MAGIC

The ranch hand's paternal grandfather started bar-b-que in the late evening and checked it periodically during the night in order to have tender, moist, and savory "que" the next day. Grandaddy never did anything in his life halfway and no doubt this endeavor was no exception

The ole fat boy recently acquired a meat smoker of sorts and forayed cautiously into the realm of culinary protein burning.

Ain't much to it. Half hour to lay the wood in the fire box, get it going, and regulate the pit temperature. Twelve hours smokin' time with a careful eye to the temp gauge so the seasoned oak stays low and slow. Allow an hour for the meat to "rest" while the juices redistribute. Slice that puppy, plate it, and call in the dawgs (OK, family) to eat.

Trouble is, iffen ya want to gobble them groceries round bout six in the PM, ya gotta start the rodeo bout four in the AM as follows:

1. Drag your sorry butt out of bed
2. Do whatever
3. Stumble thru the dark to the culinary station (trees between the house and barn)
4. Try to remember why you are standing in the dark out in the yard
5. Stick wood in the firepit while wondering why dumbutt didn't do that part the day before
6. Trudge to the barn to get the propane fire starter (coulda done that yesterday too?)
7. Trudge back to the barn to get the matches to start the propane burner
8. Yeah, to the barn again cause the damn matches won't work and need the propane lighter
9. Get fire going and wait (did I mention it is dark as sin) for the smoker to reach cooking temp
10. Back in the bunkhouse to get the meat
11. Slap the victim on the grill
12. Note to self to kick own ass for not bringing paper towel to wipe seasoning/blood off hands
13. Wait to see if pit temp stabilizes at the right spot?

Then the "magic" begins:

It is a moonless morn with few clouds. The stars are almost blinding in their brilliance as they glory in the absence of city lights to attenuate their sparkle.

The darkness all around is like a soft blanket that envelopes the soul and calms the spirit.

A dove in a distant tree releases a mournful coo into the predawn coolness and there is promise of a new and better day.

I finally get it Grandaddy. It isn't about the bar-b-que. It is about the solitude, seasoned with the wonder of God's glory in all His creation.

The smoker is just a prop, Mother Nature is the stage, and all of creation is the reward for the those willing to begin the day with "que".