To the children of Obed Daggett, I have been contemplating this letter for some time now. A mix of hesitancies including some guilt have kept me from putting pen to paper, or in this case fingers to keys, but yesterday as I took my tractor in low gear down the road I grew up on and saw the beer bottles peaking out from under the leaves in place of the lady slippers that used to do the same this time of year, I realized some action had to be taken. I have little hope that this letter will make a change, but I hope it will strike a chord for some of you who still have a shred of decency.

The guilt I mentioned above comes from having been blessed with growing up in these woods and on these beaches and knowing how, in my own way, I had disrespected them. I was a teenager once and I understand how exciting your first beach fire can be with a group of close friends and even better, without your parent’s knowledge. I am also guilty of not cleaning up fully and missing a beer can or two once the fire was put out. I try to refrain from the “this land is my land, it is not your land” speech, because I believe that nature, when respected, should be shared by all. However, yesterday changed my opinion on this and all the “kids will be kids” thoughts vanished. I realized there is a big difference between you and me as I waded through the muddy swamp in front of the beach parking, pulling Heineken bottles, bud heavy cans and condoms out of the muck. I realized that whoever you are, and I know there is more than one of you, you have no respect for my land, my life, and worse yet, your own. Anyone who is capable of such disregard for the beauty that surrounds them is leading a blind life.

What really is upsetting about this whole thing is that by doing this you have ruined so many other peoples joy. The fisherman who for years have come down to my beach with their sons and cast lines off the rocky point, the lovers that have snuck away on the private beach and those who simply have discovered the beautiful spot will no longer be welcome because your disrespect has caused the often overlooked rules drafted by some uptight commission to no longer be overlooked. Perhaps one last anecdote will move you to gain some respect of your surroundings. There was a blizzard one winter that dumped an ungodly amount of snow and Obed Daggett was crisscrossed with fallen trees. I was probably 11. My father and I threw on our snow gear and waded out in the tail end of the storm, the snow up to my waist, my father ahead paving the path, chain saw in hand. For the entire dimly lit day we cleared the road, returning home to build a fire for some added light as the electricity was out. For me, it is one of my favorite childhood memories. Yesterday, next to one of the trees I helped remove with my father 16 years ago, were two empty cases of beer and shattered glass from what must have been a toss from a car window. You turned a good memory bad. I had a full black trash bag of crap by the time I returned home.

So here is what I propose. You gain some respect because this land is my land and it is not your land. If I catch any of you in the action of littering on my land again I will befall you with a walloping that you won’t forget lightly and if I reign in my emotions before I bend you over my knee I will have you tied to a tree, “trespassing” written on your foreheads, waiting for the West Tisbury police to come take you in. I mean all that in the friendliest of ways. Learn to enjoy this land respectfully or don’t come at all.

Ry Sterling
West Tisbury