There is a time machine in Ithaca. Not from the movies, not from an engineering project team, but in the form of a museum along Trumansburg Road, filled with art and fossils that whisper tales of a world long gone. I was a freshman entomology student when I first walked into the Museum of the Earth for an introductory evolutionary biology course. Immediately, I was transfixed by the 544-panel mural painted by Trumansburg resident Barbara Page. Each panel represents one million years of geologic time, and the countless displays of fossils and geologic formations, meticulously curated to reflect each period, led me deeper into the heart of the museum. Descending the ramp, I felt a surreal sense of traveling through time. Everything was laid out in such a way to tell us a story — a true story — about the history of our Earth.
The Museum of the Earth, however, is in imminent danger of closing its doors. After more than 90 years of contributions to paleontological research and over two decades of service to the Ithaca and Cornell community as a museum, this invaluable institution now faces severe financial struggles and may need to close its doors for good. But I refuse to allow this haven to be forgotten so easily. This museum ignited my academic passion and future career aspirations. It embodies Cornell’s timeless motto: “Any person, any study.”
I have been drawn to the natural world for as long as I can remember. However, when I wasn’t exploring the outdoors, I was immersed in my world history books or writing furiously in my journal, drafting my next short story. Initially, I even questioned whether a scientific career was even for me. Would it allow me to nurture these creative aspects of myself or would I be forced to neglect passions that felt intrinsic to me? The Museum of Earth proved that I didn’t have to choose. Its interdisciplinary approach to Earth’s history taught me that fossils were more than just dead things in rocks, they were storytellers of lives before our own: environments defined by unimaginable extremes and organisms that thrived long before we existed. The museum’s blend of scientific precision with philosophical wonder singlehandedly reshaped my academic path and proved to me that curiosity and creativity are just as vital to science as precision and rigor.
My visit to the Museum inspired me to join the Pangea Club, founded by William Hooker ’24, who was a transfer sophomore student at the time (and is now a Cornell PhD student). I spent countless hours in the accessible gorges and riverbanks of Ithaca, often returning home covered in mud and sweat, brimming with awe. The landscape was teeming with fossils: there were brachiopods everywhere we stepped, discs of crinoids dotting the shale with little Os and bryozoans snaking like auburn roots across slabs of gray rock. A whole ecosystem of organisms was preserved under our feet, a window into Earth’s distant past.
With Will’s encouragement, I registered for Cornell’s paleobiology course, which required us to be at the Museum of the Earth every week. We explored the exhibits and learned about almost every major group of fossilized marine organisms. By the end of my junior year, the museum was like a second home to me.
Prof. Warren Allmon, the Hunter R Rawlings III Professor of Paleontology Emeritus, who taught the course and directs the Museum of the Earth, was incredible. The class was small, with only about twelve people, and he made it his mission to get to know each and every one of us. After several lectures, my favorite fossil quickly became trilobites, a charismatic and diverse group of Paleozoic arthropods. Dr. Allmon welcomed my countless questions, which grew in complexity as the class progressed. After making some interesting field discoveries of my own, I turned this interest into the basis for an honors thesis, which I am currently completing. Dr. Allmon has become an invaluable advisor and mentor to me, and he directs the Museum of the Earth with the same passion and dedication that he brings to his classes. Without the resources offered to me by the Museum, the Paleontological Research Institution, and Dr. Allmon, my thesis could not have been completed.
Now a senior, I serve as the president of the Pangea Club, and I am preparing applications for post-baccalaureate programs in paleobiology and paleoentomology. I also volunteer at the Museum, preparing local Devonian fossils and answering questions from students, children and the Ithaca community. Leading students down the museum’s ramp, I see them stop and stare with wonder at each panel in the mural. Their smiles widen when they see the sheer size of Dunkleosteus, the morphological complexity of Carboniferous cycads, the bizarre shape of the heteromorph ammonoid. I get to see a passion emerge that mirrors mine.
Despite this, the museum’s future hangs by a thread. Budget shortfalls forced it to let go of staff and reduce hours after a promised $30 million donation fell through. Even still, the museum has provided free access to Cornell students for several years, giving them the opportunity to explore their exhibits for classes like BIOEE 1780 and Introductory Oceanography. Without Cornell’s support, the museum, and its integral benefit to multiple courses may disappear.
My message to students is simple. Visit the Museum of the Earth. It could change everything for you, as it did for me. My message to Cornell? Invest in this place, and by extension your students and the Ithaca community. With our collective support, it can continue to ignite curiosity and passion in generations of students to come.
Emily Cavanaugh is a senior in CALS. She can be reached at [email protected].
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