I am in Edgartown, Martha’s Vineyard. It’s a beautiful, high-sixties-degree day in late June with luminous rays of sunlight gleaming through my bedside window and a gentle breeze rustling the flourishing flora outside. I’m lying on my bed, on the final full day of my first vacation in what feels like forever, reading Susan Cain’s Quiet to the pleasant ambiance of chirping birds. This is how I remember the Vineyard, from the many summers in my childhood when my family and I vacationed here. Peaceful. Simple. Still. A little slice of paradise where I could relax and be at one with nature.
And yet, just at the end of the block of the family friend’s house I’m staying in, a steady stream of vehicles congest the main road. Cars and trucks whip in and out of the gas station, where the price is a staggering $6.20 per gallon, making walking into town a tense endeavor. The smell in the air is not that of the salty ocean, nor the blooming flowers, but exhaust fumes. No matter where I go in Edgartown, at what time of day, the traffic is exceptionally heavy, and the stench of gas is exceptionally pungent. And to think that this is considered the off-season!
Across the street from the gas station, one of the innumerable seafood joints on the Vineyard proudly promotes “Harpooned swordfish” via a large sign in the front window. Lobster rolls, which, in all fairness, were a popular dish during my previous visits as well, are omnipresent. When I biked to Katama Beach the day before, an otherwise nice ride took an ugly turn when I came upon a field of grazing Belted Galloways whose lives, like the swordfish and lobsters, will meet a gruesome end for the sake of our taste-pleasure.
The houses seem larger. The beaches seem smaller. Everywhere I look are private properties and streets with uninviting “Keep Out” signs and insanely expensive parking. The number of service vehicles has increased too, and as such, so has the amount of lawn maintenance, the rumbling of lawn mowers and similar machinery contributing to the noise pollution created by the cars.
Suffice to say, this is not the Martha’s Vineyard I remember. This is not the modestly-populated island where my family and I would once take meandering scenic walks, play in the gentle tides of the ocean, window-shop in the quaint towns, and visit wildlife preserves. This is a tourist trap. A circus. An introvert’s nightmare, and hence the reason why I’ve grown increasingly reluctant to leave the house.
Martha’s Vineyard is one example of many beautiful places that have fallen victim to our toxic lifestyles. Our transportation, polluting the air and water. Our consumerism, extracting precious resources from the earth and destroying the habitats of creatures who were here long before we were. Our diets, fishing the oceans to death and subjecting billions of sentient beings to a living hellscape. Our complete disregard for the natural world, destroying nature more and more every day. It’s devastating, what we’re doing to the world around us, and dismaying that so few of us seem to care enough to change our ways.
I am, of course, aware of the hypocrisy in my writing this, as I’m also a tourist, whose presence is detracting from the peace of the animals as well as the peace of the people and families who live on the island. I’m doing my best to travel as sustainably as I can, by opting to bike everywhere instead of drive, by cooking all my (plant-based) meals at the house, and by avoiding unnecessary purchases, aside from one Black Dog sweater. Yet, I still wonder if it’s good enough or if I’d be better off simply staying at home. After all, it’s not as if I’m particularly enjoying myself, what with the sheer number of people and vehicles I have to navigate every time I go outside.
Because what’s the point of going on vacation when the beauty, the sanctity, of the place you’re visiting has been sacrificed in favor of consumer culture? What’s the point when going out is so anxiety-provoking that you’d rather stay in and do the exact same things you’d do at your own home? What’s the point when your cherished childhood memories of being at one with nature are dashed by the harsh reality that there is very little “natural” about this place anymore?
Surely, I can’t be the only one feeling this way; suffocated by our culture and saddened by how disconnected we’ve become from the natural world. Surely, my frustration of sitting bumper-to-bumper in a never-ending procession of traffic is not exclusive to me. Surely, we can aspire for better than this, whether that means making the island more biker and walker-friendly and repurposing land used to farm animals to produce crops, or urging our leaders to phase out fossil fuels so we can travel without destroying the climate.
I do believe that it’s not too late to restore our respect for nature, but to do so, we must move away from consumerism and caring only about ourselves. We must realize that we’re not the only species on this planet and that our lives are greatly influenced by how well (or poorly) the natural world is faring. We must be more compassionate, considerate, and conscientious—not only of other people but of the earth and the animals as well. After all, why make the world an even uglier place when we could instead do our part to preserve its inherent beauty?