If Chappy were to become a state — and I think that the subjunctive case is proper here as Chappy has yet to achieve statehood — then I believe it would be neither a red nor a blue state. No, I believe it would be more of a seagull gray. And the state would vote accordingly.

The oaks and beeches and sassafras have finally given up most of their dressing, leaving their leaves in neat heaps on the forest floors. The trees never appear embarrassed by their disrobing — they embrace the freedom to expose their limbs. But it’s possible that it is the ground that is chagrined. Not only must it bear the castoffs of its looming occupants, but it is this time of year that it becomes available for all to see. What remains covered throughout spring, and summer and most of winter, is laid bare for all to see in autumn. Like the curtains opened upon a first-floor living room, the forest floor is exposed to the passerby. The fallen branch, the discarded cup are revealed once the trees drop their leaves and we can see into the depth of the woods. The brambles remain vigilant in those low wet spots though, insuring that our eyes are the only intruders.

I wonder if there might be a way to encourage some of the more portly trucks to slow down on Chappy roads. My suggestions (and gestures) seem to go largely unheeded. What if instead of a bike path, Chappy built a truck path? A nice, wide macadam throughway across Chappy’s middle like one of those belts that woman wear above their hips. Or a bike path. So many decisions.

Speaking of belts, Uncle Jimmer Hartell wrote to say that he had espied Sashy (Kim’s lost clothing accessory). He didn’t say where, but I suspect he saw her down at their old camp on North Neck. He called to her, but was ignored — certainly not a reflection on dear uncle’s level of authority, but rather Sashy’s insolence. My suspicion is that by now Sashy has met some bowling elves and is in the beginning stages of a very long sleep. Sashy Van Winkle.

Before I forget, Peter Wells asked that I remind folks that Dock street will be closed to traffic for the next few days. Daggett street (ferry line road) will become two-way during this closure to accommodate the traffic. Nstar will be drilling in the harbor, hence the rerouting. I was never thrilled about giant windmills in my view (though I certainly could see their need), but oil derricks? I don’t know. Or maybe they’re just drilling for an electrical conduit. I should probably find out.

This is my favorite time of year for our golf course colors. The bluestem grasses sport their silver hair, creating distinguished, shimmering waves a foot above the short grass. And the high-bush blueberries add a Christmasy tone to all the green with their red leaves. Having recently revisited the Berkshires, I can understand the appeal of the fall foliage there, but there is nothing quite like the fluid palette of Chappy. The sea, the sky, the grasses, the flora — like a woman preparing for a party — they change their appearance with nature’s mood. So beautiful.

The crows have slowed their nitpicking of our greens. The bugs below the thatch must have entered their less appetizing stage of development. So roll up your truck windows, because they’ll now be looking for your Dock street egg sandwiches.

Don’t forget to turn back your clocks this weekend. To 1985. Really going to save some daylight this time.

As always, I will continue to provide the most up-to-date news of Chappy (I check the wire monthly), so keep those eyewitness accounts coming.

Until next Friday, I remain your loyal Brad.