There’s a tree hanging over the edge of a rocky beach, almost dipping its branches into Lake Erie, tucked away in a cluster of neighborhoods in North Collinwood. 

That tree has been there as far back as Vaiva Neary can remember. She was born and raised in those neighborhoods. She left for college but made her way back a decade ago when it came time for her to raise her own children. 

The tree is now peeking further into the lake than it used to, its roots stretched along the slowly eroding shore. 

“With the winter wind and ice whipping, it loses a branch, and then it grows a different way. And then, the erosion takes it down, and we think that it’s going,” she said. “Somehow, it always manages to hang onto the cliff and burrow in deeper and adjust to its surroundings. It’s the tree that could.” 

I asked Vaiva what made her move back to North Collinwood. That tree was part of it, kind of. The area that it grows on is part of a few idyllic private beach clubs in the neighborhood. 

Having never been to these beach clubs before, I was struck by the beautiful views of Lake Erie. For Vaiva, that’s not the main draw. She values the way the clubs bring neighbors together.

There was not a single open parking spot on Vaiva’s street when I met her for our photowalk. It was a Thursday, and the beach club she belongs to was open to the public for a concert, one in a series throughout the summer. 

Neighbors sitting on their porches waved to friends passing by, folding chairs tucked under their arms, on their way toward the beach. Vaiva and I followed their lead. Her friend Marilyn McHugh, who lives a few houses down, spotted us and came along.

This was the very first photowalk I went on, and I really had no idea what I was doing. I wasn’t very good at explaining the project at first. Vaiva didn’t even know I was bringing a camera for her to take pictures until I handed it to her. 

Within a few minutes, though, Vaiva was snapping away. 

As we walked from beach club to beach club, we couldn’t get far without Vaiva and Marilyn running into friends and stopping to chat. I could almost hear the “Cheers” theme. 

Looking back on her childhood here, Vaiva said she took it for granted. 

“It took me a long time to realize that not everybody has a beach club with waterfront property that they’re part owners of,” she said, “that they can go down whenever they want and see the seasons changing and the sunset every night.”

Although the clubs open to the public for some events, they’re usually only for members. And membership is limited to those who live on certain nearby streets. It costs around $100-$200 per year. 

I’ve only been to these beach clubs this one time, so I have a pretty narrow impression. It was a beautiful summer evening. After that impression faded, I started thinking more about North Collinwood’s history.

As I learned in my last photowalk in North Collinwood, private clubs in the neighborhood haven’t always been net positives. When Cleveland passed a law banning segregation in amusement parks, the owners of Euclid Beach Park leased the park’s roller rink and dance hall to private clubs. They exploited a loophole in the law that allowed them to continue banning Black people from those spaces. 

I don’t bring this up to make some kind of false comparison with the private beach clubs today. It’s just what swirls in my head. 

I talked about it with one of my colleagues who has lived along the shore in North Collinwood for decades. He’s Black, and from his perspective, the private beach clubs did have an element of racial exclusion when they started back in the ‘20s. But it’s more complex now, he said. 

The clusters of houses around the beach clubs, once vacation cottages, are now permanent homes for people of lots of different races and economic classes, he said. Still, he told me many of those homes sell by word-of-mouth. It keeps the community tight-knit, which means different things depending on how you look at it.

He recalled conversations about planning for summer concerts at the beach clubs. Some neighbors commented that the concerts, though open to the public, were more culturally geared toward white people. Planners asked what they could do to change that. 

Through conversations with him, Vaiva and other North Collinwood residents, I get the sense that people are still grappling with the uglier parts of the neighborhood’s history.

For Vaiva, the beach clubs give neighbors from different walks of life a stake in the community. They break down barriers by providing common gathering spaces for people to get to know each other.

“You buy into something that you do together,” Vaiva said. “You pay your dues, and you go to the events, and you meet people. You throw in your ideas, your time. Everybody’s invited.

“You just have to live here, so then you get a really great group of diverse people with diverse talents.”

More information about the pictures

Vaiva, Marilyn and I took all of these pictures on Thursday, July 17, 2025.

You can see who took each picture, along with some more details about the places and people in them, down below.

Thanks to CatchLight and Report for America for supporting my work as Signal Cleveland’s visual journalist. A few years back, they partnered to create a program that places photojournalists in local newsrooms throughout the country. Signal Cleveland and I joined that program this year.

Visual Journalist (he/him)
As Signal Cleveland’s visual journalist, I use photography and video to show the people and places that make up Cleveland’s character. My role is supported by CatchLight and Report for America.