The naturalist and occasional amateur weatherman hunched over the animated radar display on the Weather Underground website the morning of the fourth to determine what kind of day he could expect on this rock in the ocean on which he stood. He had only to look toward the gathering gloom on the western horizon to know that powerful showers lurked out and about. But would they strike the island and dampen the annual antic Fourth of July parade that would start, as always, after the morning ferry arrived bringing hundreds of guests from the mainland to experience a truly homegrown parade?

Hmmm”¦the tip of the radar display’s band of showers stretched north to south for perhaps 100 miles over the mainland as they blew eastward, but the island appeared to be near the southern tip of the weather, so he bet the island and its parade would escape a thorough drenching. He then headed down to the shore to straighten out the outhaul in anticipation of the sailors who had alerted him of their intention to borrow the mooring down front and join the happy throng that was gathering to watch the celebration “down street.”

After untangling the outhaul from the huge mats of rockweed the moon tides had rafted in, he sat down on a ledge waiting for a mast to appear from out of the murk at the end of the Reach and watched four hen eiders shepherd a pair of downy chicks as they took turns diving for savory mussels near shore. A mother hen and three nannies seemed like a lot of parental oversight for two little chicks, but then the naturalist had watched countless fluffy newborn eiders become what hungry black back gulls know as “eaters” when they hatch beginning around the Fourth of July every year.

Soon enough, the sailing craft hove into view and the crew picked up the mooring and clambered ashore up the slippery rocks. After blueberry cake and coffee, all headed into town, walkers joining in along the way from every side like rivulets entering a swelling stream. Down street looked as busy as it had ever been. The harbor was full of lobster boats, the floats at the public landing double berthed with outboards and skiffs and hundreds of people were milling about the white elephant table, the baked goods tent, the used book sale table and the dunking platform, where for a small stipend you could test your aim in hitting the bulls eye to send the ungainly youth on a spring-loaded platform into a large and unappetizing tub of seawater the color of mild tea.

Already long lines snaked out from the fronts of the hot dog stand, the toasted crab roll stand and—new this year—the deep fried lobster stand into the throngs in parking lot. The smells were intoxicating and irresistible. Those who could resist, however, stood in little knots as islanders and summer people renewed their acquaintances with each other at the beginning of a new summer. Before long the wailing firehouse horn sounded to herald the main events as everyone raced for a standing room spot on either side of Main Street.

The long tradition of the island parade has been to organize homemade floats loosely around an annual theme and to have each float stop in front of the parking lot where a panel of local judges cast their votes for awards mostly made upon the spot. This year’s theme was “board games,” which seemed appropriate given the lowery weather that threatened to send the crowd indoors for the afternoon.

But the day brightened as the vanguard of the parade hove into view, led by the island veterans from a number of wars dating back to WW II, all of whom raised a cheer from the patriotic crowd. The vets were followed by a phalanx of the town’s four—count them four—fire trucks all wailing their sirens. Then came a procession of antique cars, the last of which was a mid-80s pale green and white Chevy Silverado pick up truck—all beauties in their loving owners’ eyes.

The themed floats this year included a group of citizens dressed up as Elder Care residents—old biddies and their hapless boyfriends in velour robes trying to play bingo. They were followed by an group from the favorite local restaurant who were enacting an elaborate skit based on the board game Battleship; then a group acting out the parts in the Candy Land game, throwing—you guessed it—candy! (the island now boasts not one but two candy stores). Next came a skit based on the Olympics, which featured one of the de riguer tropes of each island parade the naturalist had witnessed during the past three decades, men in drag! These comely “wo-men” actually dove from a platform into a pool of water on their float with their balloons under their tank tops serving not only to define their shapely figures, but also to cushion their plunge into the shallow pool. Form follows function. Meanwhile other men in tights danced around the floats like pixes waving the fabled Olympic”¦ sparklers.

Not to be missed this year, as ever, were the Shriners, but with a twist. This year’s parade did not feature big men in turbans stuffed into their tiny cars doing racing car stunts as usual, but big men stuffed into the cabs of miniature semi-trucks careening in ever tightening circles in front of an adoring crowd of wide-eyed little boys who now dream of becoming truck drivers when they grow up. Unless they become lobstermen first, which has proven to offer a better life for many young men from the island.

Once the last float disappeared at the far end of town, the crowd hardly had time to become restless before the entire procession reversed course to come back down Main Street. Anything worth doing is worth over doing. But by then, veteran island parade attendees knew to line up at the food stands, where the naturalist can report that at least some of the 400 pounds of deep fried lobsters had not been offered in vain.