There was a sacred energy on stage last Saturday at Nectar’s when John Forté took the stage alongside his good friend Ben Taylor, Ben’s sister, Sally Taylor, and their mother, Carly Simon. It was a little like peering into someone’s living room. There was a banter on stage that you didn’t want to interrupt and yet wanted to be part of, hoping someone would clue you in on the inside jokes and sideways glances.

Labor Day weekend on the Vineyard usually means bustling harbors, shoppers scouring sale racks and crowded beaches. But Thursday afternoon, Edgartown Harbor was empty, save a few dinghies and commercial boats. A mannequin displaying a raincoat outside of Island Outfitters in Edgartown said it best with its advertisement: “Are you ready for Earl?”

Michele Norris is taking back pancakes. She’s putting down the boxed mix, stepping away from the cupboard and taking on the task of making homemade pancakes with her children. She understands the convenience factor, the ease of adding milk, water or orange juice to the powder to create pancakes in minutes, and was a frequent buyer for one of her son’s favorite foods. But when Ms. Norris found out that her grandmother was a traveling Aunt Jemima, representing the slave cook stereotype that was advertised, the act of buying pancake mix suddenly became complicated.

B allerinas dance with their feet, balancing on pointe shoes with their limbs elongated to expose the intricate workings of muscles, or leaping across stage, leaving only a slight noise on the floor. But this week at the Vineyard Arts Project, they were dancing with their hands. Wrists became entangled, thumbs circled other digits, and knuckles discovered unexplored crevices.

As the last week of August and first week of September are upon us, there is no getting around the crisp smell of soil in the air, the slight crunch under your feet as leaves begin to drop

On a recent afternoon, when the skies had finally cleared and the earth was beginning to soak up five days worth of rain, Marie Scott emerged out of her field off Middle Road in Chilmark. Barefoot, she appeared to float effortlessly amongst her crops. Her feet squished in the damp ground as she showed the Gazette around the land she has been connected to her entire life off Beetlebung Corner, aptly named Beetlebung Farm.