A motion for a regular Tuesday morning: I’m detained by the Ithaca Police Department for allegedly trespassing on Carl Sagan’s observatory. Not the decked-out, weekly star-viewing Fuertes facility on North, widely commercialized by Cornell, but the decaying plot on the Stewart Avenue Historical Bridge — unbeknownst to the public.
I was jogging, albeit a bit manically, about some limerent hyperfixation, when I passed in understanding that the property, much like Rockledge or any cliffhanger estate, would have intrepid views of Ithaca Falls. I didn’t use a second brain cell when I hopped the fence to scope it out. A short 20 minutes later, cue the patriotic lights, melodramatic sirens, two boys in blue coaxing me off of “private property.”
This is modern American trespassing. The penalty, if caught as a 20-year old college student, is a hardly insufferable 30-minute interrogation: “What’s your affiliation with Carl Sagan?” As coincidence had it, Nov. 9 of ’24 would’ve been the astronomer’s 90th birthday. I was passively accused of committing some related act of protest, until the conversation ended: “Do you have any motivation towards self-harm?” I denied, and was consequently released.
Some are less fortunate than I was on the Sagan anniversary. I hate to celebrate the day by desecrating his land with my personal presence and getting away clean. But under other circumstances, a simple trespass according to New York State Penal Law would’ve cost a bare minimum of $250 or a 15-day staycation in jail. That’s right, folks — you get two weeks in the can for pursuing waterfront scenery. Then, of course, my access to public land is the last priority.
It's no secret that despite a reputation for national parks and transcendental legends, the great American landscape is commoditized, available to those who can afford ownership in the right places. While Europe, Scandinavia and other commonwealth countries adopt right to roam laws, serving public good first and private interest second, tables in the States are turned. Our constitution makes private property absolute, with a legal culture that perpetuates exclusion and class hierarchies.
Ithaca is no exception. Rigid, extreme and often arbitrary trespassing designations deprive residents of space to indulge the outdoors. Acres of forested land and abandoned lots have become inaccessible in accordance with the law. While penalties for wandering don’t seem to influence everyone, they develop a general attitude of fear that discourages travel off the beaten path.
Perhaps the most obvious local instance of this trend is the Cayuga Lake disparity: although the watershed is a public resource, private railroads surrounding it prevent lake access around the shoreline. To enjoy a proclaimed free resource, most Ithacans have to commute to access points like Stewart Park, East Shore, Allan Treman or Steamboat Landing.
The Ithaca Central Railroad outlines the right base of Cayuga: owned by Watco, it facilitates freight transport, with the Cargill Salt Mine in Lansing as a leading customer. Trespassing in a railroad zone is a class B misdemeanor, supplemented with a $500 fine or 3 months jail-time to boot. Like many vague private local claims, it’s a low-enforcement zone with little to no history of conviction or punishment. Still, the threat of suffering losses keeps the lines largely empty. Between train activity and a private home blockade along the waterfront, the promise of a free lake is compromised.
Active vehicles operating along lakeside tracks introduce a key point in the discussion of increased property access: How does danger play a role in trespassing? Even in “right to roam” countries, construction/industrial zones impose understandable restrictions on wandering to prevent foreseeable harm. Norway, Sweden, Iceland and numerous other nations emphasize that any structure is protected and requires permission from a landowner. Ruins and historic sites are often stabilized for safety, but walls otherwise create immediate boundaries. Land development thus complicates roaming jurisdictions as areas are defined by heavy machinery, chemical compounds and other hazards.
Notorious for constant construction projects, many of Ithaca’s “no trespassing” signs decorate areas under renovation. It’s easy to dodge bulldozers or stay clear of cranes, but issues arise with duration of construction and parameters of the site. Two keen examples of conflict between roamers and private development companies are Gun Hill and the Morse Chain/Emerson Power Transmission Plant. Both are Ithaca landmarks, present since around the 19th century and located by trafficked woodland areas. Both are currently being transformed into housing infrastructure by teams and town budgeting.
Popularized as a local smoke spot laden with trails, Gun Hill was once an artillery practice site for firing cannons during the War of 1812. Gun factory ruins now frequented by occasional IHS students marked the site of mass weapon manufacturing. In over 200 years, small farms littered the former firing location until the 1960s brought about Auden Apartments, an expensive student housing complex. However, even as DMG Investments LLC consumes Lake Street with plans for Auden II, a 4 story, 71 unit residential leviathan, the iconic hideout is still accessed by those who know its whereabouts. The boundaries of where work on Auden II stops and starts are arbitrary: new developments don’t all infringe on scenic paths but privatization encompasses more than just building zones. Meanwhile, the forecast finish date in 2023 passed long ago, so much like an undergrad promises the paper unfinished, clarification on property access post-renovation is up in the air.
The Southhill Plant presents a similar issue on a much larger scale. A 95-acre former industrial site, millions have been allocated to turning this eyesore into Southworks: a mixed-use neighborhood with housing, commercial space and public forums. The Morse brothers began operations here in 1906, sold Business to Borg-Warner in 1928 and eventually Emerson Electric acquired it in the ’80s. Following contamination issues discovered in the 2000s, it wasn’t dedicated to the Southworks project until December of ’22. Realistic completion is expected in the mid 2030s: changes at this location are anticipated to improve Ithaca dramatically. As for the next foreseeable decade, pollution from former activity creates restrictions encroaching into woods near buttermilk. This only removes more land from public access.
Ithaca is parceled into conservation easements 470 acres wide, coveted by the ghosts of former world-renowned scientists. It is masked by “authorized personnel only,” “demolition in progress,” “violators will be prosecuted,” and the friendly “you are being watched” signs. Whereas other nations facilitate the integration of jurisdictions that promote public access and open land up, the U.S. regresses in the opposite direction. Laws become about protecting corporate ownership, erasing free space with perpetual construction projects and turning the passerby into a criminal. Cornell and other company entities create a legally brittle framework around where to wander locally. But before Ithaca is sanctioned into labels, it is land — a pivotal bare minimum, a resource once freely cherished by the Gayogohono people. Now, it is barricaded beyond common comprehension. As a place of education, where so many young adults find their bearings, here is a place that can stand to benefit from right to roam policy. Even small local reform in the direction of placing communal interest over private benefit can proliferate a trend of availability, growing access instead of denying odyssey.
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Kira Walter '26 is an opinion columnist and former lifestyle editor. Her column Onion Theory addresses unsustainable aspects of modern systems from a Western Buddhist perspective, with an emphasis on neurodivergent narratives and spiritual reckonings. She can be reached at kwalter@cornellsun.com.
