I cut through the Arts Center and over to the Backyard. Still no Fred, no Granddaddy. Ron shows up. I have no matches. He has a lighter. We load up the cooker, the smoker, and he lights it off. Still no Granddaddy. Ron heads out to check on Fred, to make sure things are okay. Till Ron moved to the woods, Fred and Ron were neighbors.

          I tend the fire. It is a wood fire, no charcoal, no lighter, just yellow pecan and bay, great wood for smells, great wood for cooking. I'm building a bed of coals that can later be fed some of the greener wood that smokes, that adds a different flavor to the tenderloin, to the ribs, to the fresh meat not yet cooked.

          Ron shows back up to say Fred is awake and on his way. Ron has other things, important, to do all over town, including keeping in touch with what happens moment to moment. Pete shows up. We bring the cooler out from inside, that large white one that holds a hundred and then some pounds of meat along with the ice to keep it cool.

          Pete works on the outside preparing for the feast, the concert, ahead. Bradley shows up early as usual to prepare, to work the inside. Not only are we cooking in the Backyard, we have a Winston Cup NASCAR event inside.

          Fred shows. We've talked about him many times back. He's lucky to still be with us. I guess, in another way, so am I, so are you. Fred, Granddaddy, shows up. Good thing. He has the knives and the seasonings. I am the meat cutter; Fred is the cook. I'm the apprentice cook; he's the apprentice meat cutter. We make a good pair.

          We cook only with wood, the aromatic kind that smokes a lot. We avoid the hard hardwoods such as oaks unless we are building a bed of coals. The chicken goes on the grill. You can't rush chicken. It goes on first. We prepare for the rest. Mainly we cook the chicken.

          Pete's job is about done. We help him move some equipment and some electronics. He needs only a little help. He knows all from past lives. Bradley having already done the inside prep and having finished two newspapers including the crosswords, opens the inside. Fred and I are never ready, but come four o'clock, we will be.

          Chuck, who has been serving sentry duty as if a sniper were there somewhere, dismisses himself to come back later. Bradley asks every few minutes, "Do I have a band out there yet?"

Sometime around one-thirty or so shows a band, maybe Sarasota Slim, maybe little Jake, maybe Little Mike, maybe the Accelerators, maybe…just maybe…Always blues, sometimes along with easy rock, outside in the Backyard on that stage built for them, made easy for them, where they can do their art where people can see, hear, participate. Where food is served sometime around four, Linda and Jahn furnishing the sides, the potatoes, the beans.

Something like this goes on nearly every Sunday in the spring and in the early summer when it is not yet hot, and in the fall, when it is not yet cold. Fred does this mostly to stay alive and in touch and to give back. I do this to give back and help people like Fred and like Miguel; we've talked of them before, to feel a sense of presence, and besides, it feels good just to be back in practice, back in the Backyard.

          So look for me out there practicing on Sunday Mornings. It's so much more rewarding than thinking that you have arrived, knowing that you are just practicing, that that's all there is. I like just practicing. That's where it is. Till next time we talk…