The camp is half as crowded as the night before, since much of the gang has left for home and work. Galloway and Joel Norred are still there, and the two of them, along with their friend James Hicks, an old oysterman and longtime shucker at Papa Joe’s Oyster Bar & Grill in Apalachicola, are working over a pair of fryers. Richards dives in to help cook, too, and soon I’m handed a plate heaping with catfish and Hicks’s hush puppies, which are famous around Apalachicola. There’s a big pot of greens, too, and a bottle of hot-pepper vinegar for dousing. As we eat, Richards tells everybody about my abundant misses, and they all pile it on, asking if we have squirrels in Nebraska or if perhaps I left my glasses back home. I check my ego and take all I’m given. If I were a new pledge just 24 hours before, I’m now being treated like a member of the fraternity. The rest of the night continues with more good food and drinks, more laughs, and more stories.