With the thermometer in the 60’s on March 10, 2020 the “buttercups” of yesterday are open. When we first moved here, the plants were much thinner. I used fertilizer spikes on the Magnolia tree around which they grow. Each early the flowers pollinate, forming seeds and spreading.
A tripod held the composition steady, and the timer was set to 2 seconds for extra stability at the f25 setting.
Here is a slideshow of yesterday and today’s shots.
In February 2020, I captured images of the first flowers to bloom on their property with a Canon 5D Mark IV DSLR and a macro lens. The flowers belong to the Eranthis genus, known for early flowering.
These flowers are the first to bloom on our property, around the magnolia tree, and are also the first wildflowers photographed with my then new Canon 5D Mark IV dslr . Each year these “buttercups” grow thicker and spread. The latin scientific name Eranthis hyemalis proclaims the early nature of its flowering both in the genus, “Eranthis” – composed of two Greek language roots meaning “spring flower”, and species, “hyemalis” – a term from the Latin language meaning, “winter flowering.” The genus encompasses eight species, all early flowering plants with the common name winter aconite. These can also rightly be called Buttercups as the plant belongs to family Ranunculaceae, buttercups.
To capture the intricate details possible with the Canon EF 100 mm f/2.8 Macro lens I used here, it’s often necessary to adjust the camera settings to allow for a longer exposure time. This adjustment ensures that enough light reaches the sensor, particularly in macro photography or low-light situations, which helps in producing sharper and more detailed images. All these photographs are from f25. Setting a longer exposure compensates for the reduced light that might be a consequence of using a smaller aperture (higher f-number) for greater depth of field, a common technique in macro photography.”
It’s important to note that while setting a longer exposure can improve image quality by allowing more light to hit the camera’s sensor, it can also introduce the risk of motion blur if the camera or subject moves during the exposure. To minimize camera shake and achieve the best results, I used a Manfrotto “BeFree” tripod and the camera’s built-in timer set to a 2 second delay after a manual shutter release.
With the thermometer hovering above freezing, these blooms did not open today. The calendar says “late winter”, these Aconite are singing “early spring.”
Fillmore Glen Autumn
As the season of harvest waned to the deep, fiery heart of November, I found myself beneath the boundless expanse of heaven’s azure, wandering the untouched expanses of the wilds. The sun, in its unwavering journey, cast its gaze upon the earth, illuminating the realm with a clarity that seemed to transcend the ages. It was upon such an afternoon that mine eyes beheld a vision of yesteryear’s industry, a relic from a time long since passed into the annals of history—an ancient dam and pond, nestled in the forest.
The water, a mirror to the sky, held within its embrace the autumnal celebration of the maples. Leaves, flames of red and gold, lay scattered upon the surface, drifting languidly atop the pond. Amongst this mosaic of nature’s final flourish, green tendrils of algae weaved patterns, as though the very spirits of the forest sought to lay claim to the waters with their verdant touch.
The trees, mighty sentinels of maple, stood in grandeur around the pond, their boughs heavy with the weight of the season. Their leaves, caught in the throes of change, were painted with the brilliant hues of yellow and red, a testament to the time when the earth itself becomes an artist of unrivaled skill.
And there, frozen in the midst of this tranquil domain, stood the gears of the mill race, once alive with industry’s hum, now silent and immobile. They reached towards the heavens, their shadows etched upon the pond below, as if in a final, defiant stand against the passage of time.
Such a sight, in the clear, sunny afternoon of this November day in the year 2511, spoke to me of the enduring dance between man’s creations and the relentless, reclaiming hand of nature. It was a scene that stirred within me a profound reverence, a sense of communion with the generations that had walked these woods before. Here, in this hallowed place, time seemed to pause, allowing me a moment of solemn reflection in the ceaseless flow of eternity.
Ferns, ancient plants with unique reproduction strategies and ecological significance, adapt to diverse environments while contributing to overall biodiversity and human culture.
In the vast tapestry of the plant kingdom, ferns occupy a unique and enduring place. These ancient plants, often overlooked in favor of their flowering counterparts, have a fascinating and seemingly eternal existence that spans millions of years. Ferns, with their lush green fronds and distinctive reproductive mechanisms, offer us a glimpse into the enduring legacy of life on Earth and the remarkable adaptations that have allowed them to persist through the ages.
Ferns belong to the group of plants known as Pteridophytes, which evolved more than 360 million years ago during the late Devonian period. Their evolutionary history predates the appearance of flowering plants, making ferns some of the oldest living organisms on our planet. This remarkable longevity raises the question: how have ferns managed to survive and thrive for so long?
One key to the success of ferns lies in their unique reproductive strategy. Unlike flowering plants that produce seeds, ferns reproduce via spores. These small, dust-like structures contain the genetic material necessary for ferns to reproduce. When mature, ferns release spores into the environment, where they can be carried by the wind or water to new locations. Once a spore finds a suitable environment, it can germinate and develop into a new fern plant.
The spore-based reproduction of ferns is not only ancient but also highly efficient. It allows ferns to colonize diverse habitats, from moist, shaded forests to arid deserts. Additionally, ferns can form extensive networks of underground rhizomes, which are creeping stems that give rise to new fronds. This vegetative propagation further contributes to their resilience and adaptability.
Ferns have also developed a range of adaptations that enable them to thrive in various environmental conditions. Some fern species, such as the resurrection fern (Pleopeltis polypodioides), can endure extreme desiccation. When conditions are dry, these ferns curl up and appear dead, but they can quickly revive and unfurl their fronds when moisture returns. Backpacking through mountainous Arizona wilderness I encountered small ferns growing in the shade of rock ledges, maybe this was Phillips Cliff Fern (Woodsia phillipsii). My guide called it “Ridgeline Fern” and claimed it was important for desert survival, could be eaten in extremis situations. This remarkable ability to withstand drought and promote human survival is a testament to the tenacity and usefulness of ferns.
Another intriguing aspect of ferns is their mutualistic relationship with mycorrhizal fungi. These fungi form symbiotic associations with fern roots, aiding in nutrient absorption and enhancing the fern’s ability to thrive in nutrient-poor soils. This partnership has likely contributed to the fern’s ability to colonize a wide range of habitats and compete with other plant species.
While ferns have proven to be resilient survivors, they have also played a crucial role in shaping Earth’s ecosystems. Ferns are often early colonizers in disturbed or newly formed habitats, and their presence can help stabilize soils and create conditions suitable for the establishment of other plant species. In this way, ferns contribute to the ecological succession and overall biodiversity of ecosystems.
Beyond their ecological significance, ferns have captured the human imagination for centuries. Their delicate and intricate fronds have inspired art, literature, and even garden design. Many garden enthusiasts cultivate ferns for their ornamental beauty and unique charm.
In conclusion, the eternal life of ferns is a testament to the remarkable adaptability and resilience of these ancient plants. Their longevity, dating back millions of years, serves as a reminder of the enduring nature of life on Earth. Ferns have evolved unique reproductive strategies, adaptations to various environments, and mutualistic relationships that have allowed them to persist and thrive. Whether they are serving as pioneers in newly formed habitats or gracing our gardens with their elegance, ferns continue to capture our fascination and enrich the natural world. Their legacy reminds us of the intricate and interconnected web of life that has persisted on our planet through the ages.
The red berries of the Jack-in-the-Pulpit plant play a key role in seed dispersion, wildlife sustenance, and fueling its energy storage organ, the corm.
As the crisp air of autumn settles in and the leaves begin their spectacular transformation into hues of red, orange, and yellow, the forest floor comes alive with a myriad of hidden wonders. Among these wonders, the Jack-in-the-Pulpit (Arisaema triphyllum) stands out for its striking red berries and the role they play in the fall glory of the woodland ecosystem. In this essay, we will explore the beauty and significance of these red berries and how they are intrinsically linked to the plant’s corm.
The Jack-in-the-Pulpit, a native perennial herbaceous plant of North America, is known for its distinctive appearance, featuring a hood-like structure known as the spathe and a tall, slender stalk called the spadix. It is during the fall season that the plant’s fascinating red berries make their appearance, contrasting vividly against the backdrop of autumn’s colors. These berries are the result of a process that begins in the spring, when the plant first emerges from its underground corm.
Throughout the growing season, the Jack-in-the-Pulpit devotes its energy to producing these striking red berries, which serve several important ecological functions. The red berries are not only visually appealing but also function as a means of reproduction for the plant. They contain seeds that, once mature, can be dispersed to establish new Jack-in-the-Pulpit plants. These seeds are often transported by animals that consume the berries, such as birds and rodents, which then disperse them in their droppings, contributing to the plant’s spread throughout the forest.
The bright red color of the berries is a key feature that attracts birds, making them an essential food source during the fall and early winter months. Birds like thrushes, cardinals, and robins are known to feed on the Jack-in-the-Pulpit berries, aiding in seed dispersal while benefiting from the nutrient-rich fruits. This mutualistic relationship between the plant and its avian dispersers showcases the interconnectedness of the forest ecosystem, where each species relies on the other for survival and propagation.
The significance of the Jack-in-the-Pulpit’s red berries extends to the corm beneath the surface. The corm serves as an energy storage organ for the plant, helping it survive through the harsh winter months when the above-ground parts of the plant wither and die. During the fall, as the plant directs its energy toward producing berries, it also transfers nutrients to the corm, ensuring its vitality and readiness for the following spring.
Furthermore, the corm itself can serve as an energy reserve for the production of future berries and the growth of new shoots. As the plant enters dormancy, it relies on the stored energy in the corm to fuel its growth when conditions become favorable in the next growing season. In this way, the corm and the red berries are intricately linked, with the berries representing the culmination of a year-long process of energy accumulation and reproduction.
In conclusion, the red berries of the Jack-in-the-Pulpit are a captivating and vital component of the fall glory that graces our woodlands. Their vibrant color and ecological role in seed dispersal highlight the plant’s contribution to the forest ecosystem’s richness and diversity. Moreover, these berries are a testament to the interconnectedness of nature, as they are not only visually stunning but also an essential food source for wildlife. As we marvel at the beauty of fall and explore the wonders of the natural world, let us take a moment to appreciate the significance of the red berries of the Jack-in-the-Pulpit and their role in the intricate web of life that surrounds us.
when the elms blazed a glorious yellow.
A staircase leading to the Fillmore Glen Gorge
on a perfect October evening
when the elms blazed a glorious yellow.
Filled with Golden Elms
Fillmore Gorge is full with slippery elms.
The constant infall of the gorge keeps these trees small.
Once a year, for a few days, all the elms turn at once. We were lucky to visit at the perfect moment.
The elms blaze yellow for a day or two, early October.
Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
Our Winter Aconite started blooming around Valentines Day, February 14, 2023.
The following photograph is from the Apple IPhone 14 ProMax, raw format and perfected on the phone. The rest are from the Canon 5D Mark IV with the lens EF 100mm f/2.8 Macro USB.
Click Me for more photographic art from my OnLine Gallery, “Finger Lakes Memories.”
As a spring ehemeral plant, its life cycle exploits the deciduous woodland canopy, flowering at the time of maximum sunlight reaching the forest floor, then completely dying back to its underground tuber after flowering.
All parts of the plant are poisonous when consumed by humans and other mammals because it contains cardiac glycosides.
The species name Eranthis hyemalis proclaims the early nature of its flowering both in the genus, “Eranthis” – “spring flower”, and species, “hyemalis” – winter flowering. The genus encompasses eight species, all early flowering winter aconite.
The crocus has been known throughout recorded history, mainly as the source of saffron.
I found crocuses blooming beneath our magnolia tree on our 14th anniversary, Monday, March 20, 2023.
The following photograph is from the Apple IPhone 14 ProMax, raw format and perfected on the phone. The rest are from the Canon 5D Mark IV with the lens EF 100mm f/2.8 Macro USB.
Click Me for more photographic art from my OnLine Gallery, “Finger Lakes Memories.”
“Crocus is a genus of seasonal flowering plants in the family Iridaceae (iris family) comprising about 100 species of perennials growing from corms. They are low growing plants, whose flower stems remain underground, that bear relatively large white, yellow, orange or purple flowers and then become dormant after flowering. Many are cultivated for their flowers, appearing in autumn, winter, or spring. The flowers close at night and in overcast weather conditions.”
Here are partially closed blooms under the same magnolia tree on a very cold March 2020 afternoon.
“The crocus has been known throughout recorded history, mainly as the source of saffron. Saffron is obtained from the dried stigma of Crocus sativus, an autumn-blooming species. It is valued as a spice and dyestuff and is one of the most expensive spices in the world. Iran is the center of saffron production. Crocuses are native to woodland, scrub, and meadows from sea level to alpine tundra from the Mediterranean, through North Africa, central and southern Europe, the islands of the Aegean, the Middle East and across Central Asia to Xinjiang in western China. Crocuses may be propagated from seed or from daughter cormels formed on the corm, that eventually produce mature plants. They arrived in Europe from Turkey in the 16th century and became valued as an ornamental flowering plant.” Source: wikipedia “crocus”
Autumn Wonder
We have often travelled Lower Creek Road as an alternate route to visit my son and his family who live in Freeville, a village named for the activity of the Underground Railroad. After noticing this sign in passing for years, this week we stopped on a glorious autumn morning to capture it. I had packed the Sony Alpha 700 dslr for just such an opportunity.
Just off the road, under a maple tree in full autumn color (yellow), ground covered with fallen leaves (brown) on a fine early October morning, the sign reads, “New York, UNDERGROUND RAILROAD, HOME OF WILLIAM HANFORD AND WIFE ALTHA C. TODD, WHO SHELTERED FUGITIVE SLAVES ON THE WAY TO CANADA AND FREEDOM, STATE EDUCATION DEPARTMENT 1932”. These dark blue background, bright yellow letter signed are found throughout this region and much appreciated.
An added plus for me is the acceptance of both photographs by Getty Istock. Click this link to view a selection of my Getty photography in and around Ithaca, New York.
Yellow for this last day of May 2021
This yellow woody (also called tree) peony blooms later than our red varieties. The first set of three were photographed May 26, 2021 have unopened buds. Yet, these are early compared to those photographed June 6, 2019 used in the last still life.
These first photographs were taken with a Canon EOS 5D Mark IV dslr, new for me as of 2020, fitted with a 600EX-RT Speedlite (flash) and the Canon EF 70-300 mm (variable) f/4-5.6L USM lens stabilized with the Manfrotto BeFree Carbon Fiber tripod with ball head.
Our Itoh yellow tree peony has flowers on stalks too slender to hold the heavy blooms upright. The flowers open hidden among thick leaves. Here they are a still life of cut blossoms and leaves. The cultivars of Paeonia, the mouton, or hua wang, king of flowers, are ofe of the classic ornamental genera of China. By the 11th and 12th centuries the center off cultivation was in Sichuan, and there yellow-flowered varieties appeared.
Crossbreeding of yellow-flowered P. delavayi with traditional double-flowered P. suffruticosa cultivars by Victor Lemoine in Nancy, France has led to the introduction of the color yellow into the cultivated double-flowered tree-peonies. These hybrids are known as the Paeonia × lemoinei group. In 1948 horticultulturist Toichi Itoh from Tokyo used pollen from ‘Alice Harding’ to fertilize the herbaceous P. lactiflora ‘Katoden’, which resulted in a new category of peonies, the Itoh or intersectional cultivars. These are herbaceous, have leaves like tree peonies, with many large flowers from late spring to early autumn, and good peony wilt resistance. I am guessing our Yellow Wooden Peony is a type of this hybrid because the long stems are more herbaceous than woody, the heavy flowers droop so the best form to capture them is the still life.
Compare the above two exposures to appreciate the effect of the f-stop and excellent bokeh of the Canon “L” lens.
This still life from the 2019 bloom was taken with a Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III dslr and the Canon EF 50 mm f/1.2L USM lens used above. Stabilization provided by a Manfrotto 3036 (studio) tripod with the 468MG hydrostatic ball head. That room is bright from large, east-facing windows. Late afternoon light is soaked up by the black velvet backdrop leaving the lemon yellow leaves to shine.
Michael Stephen Wills Photography 