Step One: New Tile Floor

Now, of course, most of this will be covered with cabinets and the little island, but I'm hoping enough of it shows to make a whimsical impact. We still have to grout it, and we're still hammering out the countertop options, but we're making progress.

In the meantime, the old stove is out on the front porch. Nothing says Tennessee mountain life like frying up the morning bacon on the front porch. Hee-Haw!

How's the Kitchen, You Ask?

OK, here's my vision for the "new" kitchen, minus the little center island. Yes, I'm a doodler. In 2002, when I was selling all my belongings ahead of our sailing adventure, I drew little depictions of my furniture and posted it in my apartment building's lobby. It sold surprisingly fast. If only I had listened more often when my artist mom gave me her artist tips.

So, what I failed to envision for our kitchen remodel was what a challenge it was going to be to buy the cabinets from IKEA.  Yes, I realized the closest IKEA was in Atlanta, almost 3 hours' drive south. And I figured at least two trips would be required. But Trip No. 3 is already on the docket, thanks to finding a giant crack in the farmhouse sink when we opened the box today.

Always something, right? Oh, did I mention we still have no air conditioning in the Jeep? And temps have been in the 90s. (Some relief in sight this week, I'm happy to report.) And one more thing: Nick barks at every single semitrailer truck we pass on the interstate. It's a quick but brutal road trip.

But there has been progress. The new electronic-free propane range is ready to go, and seven of the 10 cabinets are built. Next is ripping up the flooring so we can start tiling and installing everything. But that doesn't happen until IKEA Journey No. 3, which means my third on-the-road Egg McMuffin breakfast and 50-cent IKEA hot dog lunch in a week. Kitchen remodeling is hell for my good health.

Snakes and Guns

When we moved in more than 15 months ago, we were told that there were some poisonous snakes to be concerned about here: mostly cooperheads and rattlers. But since then, we've only seen dead ones in the road and two little tiny ones on the property that only made one-time appearances. Clearly, our guard was down.

So over the weekend, I'm on the front porch, finishing off a book of short stories ("The Boys of My Youth," by Jo Ann Beard - I recommend it, thanks Book Fairy Natalie!!!), when I noticed that a small friendly lizard has climbed up on the porch with me. So I'm chatting with Mr. Lizard when I then hear rustling under the house and then the porch, and in no time, I watch this BIG black snake come sidewinding out into the front flower bed. He's chasing something that's hopping for its life. A baby mouse? No, it's a small toad. Run, toad, run!

SNAKE! BIG SNAKE! I yell to Mason, who's inside the cabin. Now I hear rustling inside the cabin, and for a few seconds I'm whispering expletives in my head, wondering what's taking Mason so long to come to my rescue. But then I realize he's going for the shotgun.

Seconds fly by and the snake has snatched the toad in its mouth and is now quite still, perhaps waiting for its poison to disable Mr. Toad. Mason comes racing out the front screen door with his shotgun raised. I point to the snake and Mason take 3 seconds to decide if it's a poisonous model, then, BOOM!

The snake is dead. He's got multiple shotgun pellets peppered into his triangular little head. And sorry, the toad does, too, as he was in the snake's jaws.

Now we investigate. The snake's sharp little triangular head makes us think it's poisonous, but it's skin doesn't look like the argyle pattern of a copperhead and there's no rattler. We turn to the smartphone and determine nothing. So maybe it was poisonous, or maybe not. But it's dead. (Sorry for the blurry photo; I was a bit unnerved.)

So when all is said and done, I ask Mason: So was I right? Was it a big snake?

"I wasn't disappointed that I got the gun," he returned. And that's saying something, because now he's gotta clean the shotgun.

Meanwhile, minutes after the flurry of activity, we realize the ear-piercing crack of the gun has promptly sent Nick into full panic mode. He's missing, which means he's under the house. Under the house, where the snake came from. Grrrrrrrrreat. (Don't worry, he's the second-greatest-dog-ever; he came out when we called!)

My First Dog, Angus

Angus was my first dog. And, sorry Nick, he was the greatest dog ever.

I had grown up with a couple of cats. Not finicky ones that use -- or don't use -- litter boxes. Our cats came in the house for bacon and loving, but relieved themselves outdoors. They were good cats. But they were no dog, and certainly, no Angus.

My husband Mike and I got Angus in 1994 when we were living in Santa Rosa, Calif. Mike grew up with dogs, and I was game, as long as it was going to be a smart dog. Angus was a border collie, blue heeler and Australian cattle dog mix -- a dangerously high-energy, high-intelligence combination. We took him home from a backyard breeder as soon as he was 6 weeks old. And despite all intentions, he spent that first night sleeping right between us in our bed.

We started Angus early on the game of Frisbee and it wasn't long before he mastered the sport, adding twists and jumps to his catches. At the park near our house, Angus loved an audience. When people stopped to watch, and even clap, he poured on the showmanship -- always throwing in that over-the-shoulder catch 5 feet up in the air. He was so athletic and such a star.

Angus lived for the game of fetch. At our annual Derby Day parties, folks were amazed -- if not annoyed -- with his nonstop passion, throwing that soggy Frisbee at their feet. When we mowed the lawn, Angus quickly learned that if he dropped the Frisbee in our path, we'd have to stop and throw it. The kitchen hallway in our Minneapolis house was streaked with the cheap colors of plastic toys that he dropped at our feet as we cooked, or more likely, drank.

Mike kept Angus when we got divorced. And when I finally decided to get my own dog, I immediately began looking for another border collie. And Nick is the best dog ever ... on Flat Top Mountain. Second-best dogs? Will, Mom's Tibetan terrier mutt, a white ball of fire who showers her with love, and sister Maggie's Newfie mutt Sally, who's also up there in years and fighting the good fight. Yup, the whole family has gone to the dogs.

Last week Mike and his wife Glenda learned Angus had end-stage kidney failure. Angus, now almost 18 years old, had other health issues for several years, but clearly this was his last fight and there was no reason to make it more painful for him than it needed to be. With a vet's help, his fight ended today. His ashes will be buried at the Dvorak family cabin on Lake Superior, where Angus used to swim after sticks until he shook with near hypothermia and we had to force him to rest and warm up in the sunshine.

Loved that dog.
Best. Dog. Ever.

Step One: Cut Hole in House

Nothing more nerve-racking than cutting a giant hole in the side of your house, especially on one of the coldest days of spring. But sure enough, Mason came through once again.

Within 10 minutes of cutting out the hole, the new window was screwed into place, and WHAMMO, what a difference with so much more light inside!

The next step is ripping up the floor. We're gonna put in a tile floor (checkboard, gray and off-white, on the diagonal) in the kitchen. The rest of the house will get new off-white stained wood floors once we're certain we can afford it. But before we can tile the kitchen floor, we're gonna go buy the new gas range (!!) and IKEA cabinets. People, this is very VERY exciting. DO you SEE that stove in the photo (which is now and for the next two months, probably, in the middle of the room!) that I've been living with for that past 15 months? Even one of my bestest friends, Cindy, deemed it "grimey." The girl don't sugar-coat it. Let the good times begin ...

Let the Kitchen Remodel Begin

Today at 3 p.m., after several hours of puttering -- making breakfast, walking Nick the Dog, baking some molasses cookies, contemplating life in general -- the kitchen remodel officially began. Let me warn you now, don't expect any quick progress.

To start, here's the official "before" photo (note that last summer we added the stainless propane-powered fridge on the back wall):

Yes, those are "country oak" cabinets with seriously warped (and sticky) doors. When we moved in, the stainless sink was more of an ashtray than a sink. All of the food is now stored in those green tubs, and the pots, pans, dishes and Tupperware are in the gray tubs. The stove is the very one that once hosted a squirrel's nest in its broiler. We removed the upper cabinets soon after moving in, in a bid to get more light, so since then the mouse-turd infested insulation has been exposed. Also, please also note the pull-chain light bulb in the upper left corner.

Oh yes, it's a fixer-upper, even by Flat Top standards. Today, Mason worked on rerouting and adding some electrical. For the first time in 15 months, I now can flip a switch to get a light over the dining room table, instead of having to plug in the light in the far-from-code plug in the wall. Next up is adding another window to let in more light.

Can't say I look forward to a couple of months of upheaval in the kitchen, but then again, it really can't be any worse than the past 15 months. But then again, even on our worst day, life is good.

Fellow Cabin Renovators

It takes a certain kind of person to take on a cabin in the woods. That's apparently why we got along so well with our latest visitors, former co-worker Jackie Crosby, above, a Star Tribune business reporter, and her man, Chris. About the same time that we moved to the Tennessee backwoods, Chris and Jackie bought a heap of a cabin on a Wisconsin lake. So for four people who didn't know each other all that well just a few days ago, we found a whole lot in common.

On Monday and Tuesday, after they drove up during a trip to Atlanta to see how our project was coming along, there was lots of talk about septic tanks, propane tanks and creative repurposing of supplies. They tore down the cabin on their lakefront lot and have been building a new one that incorporates a super cool "Weehouse," a modern architectural pod -- check it out on her blog: lovelesslake.blogspot.com.

We both apparently have been thinking about building adirondack chairs; Chris wins the creativity award for  his plan to build some out of old snow skis. And they were helpful with ideas for our kitchen remodel, which is next up here on Flat Top.

There was also lots of talk about beer, because Chris is about to launch into homebrewing. We brewed up a batch while they were here, just to show him how easy it is! They were even good sports when we told them about our latest fitness effort: 25 push-ups before every homebrew.

Both were also quite forgiving of Nick the Dog, who begged for food incessantly from them, then ungratefully bared his teeth a couple of times. And we thought Nick was getting more socialized. ... Luckily they're dog people.

And as they say in the South, they're good people.

Oh, and one more thing. Look what they brought in their luggage! Sweet gifts from my sweet sweet friends, Courtnay and Leslie! Thanks so much, ladies!