Why So Quiet?

So why have we been so quiet the last couple of weeks? This is why:

Welcome to our drywalling hell.

While remodeling the guest room, we decided to remedy the fact that there are no closets in our little cabin. None. Some of our clothes hang from electrical conduit that Mason tacked up "temporarily" in the loft on our second day here -- the pipe is still there, of course -- and the rest remain sorted in the plastic bins that we moved them in. The vacuum sits wherever I find a bit of space, as does the beer-brewing equipment. And our camping gear, golf clubs, sewing machine and such are all stuffed in a hidey hole underneath the stairs. Hmm, I guess that's kinda like a closet. So I lied. But I digress.

Shaving about two feet off the entire east wall of the room, we created a wall that will have two closets (one dedicated to beer-making equipment), a desk/shelving area (under the window) and then a giant triangular storage area up high. For those who have mudded drywall, please sympathize that my vision for this Wall O' Closets failed to fully realize what it meant to tape and bed about 40 outside and inside corners.  Then there's all the new drywall throughout the room, which used to have a particle-board ceiling and wood planking on the walls.

I'm the mudder, because I'm the only unskilled laborer in the household; Mason's skills are much too valuable to be wasted on such lowly work. (Besides, he's busy building the crawlspace skirting around the house.) I'm nearly done with the second coat of mud, leaving just one more to go before we can paint. (The color I picked out is called Gray Squirrel, in honor of the flying squirrels we evicted from the room during the remodel.)

Then we have to decide what to put on the floor. And build the desk. And do the trim.  And  it looks like we have more visitors coming in April, so the clock is tick tick ticking.

The Things You Learn

So the Realtor we used to buy our little cabin in the woods came by the other day, because the small cabin at the end of our road just went up for sale. (Any takers?) Mike isn't like any Realtor I've known, starting with his 6-foot-7 or 6-8 height. (I've never seen Mason look short before.)

So we chitchatted with Mike about what we'd done to our cabin and how we were adjusting to mountain life. Clearly an avid hunter, he quizzed us on the wildlife we'd seen. That's when I asked about what animal was making a screech that sounds like a woman being attacked. It's the one unsettling sound we've heard that we couldn't pin down.

"Bobcat in heat," he came back quickly. Apparently it's mating season. Mike then told us about how he killed a bobcat just the other day (I know, I know, fellow gentle animal lovers, but this IS Tennessee), and out of the front seat of his giant truck, he whipped out this speaker-looking box connected by a long wire to a  remote control. He pointed the speaker out toward the timber company land that borders our property and hit a button.

Out came that shriek from hell (it's how you "call" the soon-to-be-shot bobcat), and boy, Nick the Dog did not like it one bit. He focused on the box, barking, fur up on his shoulders. Another shriek and he cocked his head intently, staring at the speaker box sitting atop the truck bed.

So this is how bobcat hunters (and other hunters, as the box had about 50 settings; besides "bobcat in heat" it also had "regular bobcat") attract their prey. Punch another button and the speaker will beckon coyotes, wolves -- all sorts of woodland creatures.

Bambi, you've been warned.