And the rains continue. And with rains come umbrellas. I don’t care for umbrellas. I think perhaps there was a time when umbrellas were used responsibly: from manor to carriage, a stroll along the Seine on an April day. But these days people are unaccustomed to their use and wield them clumsily. I was poked in the temple on Main street by an umbrella spoke. Nearly took my eye out (in which case I would have had to purchase an eyepatch. And then been obligated to buy a parrot). So I offer the following advice: Don’t use umbrellas when sidewalk width is less than 20 feet. Don’t use umbrellas on days of wind exceeding 15 mph. Don’t use umbrellas if you are otherwise engaged with children or pets. I don’t expect to pass these rules through the legislature any time soon, but I would appreciate people treating my word as law.

I enjoy listening to Miss Evette and her registermate chat at the Stop & Shop. My organic grapefruits roll through as Evette’s patois rolls off her her tongue. “Oh, these are too expensive here. Organic. Whew. Come to Jamaica and I give you more grapefruit than you can carry for less than this candybar.” There is something soothingly exotic in these words, like lying on the beach and listening to the local birds.

I find Chappy to be like that, too. One must listen closely, she has her own patois, but in time one begins to recognize her language as one’s own. The bittersweet grows differently on Chappy, having adjusted to the soil, the wind and the salt spray. It finds purchase on whatever is available — beach plum, lawn chair, a lazy child. The owls here must yell over the breeze at a high pitch to be heard. The native grasses find their spaces on Chappy not in the shade of Chilmark oaks but in the sandy bluffs where other vegetation fears to settle. Chappy breathes in her own rhythm and talks to one in her own voice. She has left the mainland with a purpose. Her scrubby brush, poison ivy and infertile soils were not to everyone’s taste. So she left. She separated herself and developed her own dialect. Those of us who speak Chappy will be forever grateful for her decision.

I was taking the garbage down to the shed on Monday, but only got as far as the front porch before I became distracted by another, more pressing, chore. So it wasn’t until much later, while sitting inside my shack, that I noticed my crow buddies strolling about my porch — not a typical hangout. Then I remembered the garbage. They had only just begun their foraging, so only a small yogurt container had been freed from the Hefty. I said, almost to myself, “Oh, please don’t,” and they flew away. Finally my good crow karma is being cashed in.

Do you like to read books? And then talk about them? On Chappy? Then good fortune has smiled upon you. The Chappy Book Club will meet on Oct. 5 at 10:15 a.m. at the CCC to discuss Garth Stein’s book, The Art of Racing in the Rain.

All are welcome.

And this from Herb Ward, Class of ’66, Martha’s Vineyard Regional High School: The Class of 1966 will celebrate its 45th reunion on Oct. 15 and 16. There will be a gathering at 5:30 p.m. at the P.A. Club on Saturday, and at 10 a.m. on Sunday at Farm Neck. For more information or to reserve your space, call Herb Ward, 508-693-7683.