This is not going to come as a shock to anyone — well, to anyone who has left the Vineyard at least once in his or her life — but there is an assortment of quirks associated with life here. By quirk, I mean exactly that — a peculiar behavioral habit. Let’s call it an islandosyncrasy. One in particular has lately got me scratching my head. But so far I have no legitimate pearls of wisdom to offer — or purls of wisdom. Every time I go to an activity, reading, or event, I find myself walking into the pages of A Tale of Two Cities and sitting down next to Madame Defarge. What’s with all the knitting? Maybe it’s me, but it seems like every fourth woman on this Island is skillfully manipulating needles through yarn on a regular basis. Perhaps this is some kind of New England Yankee tradition born out of the notion that idle hands are for the devil’s workshop. Or perhaps it’s something more enigmatic that relates to retooling our moral fiber or fabric.

Is there something about the Vineyard that attracts knitters or is there something that produces them? Granted, there’s something rewarding about making something out of nothing. Just ask a spider. This is also an activity, once you’ve mastered it, that gives you time to think and absorb. It has been said that Sigmund Freud’s daughter, Anna, also a psychoanalyst, would enthusiastically (or obsessively — depending on where you’re sitting) knit during sessions with patients.

There’s also something community-minded (a wonderful Vineyard trait) about bringing together stitches of fabric into one unit. It also bespeaks of a romance with wool, a sense of self-reliance and a steady course of hand-to-eye coordination. Then again, it could simply be an activity for type A personalities to ward off the fear of boredom. Whatever it means, I’m sure it makes the folks at the Allen and alpaca farms happy.

Maybe this practice harkens back to the whaling days on the Vineyard. Seafarers’ wives most likely made woolen scarves to protect the throats and ears of their loved ones against icy cold gale-force winds. Maybe the ability and desire to knit then slipped into the deep end of the gene pool when no one was looking.

Maybe today it’s our demographics, our aging population. After all, I’m not seeing young women knitting. I’m not going to go into what Freud allegedly said about knitting, but I just want to say in my experience of living here year round for three and a half years, by now there must be enough sweaters and shawls for every man, woman, child and dog on this Island.

Knitting takes place just about anywhere here. I’ve seen needles moving while waiting for the lights to dim and a movie to begin, while waiting for auctions to switch from silent to vocal, while waiting for votes to be taken at board meetings and town meetings.

These events bring to mind other islandosyncrasies. Ever notice for every person who arrives late to a movie or reading, 10 arrive early? This is the first community I’ve lived in where the best seats are taken a half hour before showtime. Does this come from days of strategic planning, or years of being shut out of bargain sales and tasty buffets, I wonder.

Another Island quirk is the fact that it’s festooned with nonprofits, and therefore boards of directors. Seems to me it’s quite likely if you serve on one board, you serve on two. The duty of a director is to engage in constant revivals of The Beggar’s Opera — fundraisers galore. Thanks to a wondrous abundance of benevolence and generosity here, these events are quite successful. Frankly, it’s amazing there’s any money left to donate. And considering boards usually represent a collection of conflicting opinions, it’s equally amazing that they continue to endure.

Speaking of a collection of conflicting opinions, what do we all really make of government by town meeting? There is something very democratic in the concept. But, as long as I’ve been participating in Tisbury, there’s usually no more than 300 in attendance. That’s far fewer than the majority of registered voters in my town. So when a vote is taken, the minority rules.

And there among the town meeting’s participants sit the knitters, like Madame Defarge, looking harmless while possibly weaving a pattern of names of those who are about to be destroyed. But then again, perhaps if knitting were banned, the town wouldn’t function at all. It might unravel.

Arnie Reisman and his wife, Paula Lyons, regularly appear on the weekly NPR comedy quiz show, Says You! He also writes for the Huffington Post.