the Emerald Ash Borer

As I walked the quiet medical campus, a dying ash tree caught my eye. Its bark revealed the intricate, destructive galleries left by the relentless Emerald Ash Borer, telling a silent story of loss.

Feeling the need for air, for motion I walk the grounds of a medical campus in Northeast Ithaca, New York, as my wife undergoes physical therapy following her total hip replacement. The sun is high, casting long shadows across the neatly trimmed lawn and scattered trees. There’s a certain calmness here, a space to reflect amid the quiet hustle of the healthcare world.

One tree stands out from the others. I immediately sense that something is not quite right. The branches, bare and brittle, reach out like skeletal arms against the blue sky. It’s summer—this tree should be lush, green, full of life. Yet, here it stands, a stark silhouette among the healthier trees nearby. My curiosity draws me closer, and as I circle the tree, my suspicions are confirmed: it’s an ash tree, Fraxinus americana, dying from an all-too-familiar enemy, the Emerald Ash Borer (Agrilus planipennis).

A dying ash tree on the medical campus off Warren Road, Northeast Ithaca.

The first clue is a thinning canopy. Ash trees, in their prime, have such graceful foliage, creating broad umbrellas of shade. But when they fall victim to the Emerald Ash Borer, their decline is swift and merciless. The branches I see now are devoid of leaves, save for a few stragglers clinging on in vain. The bark tells an even clearer story. Large chunks have sloughed off, revealing a labyrinth of winding, S-shaped galleries just beneath the surface. These are the telltale signs of the larvae, relentlessly feeding on the inner bark, severing the tree’s lifeline as they go.

The tunnels left by the Emerald Ash Borer (EAB) are called galleries. These S-shaped galleries are created by the larvae of the EAB as they feed on the inner bark and cambium of ash trees. The galleries disrupt the tree’s ability to transport nutrients and water, eventually leading to the tree’s death.

I pull out my phone to capture some close-up shots. The gnarled, crisscrossing tunnels that wind through the exposed wood are mesmerizing in a way, almost like a natural etching carved by the tiny jaws of the Emerald Ash Borer. They’ve created a kind of grim artwork on this dying tree, though there’s nothing beautiful about the destruction they leave behind. I know that underneath this bark, the tree’s circulatory system—the xylem and phloem—has been disrupted, no longer able to transport water or nutrients. Slowly, the tree has starved.

It’s strange how, in the middle of waiting for my wife’s recovery, I find myself thinking about life and loss in this quiet moment with the ash tree. In some ways, this frail giant mirrors what my wife has been going through. The breakdown of something once strong and vital—be it bone or tree—doesn’t happen overnight. It’s gradual, unnoticed at first, until the damage becomes too great to ignore. But while my wife’s new hip will give her strength and mobility once more, there’s no hip replacement for this ash tree. The damage here is irreversible.

I circle the tree again, and the more I look, the more I notice the signs of decline. The bark peels away easily, almost like paper, exposing more of the damaged wood beneath. In some areas, there are what look like D-shaped exit holes, where the adult Emerald Ash Borers have chewed their way out to fly off and start the cycle anew. This is what makes the battle against this invasive species so frustrating—they are small, almost insignificant in size, but the sheer numbers in which they attack, combined with their ability to spread so quickly, make them nearly impossible to stop.

Just as I’m about to walk away, a thought crosses my mind: how many more ash trees will fall to this same fate? The Emerald Ash Borer, a native of Asia, arrived in the United States sometime in the early 2000s, hitching a ride in wooden packing materials. It quickly spread across states, leaving devastation in its wake. Here in New York, the effects have been nothing short of catastrophic. Entire forests of ash are being wiped out, and this tree, standing alone on the edge of the medical campus, is just one more casualty.

I turn back toward the building, the rhythmic crunch of my footsteps on the path feeling heavier now. As my wife works to heal and rebuild her strength inside, I think about the resilience of the human body, its ability to repair, to bounce back after trauma. But for the ash tree, there is no such recovery. Without intervention—chemical treatments that are costly and often impractical on a large scale—this tree will eventually become firewood, its wood too damaged to be of much use for anything else.

It’s a sobering thought, but also a reminder. Nature’s battles, much like our own, are often unseen, quiet struggles that unfold slowly over time. Sometimes, we win, as my wife will with her new hip, but other times, like the ash tree and its silent battle with the Emerald Ash Borer, the fight is already lost.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved