I went fishing the other day at the jetty by the Vineyard Haven drawbridge. It was early evening, the sun beginning to set, and I was alone on the rocks. The sky was clear and on the horizon the mainland hovered like a thick slice of bread. The steamship chugged by sending four-foot swells my way and a seagull taunted me from above.

It was a beautiful fall evening on the Island and I was taking an after-dinner stroll with my children. My six-year-old son, Hardy, crashed about in the woods. My daughter, Pickle, not her real name but definitely her given name, walked a few yards in front of me.

Pickle is two and a half and becoming now a small creature of the world rather than just something of my own. She walked in front of me, not even looking back to see if I were following. I felt a tug at my heart.

The Flatbread Pizza Company opened its doors on the Vineyard on July 3. That was just about four months ago. Somehow, in this short span of time, Flatbread has nestled into the community and grown deep roots. To use local terms, it doesn’t feel like a day-tripper, scattered and a bit crazed with the need to do everything for everyone in a matter of hours. Nor does it feel like a summer dink, yet another vacationer, a little more grounded perhaps but still captive to the roving eye. This is my vacation, by God, and I will have fun at all costs!

The Limpopo is a river in Botswana. It is also the name of a doughnut served at State Road Restaurant in West Tisbury. But this is not just any doughnut as anyone who as eaten one, or 30, say, in a week-long binge will attest. It is the perfect doughnut.

Brown and slightly crispy on the outside. A brioche dough interior that is neither too dry nor too moist. And a constellation of sugar crumbs coating the outside, sweet but not cloying. To call this a mere doughnut would be like calling your dog just an another animal. It would not be right.

The Douro River runs through the middle of Portugal. It cuts west to east from the Spanish border until it spills into the Atlantic Ocean. Steep rugged cliffs, rising up four to five hundred metres, flank the route of the river. The heat in summer on those cliffs climbs to 120 degrees or more. There is no shade. The soil is baked dry. To walk upon it is to sink into layers of dust. It is a land not fit for people or for many other living things. And yet within this inhospitable terrain, not navigable by car or tractor or any other motorized accessory, lies the heart of the port wine industry and a grape so hardy its roots can tunnel up to 30 metres deep into the rocky soil in search of water.

At the end of last Saturday’s afternoon performance at the Yard Mary Paula Hunter, the founder of the dance company Jump, took a bow with her dancers, all of them teenage girls. The girls wore what one might expect classically trained dancers to wear. Leotards, ballet shoes, a tutu or two here and there.

Ms. Hunter, on the other hand, wore the ragged remains of a wedding dress. She was also covered in food.

Have you ever thought about your thoughts? Not in the generic sense as in, wow I can't believe I had such a lustful thought, ugly thought, pathetically mundane or masterfully intelligent thought. That's kid stuff. A dime a dozen. How about going deeper into the thought machine itself and its continuous letting loose of one after another, after another new idea or impulse, ad nausea. It's a busy factory up there, the mind churning and burning with rapid-fire suggestions, reactions, negations and desires. So exhausting, but what can one do?

The first rut was late this year. Perhaps it was the warm weather or just the vagaries of love. But it doesn't really matter why. What matters is that the second rut has begun.

What a second rut means for the deer is that the does are in heat again, the ones that didn’t find a mate the first time around or the young does who weren't ready yet last month.

The pitch is the first step in an often very long process of making a movie. It’s what gets the money people to open, or close, their wallets. Sometimes it's a big concept. An asteroid is about to smash into the earth and only Bruce Willis can save us. Other times, wild comparisons are evoked to assure its marketability. It's Terminator meets Harry Met Sally with a side of Toy Story. In any case, the idea is to go big and dramatic in just a few sentences because that's all the time a writer has to convince a producer the project has merit.

It’s quiet out there, at night on the Island this time of year. In town there are a few signs of life. But on the back streets, after the sun goes down and the winter chill takes over, mostly it’s just smoke from a woodstove or a startled rabbit or nothing at all. But looks can be deceiving.