It’s that time of year. Autumn. On Martha’s Vineyard, that means Potluck Season has begun.

Natives and longtime washashores probably think that potlucks are, if not a universal, at least a widespread American phenomenon. This is not, in fact, the case. Consider these two contrasting anecdotes, taken from real life (or whatever it is I’m living).

Anecdote One: Berkeley, California, a bastion of socialism (that’s the one with the slogan “from each according to their ability, to each according to their need”). Surely a natural breeding ground for potluck-style gatherings. Or so I thought, when I moved in with a friend and threw a casual potluck housewarming party. “Casual potluck” meant — as I clearly stated to everyone — that we would have a big pot of chili on the stove, and people were invited to supplement that with any kind of edible, but it was fine to show up empty-handed.

Guess what? Everybody showed up empty-handed. Actually, that’s not quite true: one person brought a bag of chips, and somebody else brought us some cookie-cutters as a present. But out of about 25 guests, of all ages, cultures and socioeconomic backgrounds, nobody brought actual food. Not even the several folks whom I knew loved to cook. My housemate, a Bay Area native, sheepishly admitted to me later that she had not told her invitees that it was a potluck, as it seemed somehow wrong to invite people to a party but ask them to provide the party food.

Anecdote Two: Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts, a bastion of Yankee self-sufficiency. My fiancé and I were so preoccupied with self-sufficiency that we eloped, and then held a celebratory meal with strict orders for people not to even bring us presents.

And they didn’t.

But boy did they bring food.

This was not meant to be a potluck. We were providing the eats — as newlyweds and their families usually do at wedding parties. It’s not as if everyone brought food. But a lot of people did. Their natural inclination as Islanders (okay, most of them were up-Islanders) was to bring a dish to share. Perhaps my mother got confused and told them it was a potluck (unlikely, since she was paying for half the cost of the food being served, and thus was acutely aware that food was, in fact, being served). Perhaps they asked her, “Can we bring anything?” and she said, “Oh, if you feel like it,” which to them meant, “Aha! A potluck!” Perhaps I myself even said something like that, being to the manner born. Whatever the cause, I was charmed by the profusion of other people’s dishes wedged around the wedding cake — especially when I remembered that lonely pot of chili back in Berkeley.

Why are we so potluck-centric here?

I’m not saying heartfelt potlucks are exclusive to Martha’s Vineyard; of course they aren’t. But generally speaking, off-Island, a potluck has to have a reason behind it, a cause, an affiliation. Churches have potlucks; charities and nonprofits and “causes” have potlucks as part of fund-raising, or consciousness-raising, events. Seldom is the potluck itself — the scattershot assemblage of food and the equally scattershot assemblage of people eating it — the point of the potluck.

But here, on the Vineyard, that is usually precisely the point. Here we have potlucks just for the sake of having potlucks. Cohousing in West Tisbury holds them regularly; my old classmate Juli Vanderhoop has a weekly variation (show up at her home bakery, make a donation, eat what she cooks that night). There is at least one group on the Island that meets for a monthly potluck of ethnic cuisine. Monthly musical potlucks at the Chilmark Community Center the past few winters added free entertainment to the menu of food and company on dark nights. Slow Food MV has such a popular community potluck that they occasionally hold semiclandestine, members-only potlucks just so they can fit inside a private home, as the community ones often fill the Ag Hall. Yes, Slow Foods has a message to deliver, but (with the exception of the summer fundraisers that feature guest speakers) the medium really is the message.

Years ago a friend of mine would, every Friday evening in the off-season, make one large easy-to-share dish and open her doors to anyone who wanted to stop by, with or without a food contribution of their own. I assure you, her chili was never lonely. The house was always full of people, usually full of food, and often full of live music. Lamentably, that friend has moved to America, in part because the cost of living here is so very high. I keep hoping she’ll move back and re-establish her Friday potlucks. I could start one myself, I guess, but it’s easier to follow than to lead. Perhaps that’s why potlucks are so popular on the Vineyard: nobody really has to be the leader at a potluck, even if they’re hosting it. When it’s large scale, there are organizers, but the pressure ofe, which all of us, directly or indirectly, have to deal with throughout the summer, is seldom present at a Vineyard potluck.

On the other hand, of course, folks like to show off their culinary finesse. Our good-cooks-per-capita rating must soar above the national average here. But the collective anonymity of the potluck table suggests that ultimately what matters is the shared experience of the group, not the ego of any particular chef. Living in a small, insular community as we do, it is incredibly important to learn how to live, metaphorically, with a lot of chefs in the kitchen. What better way to embody that than with a potluck?

Martha’s Vineyard Slow Food’s fall foraging potluck party is Saturday, Sept. 26 at the Agricultural Hall in West Tisbury at 6:30 p.m. with wild foods forager Russ Cohen. Bring a dish for six, with local or wild food if possible and place settings. $5 suggested donation. Call 774-521-8406.