From the October 3, 1947 edition of the Vineyard Gazette:

An elderly Vineyarder once, asked by a neighbor for a tree from his woodland, replied: “Why don’t you cut one of Jehovah’s lot?” The reply has been quoted as a joke and as an example of the New England “sharpness” of the land-owner. But sober reflection will convince any Vineyarder that there is much more to this than a mere joke.

Common lands, as they were once known, exist no longer on the Vineyard, except in the town of Gay Head where a part of what was once reservation land, is held in common by the town inhabitants. This is the place where the wild cranberries grow, and where on Cranberry Day, the people of Gay Head congregate to gather this wild harvest provided by nature, unaided by man, this harvest of the Gay Head cranberries cannot be exceeded. But on the Vineyard at least, and possibly in other places, there is other wild harvest provided, and in these early autumn days it is a common sight to see people gathering the fruits provided by nature in various parts of the Island.

Everyone to whom the Island is new, will ask the same question, relative to the trespass laws. To this the answer must be uncertain. There are many large tracts and some small ones, where ownership is unknown or in doubt. Unfenced, untended, unoccupied, these acres lie, overgrown with wood, brush or grass and weeds, among which are to be found the blueberry, the cranberry, beach plum and other wild fruits. Those familiar with these localities visit them on occasion for the harvest provided.

In other cases there are large tracts whose owners do not object to such visits by the general public and are never known to identify themselves. Beyond that, there are heavily-hedged roadsides where bushes and trees produce fruit which, according to statute, may be gathered by anyone.

This last circumstance comes about through the local practice of planning where roads are concerned. On obtaining land for highways in years gone by as of today, the town fathers secured title to a sufficient amount to care for traffic heavier than they ever imagined in their time.

The result, in many cases, is a road of practical width, separated from abutting lands by several feet or even yards of rough and overgrown soil. Here the berries grow, the wild flowers, the hazelnuts and mushrooms, and there is no one to forbid the taking of these things if one desires them. In some of these places, at this time of year, it is pleasant to gather wild apples.

Much could be written of Vineyard wild apples. On every road, in virtually every old field, the wild apple trees appear, crooked, spiny, large and small, as the case may be, and bearing apples of varying sizes, flavors and coloring.

Early Vineyard orchard trees were raised from seedlings or the seeds themselves, brought from England. Those early varieties of apples included greenings, sweet apples of summer and winter variety, the russet, the ruddy snow apple and countless others, all tasty, and attractive to look upon.

Birds have carried apple seeds, squirrels have carried the fruit itself, dropping the cores when frightened or when satisfied with their meal. This accounts for the presence of some of these scraggly apple trees in wild and unfrequented places.

Few if any have been grafted. None of them has ever been sprayed, unless by accident. The pruning knife has never touched their long, strong suckers, and they are a tangle of twigs and twisted branches, whipped and broken by the wind, bent and distorted by grazing cattle.

But now the autumn has come and with it the fruit. Every wind that blows across the unoccupied miles of the up-Island towns bring the scent of ripening apples, although there is not today an orchard standing on one of the farms that used to be. Here and there only, a few decaying trees mark the site of a former orchard, but the perfume persists, supplied by the ever-increasing number of wild apple trees that flourish in field and wood, in swamp and ancient meadow, and by the roadsides.

Roaming cattle account for many of those that fall when the autumn gales shake the limbs, the deer not only clean the ground, but rear into the lower branches to obtain those clinging to their twigs.

But there are still other trees, many of them so located that cattle do not reach them, the deer remain at a far distance, and even the muskrat, which loves apples beyond anything edible, will not travel the necessary distance for fear of enemies in the open spaces. These are left for the passing crows and jays, and for the humankind who are sufficiently familiar with the bounty of nature to value such gifts and make use of them. A part of the wild harvest most often ignored and left ungathered, but which contains the concentrated essence of all the perfume of summer flowers and spice-laden breezes the Vineyard wild apple, may it never vanish from the hills.

Compiled by Hilary Wall
library@mvgazette.com