It is remarkable to think that Soldier Ride began here, with the vision of a single man, Chris Carney, who wanted to raise some money and increase awareness for a fledging organization that was helping injured military veterans. Back in 2004, when Mr. Carney first decided to ride more or less alone across the United States, the Wounded Warrior Project had a single employee and had raised about $10,000 in all. By the time Mr. Carney reached the West Coast that August, he had tallied over $1 million in donations. The next year, he was joined by two soldiers, Ryan Kelly and Heath Calhoun, who had endured the loss of limbs after combat, on a ride from Los Angles to Montauk that brought in millions more.

Wounded Warrior has grown from there. Among its milestones has been a $100 million contribution for veteran’s mental health care at hospitals in Boston, Atlanta, Chicago, and Los Angeles. It also provided $30 million in seed money for a nationwide in-home care. In addition to the annual Hamptons event this weekend, there have been 27 rides all over the United States and several overseas. The organization predicts that by the end of next year it will have provided services to about 100,000 veterans and their families, including educational opportunities.

For those readers who are not taking part in Saturday’s ride or party afterward, there are other ways to give, and the Wounded Warrior Project website can explain how. There are also other charities set up to help United States veterans in a range of ways.

Soldier Ride is East Hampton’s homegrown effort to embrace and acknowledge those injured in the line of duty. It is a source of pride that it all started here.

In light of this week’s report that a 4-year-old girl was badly burned on one foot after stepping on the smoldering remains of a beach bonfire at Maidstone Park one thing is clear: The era of freestanding fires at the town’s heavily used public beaches is over.

Taking even a moment to consider it, the Town of East Hampton’s policy of allowing beach fires anywhere, even within lifeguard-protected areas when lifeguards are not on duty, is unacceptable. Time and again, those who kindle these fires have proven unable or unwilling to comply with basic rules — that they not contain nails and be extinguished with water, for example. As often as not, even when no injuries occur carelessness results in unbelievable messes confronting the next day’s early walkers as well as an added burden for town employees who are charged with cleaning up.

And the effect is long-lasting. Buried fires, even those put out properly, leave burn scars and blacked charcoal in the sand. In places like downtown Montauk, Beach Hampton, and Atlantic Avenue and Indian Wells in Amagansett, as well as some bay beaches, the debris leaves the once-white sand flecked with black.

This is in startling contrast to East Hampton Village beaches, where a relatively recent rule is that all fires must be in metal containers. If town officials haven’t done so, they should take a field trip to see for themselves how well the new village rule is working.

And then there is the matter of a young girl shaken by a family’s evening picnic that turned traumatic. This cannot continue. No amount of deference to tradition or hands-off attitude when it comes to the beaches can justify either the mess fires leave behind or the real risk of injuries.

The East Hampton Town Board and town trustees must sit down and work this one out, and fast. Our suggestion is to require that fires be in metal containers for a radius of several hundred feet of all road ends and public and association footpaths, including in Montauk. Residents and visitors alike should not have to spread their towels amid charcoal and morning-after litter. Nor can officials ignore the burns that are sure to increase as the use of the beaches continues to grow.

We love a bonfire as much as anyone, but it simply is time to recognize the reality that they can no longer be built right on the sand in populous places.

Now in its second year, a joint Concerned Citizens of Montauk-Surfrider Foundation water testing program continues to show worrisome bacteria levels in several locations, and the results call into question a proposal floated by an East Hampton Town wastewater consultant to build a sewage treatment plant to serve Montauk’s downtown commercial center.

In a June 1 meeting of the Montauk Citizens Advisory Committee, Pio Lombardo of the Massachusetts firm Lombardo and Associates described his idea for a $26 million facility to handle the effluent from about 170 developed parcels from South Eton Street to Essex Street. A letter designed to solicit support for the project has already gone to property owners.

Mr. Lombardo and the town have not adequately explained why the focus is on downtown Montauk, and the figures released this week by C.C.O.M. appear to show just how far off the mark the proposal really is. There were two locations that stood out as troublesome among the C.C.O.M. water samples taken during the week of June 22. Both were in Lake Montauk itself, which is part of an entirely different watershed. One sample, taken from a point identified as East Creek, recorded fecal enterococcus bacteria at just over 800 parts per 100 milliliters of water, which C.C.O.M. classified as a “high” level. Another, from West Creek, a perennial summertime hot spot, registered nearly 5,200 parts of the bacteria, a stunning result, considering that the Environmental Protection Agency sets the acceptable level at just over 100 parts.

The sole June sample found to be in excess of that level within the area encompassed in Mr. Lombardo’s vision for a downtown sewer district was taken at Surfside Place Creek. It registered 216 parts, though in May a sample there was off the chart. Two Fort Pond samples taken by C.C.O.M. on June 22 were well within the E.P.A.’s freshwater standards.

There’s a problem in Montauk for sure, but it doesn’t look like it is the one Mr. Lombardo and town officials seem most eager to tackle. Enterococcus, like the nitrogen that figures in algae blooms and related fish kills, is thought to come mostly from failed, inadequate, or poorly placed cesspools, especially those that have heavy use and are near enclosed waterways. Kudos to Surfrider and C.C.O.M for keeping the focus on the real problems and on the locations most in need of immediate targeting.

A bill awaiting Gov. Andrew M. Cuomo’s signature that was recently approved by the State Legislature could signal the beginning of the end of the much-vaunted community preservation fund program. The proposal is to allow local governments to take up to 20 percent of the money for water quality projects, including new and upgraded sewage treatment plants. Doing more about water pollution is a good thing; this bill is the wrong way to fund it.

Its chief backers are State Senator Kenneth P. LaValle and Assemblyman Fred W. Thiele Jr., who piggybacked the proposal onto a reasonable 20-year extension of the fund, which is set to expire in 2030. At a minimum, the two proposals should have been de-coupled, allowing them to be considered separately in the participating towns and voted on in the November general election as independent referendums. Since that did not happen, Mr. Cuomo’s veto is essential.

Long eyed by politicians as a potential and pain-free source of cash for all sorts of things, the community preservation fund has withstood most assaults. Should it become law, this measure, however, would chip away at one of its fundamental precepts, that the initiative is independent of the rest of government services. If local officials want water projects, they should do so through ordinary bonding, tax credits for septic upgrades, or permissive referendums.

It is outrageous that Mr. Thiele, who has recently expressed the opinion that the fund should not be tapped to buy buildings, would be eager to see money diverted to projects that on Long Island have been marked historically by corruption, cost overages, and poor environmental record-keeping. To think that more money will make this any better is to enter a fairyland fantasy. That there is a problem is hinted at by a caveat tucked into the bill, that the fund cannot be used for any project that would increase development. This is hardly assuring nor is it meaty enough to function as intended.

Given that in East Hampton Town the only proposed sewage project nearing shovel-ready status is a head-scratching one in downtown Montauk, officials here need to think carefully before agreeing to allow themselves — or future governments — to skim so much from the preservation fund for ill-thought-out boondoggles.

Before East Hampton goes looking for new ways to spend the C.P.F., it should try to stop development of all remaining vacant parcels of land in the town, take additional steps to assure crop farming on already-preserved acreage, protect more historic sites, and remove structures in environmentally sensitive areas. Once that is done and there is no land at all left to buy, maybe then, and only then, will it be time to talk about taking that 20 percent off the top.

Several weeks ago, we briefly described an ostentatious party on one of East Hampton Town’s ocean beaches and suggested that a little more restraint by all concerned would not be a bad thing. At the time, we wondered how such an elaborate party — thumping reggae band and all — was allowed, but took it more as a curiosity than a symbol of an underlying problem with law enforcement.

As frequent evening beach visitors, it was inevitable that we would encounter more of the same, and a week later stopped at Indian Wells Beach in Amagansett to find another party, this time with a three-piece, electrified calypso band playing a few steps off to the right, costumed hula performers, and guests wearing leis. The rest of the beach was oddly deserted.

Stopping in the parking lot to check the town code online confirmed what we had only half recalled: Amplified music is prohibited at large gatherings for which permits must be obtained. Driving on, we paused at Atlantic Avenue. The beach there was quiet, with a familiar summer evening contingent of people enjoying a picnic or just relaxing. “Refugees,” we thought, “from the racket at Indian Wells.”

At around 10 the next night, a Saturday, however, we dropped in on a friend’s clambake at Atlantic Avenue as guests were finishing their dinner around a bonfire and a D.J. played dance music. Nearby, a good dozen or more gatherings were happening, most with their own fires. Two town Marine Patrol officers were hanging around, and at one point asked the D.J. to lower the volume — and here we have to pause in the narrative to make a point.

Our friend had obtained and signed the necessary permit, which is unambiguous: “Assemblies that include amplified music shall not be permitted on any beach.” In asking that the music be turned down, the officers were exercising latitude that under the town code they simply did not have. Agree with the prohibition or not, that is the law.

It is difficult to say what went through the two officers’ minds as they allowed the music to go on, but it points to an apparent breakdown in town authority. Regardless of how you look at it, there is real reason for concern. Either the officers used inappropriate discretion, or they had been told by their superiors in the Police Department that this section of the law need not apply. And it was not a case of their being rushed or called to another location. During the hour or more that we were there, the officers hung around. After a long time in the cab of his truck, one emerged with a slip of paper and walked off into the dark in the opposite direction of the D.J. party, apparently to issue a citation to someone who had built a fire too close to a lifeguard stand.

Did the officers not know about the prohibition on amplified music? Or did they know the law but figure that since no angry calls had come in, they didn’t have to bother? Had someone told them to go easy on parties? Hard to say. What is clear, however, is that any town’s laws are only as good as how they are enforced; if that Saturday night at Atlantic Avenue Beach in Amagansett is any indication, the law is none too good.

What is unfortunate is that the town police log for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday of that weekend showed 40 noise complaints. What if it became known that consistent, hefty fines were to be levied on those who fail to comply with the town’s party permits. You know, broken windows policing and all that. Were word to get out that the rules are being enforced, it might reduce the number of complaints and help free officers to respond to other, higher-priority incidents. And, of course, ignoring the law is not limited to the beaches.

Since a post-July 4 public uprising about tackling the summertime din, town officers have spoken out about public drunkenness and mayhem in general. It is very clear, though, that much more has to be done to make sure the get-tough words are heeded on the enforcers’ front lines.

By now too many questions have been raised for the Village of East Hampton to move forward with a second phase of its controversial deer-sterilization project.

At a cost estimated at $1,000 each, does were shot with an anesthetic-laden dart, then further sedated and their ovaries removed. Following the surgeries, the deer were tagged on the ears and returned to the wild. (Red tags, rather than white, were placed on the ears of males anesthetized in error.)

Money for the undertaking came from a $100,000 grant from the private Village Preservation Society and $30,000 from taxpayers. The goal was to reduce the birthrate among the village’s deer, eventually diminishing the number without using lethal methods of what many consider a population out of control. The village had been planning to evaluate whether to continue in the fall.

Animal activists, as well as several people who work with large mammals professionally, including at least two veterinarians, have raised concerns about the efficacy and ethics of the process. Other than its word, there has been no way to verify that White Buffalo, the company hired to do the work, actually sterilized what it reported were 114 deer over a two-week period last winter, operating on each of them at a speedy 15 to 20 minutes each.

In recent days several tagged does have turned up dead or been found emaciated and suffering badly with aborted fetuses, giving rise to widespread opinion that the procedure was significantly less humane than an outright cull by professional sharpshooters would have been. It is troubling, too, that in its own report, the company referred to the East Hampton work as a “research project.”

Now a photograph has emerged purportedly showing far from sterile conditions where the surgery took place — a folding table set up in a village garage. Back in January, when White Buffalo was doing the procedures, access by the media and other observers to the site was blocked and its location kept secret. This naturally fed suspicions that something was not on the up-and-up. At about the same time, a photographer assigned to the story was told to move on by a uniformed member of the village police force while trying to get a picture on a public street. He let it go at the time, but in retrospect, it seems there well may have been something to hide.

The village must not go ahead with another round of sterilizations without thorough, and openly reported, review. It must admit that the program was misguided if that is what the evidence shows. As Shakespeare said, “Discretion is the better part of valor.”

A couple of weeks back on a Thursday evening a Star staff member sent a text message to one of the editors about a massive party on the beach at Atlantic Avenue in Amagansett, suggesting we had to see it to believe it. Arriving a little before 8 p.m., we were surprised and a little put out to see a uniformed attendant associated with the event who appeared to be blocking the entrance to the large public parking lot. Finding a parking spot near the beach access, we walked down onto the sand and looked to the east.

A couple of hundred guests, all dressed in white, were mingling around equally white-topped tables, served by white-dressed staff behind full bars, also white. Large white illuminated orbs lined the path from the public restrooms in the now guests-only parking lot. A reggae band was doing its thing as we climbed a lifeguard stand to get a better view. No, this wasn’t P. Diddy’s annual event, just something a bit more prosaic.

East Hampton’s beaches are long, and at this time of the year, plenty wide to accommodate such events, but this just seemed wrong. Too big, too ostentatious, if rather tasteful and swank. It appeared, on reflection, to be a fair summation of a lot of what this place seems to stand for, at least in the minds of some.

It’s hard to say whether such big events on the town’s beaches should be more strictly limited. This one, other than being something to behold, was really not much of a problem. Still, a little self-restraint by all concerned would not be a bad thing.

The tone was cordial, though the message from the massive crowd of citizens at Tuesday’s East Hampton Town Board meeting  at the Montauk Firehouse was unmistakable: Do something and do it fast.

From among the hundreds who spilled out of the firehouse’s huge truck bays one after another speaker stood to implore the town board to do whatever it could to save Montauk from overcrowding and a nearly 24-hour alcohol and drug-fueled party scene, which has left residents frustrated and distraught, and reaching for their earplugs. By extension, as venues catering to the summer scenesters expand, notably to Napeague’s Cyril’s Fish House and now, nearly in the shadow of Town Hall, to Moby’s in East Hampton, there is a sense that the entire town is at risk.

That is, of course, outside of the more-restrictive villages, including Sagaponack and Sag Harbor as well as East Hampton. Imagine just for fun how long it would last if, say, the Palm, at Main Street and Huntting Lane, decided to put some beer taps and a D.J. on the back parking lot. The difference isn’t in the respective local governments’ laws; such things are impermissible in all these jurisdictions. However, in Montauk, the Memory Motel, for example, has been unofficially allowed to expand its guest service area into its parking lot because no one in authority gave a hoot, and it has been allowed to continue, we suspect, because current officials are overstressed and, frankly, afraid to pick yet another fight what with the airport battle on their hands. Other examples are numerous of how town government has for years failed to protect the interests of many of its residents while cutting too much slack for those who profit by pushing beyond the limits of the law.

Supervisor Larry Cantwell and the other members of the town board may talk a good game, but it is regrettable that it took what amounted to a citizens’ uprising to draw serious attention to the ongoing — and growing — crisis.

One of the solutions that has been floated regarding Montauk’s too-much, too-wild party scene is eliminating outdoor music altogether. At an East Hampton Town Board meeting in the besieged easternmost hamlet this month, however, the general sense among the hundreds who attended was that doing so would be going a step too far. Those sharing that view, who nevertheless are outraged about all the mayhem, should recognize that amplified music can be blamed for much of the plague that has upended the community they know and love.

We believe that the problems with Montauk’s overly festive crowds — noise, litter, and public urination — should be attacked head-on. This means pulling the plug on amplified music outside any commercial establishment. This would squarely address a large portion of the attraction for the hordes who amass on weekends at such places as Solé East, Navy Beach, Swallow East, the Montauk Beach House, Sloppy Tuna, the Surf Lodge, Ruschmeyer’s, and (of all places!) at Gurney’s.

The town’s regulations on outdoor events and noise are contradictory and difficult to enforce, with the tool that is potentially most effective, the mass gathering law, little used. Forcing the party indoors would give enforcement the upper hand, as fire safety maximum occupancy numbers are easier to quantify. Consider the example of Harbor, a bar and restaurant rated for 68 patrons near the Montauk docks, which was recently told by a judge that it had to keep to that figure, not the 300-plus guests recently counted by town officials.

The Surf Lodge has a similarly restrictive indoor occupancy maximum, but it routinely packs hundreds of people onto its open-air decks and (quote-unquote) lawn, for headliners like last weekend’s Leon Bridges. As enjoyable as that show may have been, Edgemere Road, where the town could soon put in place new parking restrictions, was a nearly impassible mess. End the shows under the stars, pack up the outdoor D.J.s, and much of the problem will drift away. Want music to dine by? Hire an acoustic combo or move the thumping inside.

Until the town and the public are willing to admit that one of the main causes of undesirable crowding is impossible-to-regulate outdoor music, the party will simply go on and on and on — much like the beats residents have had to endure. If officials and Montauk residents are serious about taking back the hamlet from the hordes, they have to act that way.

A couple of weeks ago, a Montauk resident in a letter to the editor in this newspaper described how sweet it once was to fall asleep  listening to the sounds of the ocean and the crickets. But now, she wrote, she has to close her windows and turn up the air-conditioning to drown out the noise and get a good night’s sleep. Let’s not allow that to be this beloved hamlet’s epitaph.

Against a photo of two codgers clinging for dear life to a contraption that looks to be an iron lung but is actually a piece of playground equipment, an online publication called Wellness Warrior reports that the latest phenomenon sweeping Europe and Asia is the “multigenerational playground.” There are also said to be more than 50 of these outdoor sites for senior citizens in the United States already, in cities such as Cleveland, Tampa, and (of course) Orlando, with more on the horizon.

Along with slides and seesaws, some of them sport elliptical machines, stationary bikes, and other gym-centric apparatus designed to promote balance and strength. According to Wellness Warrior,  Barcelona alone has underwritten about 300 of these parks, seeing them as an investment in the health and social well-being of a rapidly graying population, and maybe keeping people out of hospitals longer than otherwise.

The codgers in the photo, she in an ankle-length black coat and the kind of kerchief commonly called a babushka in Russia, he in all black except for a 1930s-era floppy cap, may be models, or perhaps that’s what elderly Spaniards always wear to the playground. Models or no, they sure do look happy. Here in East Hampton, a forward-looking town with, at last count, 24 percent of the population retirees, one of these senior sandboxes could make for a lot of happy people.