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We are unofficially under way. I was slumming around Carter’s Vintage Guitars today, craning my neck for the telltale cap and golf shirt, but Dave wasn’t in sight. The shop was busy and I had nowhere to sit with a guitar, so I turned south in the direction of the aroma. No, not Hattie B’s — I mean that new guitar smell. I visited with Britt and Benjamin — Greg was off — and indulged my Macpherson crush a while. Sigh. Back at the hotel, on a hunch, I texted Dave and learned I had just missed him and Keith at Carter’s. We met for dinner at Bonefish Grill, aware that the Deer Run menu doesn’t extend to filet or scallops. Pro tip: if you go to Carter’s, take a Land Rover; that parking lot is brutal.

Here are some videos of our guests performing. Walter Rodrigues (blue shirt), Ron Block (black shirt), Thomas Leeb (goatee), and Matt Thomas (blue shirt and glasses). IMG_3221.mov IMG_3241.mov IMG_3254.mov IMG_3295.mov

I was one of the 5 that Diane mentioned (we need to come up with a name for ourselves). When I relayed my experience to my wife, she had some good advice - don't use the word "performance". Just think of this as playing in front of your friends. I volunteered to be a guinea pig in Steve's session on the basics - I provide an excellent demonstration of what not to do. But I got up there and Steve said - "Play something". So I start playing his arrangement of "Yesterday" from the Beatles Academy a couple of years ago. I know that song cold. I play it at home all the time - fairly well I think. I stumbled through the first two verses and the bridge - and then - bang. My mind went totally blank. I froze. I tried to restart. Didn't work. So Steve rescued me and continued his class. Then later that evening I played my planned "performance" of "If" by Bread (my wife's favorite). I had practiced this at home so many times I could play it in my sleep. I made it through the song - not as smooth as I would like - and since I was playing through Steve's amp (which I rarely do on acoustic at home) I could hear every mistake amplified. And yes, I could feel my right hand starting to quiver a bit, particularly as I realized the song was almost over. But you know what? I would do it again. I'll be better next time. And yes, there will be a next time.

Epilog One more day on the road tomorrow. Almost home. At Deer Run, I mopped the floor, extinguished a fire, and took my turn in front of the fireplace. (Use your imagination, it will be more dramatic.) For now, I leave you with a final lesson learned, or more accurately, re-learned. Our guest artists are phenomenal, inspirational, humble, world class musicians. But I can’t aspire to their level of play. I so look forward to hearing my fellow students perform. In them — in you — I can better imagine my future self. Yet of my two dozen companions this week, only five of us elected to play a song for the group. There was time for at least twice that number. It’s ironic that so many of us who love to make music in privacy are so terrified of performing the very same music for others. No, it’s worse than ironic, it’s joy denied. I get it. Steve gets it: “You sit in front here and you freak out.” People, please: make peace with making mistakes. I have, because what matters is what happens along the way. I knew my song would be shaky after three days of travel without rehearsing. But I reminded myself that two months ago, I couldn’t play a single note of it. It was getting better. In front of my teacher and my friends, I stumbled here and there, but I caught a little magic. You deserve some of your own. Give us what you’ve got. It might have been things I missed But don’t be unkind, it don’t mean I’m blind… You see, it’s all clear, you were meant to be here From the beginning — Greg Lake, “From the Beginning”

Sunday dawned with the clouds giving way to sunshine, then back again. As Steve started the morning workshop, I settled into the press box with my reporter’s notebook, glanced around, and realized to my horror that I was the only one without a guitar. “Where’s your guitar?” Steve wondered aloud to the whole group. I buried my face in shame (!) and hurried to retrieve it. I thought we were here for the Cornhole. Matt Thomas demonstrated how right hand exercises in DADGAD can give the left hand a rest while the exercise still sounds musical. As he explained “See how it sounds when we drop to the parallel minor, from C major to C minor?” it occurred to me to raise my hand and point out how that’s a Picardy Third in reverse. I kept my mouth shut, and my remaining dignity for the day intact. Finally, announcements time: next year’s retreat will be October 17–20, 2024. Maybe, Christie Lenée again. The registration link is up. Guitars quieted, the lodge filled with the sounds of thumping staircases, rolling suitcases, and shouted goodbyes. We jotted our thanks in Steve’s memory book, messaged our photos back and forth, and loaded our cars — as the falling acorns tapped their gentle polyrhythm on the ground.

The balmy temperatures have turned the season upside down: looks like autumn, feels like spring. It was so warm upon arrival that Deer Run had the AC on rather than the heat. I spent my first night balled up like an armadillo, then I remembered the spare blanket and space heater hidden behind the bunk beds. All better. Steve started Saturday with a lesson on movable chord shapes. Thomas Leeb returned for a workshop focusing on polyrhythms, which figure prominently in his Michael Hedges-like percussion playing. As we recessed for lunch, fellow student Jim Felter and I slipped out to the back porch where I made another, cleaner pass at “From the Beginning” — and with him playing a duet with me. What a happy surprise. Practice methods was the first afternoon topic with Steve. Bill Cooley used “Amazing Grace” to illustrate variations in progressions when creating arrangements. Then, the final, raucous, high-stakes final rounds of the GG Cornhole Championship. Last ones standing were the Pickups: David White (for the second year in a row) and partner Jim Nash. Best team name: “All Rights Reserved”, but I might be, ahem, biased. After dinner, Steve presented the Cornhole trophy, and Vanessa’s granddaughter drew the names of the door prize winners. Prizes included subscriptions to Acoustic Guitar Magazine, Fishman pickups, and a Fender acoustic as the grand prize, carried home by a thoroughly deserving Bob. He left a gig in Virginia Beach at 1:00 am, caught four hours’ sleep, then drove 742 miles to join us: Matt Thomas seems human enough, but it’s hard to believe. For the next 90 minutes he blew the roof off. As we recovered in the warm night air, we didn’t need the fire pit. The rocking chairs on the front porch did just fine.