By now, most of the guests have left. Under dim oil lamps, a few people remain, gently swaying on rocking chairs and porch swings while muted guitar melodies twang over buzzing crickets and the humming Rayado. I sit back and reflect on the totality of my journey from the last several days; improvising and planning both played an equal role in the success of my set. In previous years I wouldn't nearly have been as brazen or as carefree. My knotted shoulders and sore hips remind me of how far I hiked the past two days. I glance over and find Ben also deep in thought. Perhaps it is time for bed.