July Shenanigans: Rain, Possums, Dutch Tourists, and One Very Opinionated Kitten

Del Rio flooded after days of relentless rain. We only lost power, so I really can't complain.

I set a goal of writing one blog post a month, but June slipped right past me like a sneaky ninja, and now July is threatening to do the same.

July has been hot and rainy, and everyone knows how much I enjoy the rain. I can tolerate it for a few days—maybe even a whole week—but this season has just been soggy. Our yard stays flooded and squishy, everything smells like moist socks and chicken poo, and poor Del Rio flooded significantly this weekend.

I really shouldn't complain. We didn't flood, and although we lost power, our solar system worked perfectly. The garden may be drowning, but at least everything is ridiculously green. If the rain lets up soon, I might still salvage some tomatoes. Right now, though, the ground is so saturated that the plants either fall over or their stems rot.

I suspect that's why the little black ants from hell have invaded my house. Their home is flooded, so apparently they've decided mine looks nice.

If there's a single piece of dog food on the floor, there will be a bajillion ants on it within minutes. I bought every ant bait station known to mankind, and none of them worked. I was about ready to burn the house down when I Googled how people got rid of ants before Raid and other chemicals.

Turns out the answer is ridiculously simple.

Tiny all you can eat buffet... with consequences.

Mix one part borax with three parts sugar, add enough water to make a paste, soak cotton balls in it, and place them where the ants are traveling. They carry it back to the colony. Some ants get sugar, some get borax, and eventually the queen dies. Once she's gone, I like to imagine all the worker ants standing around wondering who's in charge before wandering off to the nearest ant bar.

So far... it seems to be working.

I'm willing to trade a little rain—and maybe a few ants—for some sunshine if anyone's interested.

Possum Update

I'm down to one baby possum, and he is mean as shit.

Ike has officially been released and is hopefully out there making lots of little possums with his many girlfriends. We released around 30 on our property and another nine at a friend's place. Things have finally slowed down, so I think we're on the downhill side of possum season.

Entertaining the Dutch

Dennis's mother, Rineke, and his sister-in-law, Frederiek, came to visit from the Netherlands.

The Dutch have landed... and chaos, as always, wasn't far behind.

We hiked the Abrams Falls Trail in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park—a 5.1-mile out-and-back off the Cades Cove Loop. We spotted a few bears from the car but none on the trail.

Sharing our mountains with family is one of the best parts of living here.

It was a beautiful hike, although I spent most of it sweating buckets while Rineke, who's in her seventies, toodled along like she was taking a Sunday stroll. I hope I'm in that kind of shape someday.

Sweaty enough to attract butterflies. I'm calling that a wildlife encounter.

We also visited our super-secret swimming hole. It's about thirty minutes from the house, completely private, and the water is nipple-freezing cold because it comes straight off the mountains.

I love that place.

Maggie loves it even more.

Rineke stayed on shore, but the rest of us jumped in and had a great time... right up until we realized none of us had packed towels.

The only sensible member of our swimming party.

Four grown-ass adults.

Zero towels.

Dennis packed everything into the car, so naturally this entire debacle is his fault.

Mountain therapy is cheaper than regular therapy.

It was hot enough that we dried off eventually, but the drive home was... uncomfortable. And before you ask, yes, turning on the seat warmers was a thought but we didn't do it.

Frederiek had never fired a gun before, so Dennis took her to the shooting range. She did fantastic and really enjoyed herself. Someone nearby was firing an AK47 that sounded like a small war through the glass, and it apparently cost them $150 just for the privilege. I guess it's all about the experience.

We wandered around Gatlinburg and spent an entire day at Tanger Outlets.

Let me tell you...

These women can shop.

Dennis has no idea how good he has it with me. Unless it's a thrift store or somewhere delightfully weird, my shopping limit is about an hour. We hit nearly every store in Tanger and there are around a hundred.

They literally shopped until we dropped.

Patiently waiting... because he knows resistance is futile.

Of course, no trip to that part of Tennessee is complete without paying homage to the giant Beaver... Buc-ee.

They'd never been to one before. I expected another shopping marathon, but they found it just as chaotic as everyone else does. We grabbed some snacks and made a tactical retreat.

Floating Above History

One of my favorite days was renting a pontoon boat on Norris Lake.

The water is a gorgeous emerald green. Like most lakes around here, Norris was created by the Tennessee Valley Authority in the 1930s for flood control, hydroelectric power, and water storage. Entire communities disappeared beneath the water.

Local legend says one landowner, John Riley, still haunts the lake, standing on the shoreline, shaking his fist and yelling at boaters to get the hell off his property.

I'm not saying I believe the story...

...but while floating in the water, I kept hearing strange metallic clinking sounds beneath me.

It was probably boats.

Probably.

Or maybe old Mr. Riley was loading his shotgun.

I spent half the afternoon floating on my back. I've always been an excellent floater. I suspect it's because I have plenty of junk in my trunk, but whatever the reason, I could happily float for hours.

Some days are meant to be remembered. This was one of them.

Sometimes I wonder how much more our landscape will change over the next century. So much land is already being reshaped in the name of progress—first dams, now data centers. I'm grateful I've lived long enough to enjoy these places as they are, even if I'm swimming over a haunted town.

Are you a floater or a sinker?

Cat Distribution System: Working as Intended

While our daughter Kailey is off adventuring, we've inherited two of her cats.

Romeo is a giant cuddle bug about the size Moose was. He follows us everywhere and wants constant attention.

When you're this handsome, you can pose however you want.

Pippa is... not Romeo.

She's tiny, shy, and spends most of her time hiding in the back of the house. She's slowly warming up to us, especially in the evenings, but she's definitely doing things on her own schedule.

That brought us up to six cats.

But wait...

There's more.

Driving home from shopping at Tanger, we spotted a tiny orange kitten sitting in the middle of the road in ninety-degree heat. We scooped him up and brought him home.

Hard to believe this was the same kitten who now terrorizes the entire house.

He was covered in fleas, starving, wheezing, and had infections in both eyes.

Eleven days later—after antibiotics, dewormer, a bath, and a steady supply of food—he now spends his days terrorizing every living creature in the house.

Dennis named him Octomer.

Don't ask me why.

I just call him Toots, and if you spend five minutes around him, you'll understand.

A friend of mine, who looks alarmingly like Dolly Parton, is adopting him this weekend. She has no idea what she's in for, and I sincerely hope she gives him a better name.

Romeo: "I did not ask for a kitten, but I suppose I will supervise."

Unfortunately, I spotted three more kittens yesterday at the same property where these cats always seem to come from.

Multiple rescues have tried to help the owner, but he refuses to fix all of his cats because he wants to preserve the "bloodlines." Meanwhile, the kittens get sick, get hit by cars, or simply disappear.

After Hurricane Helene, I delivered donated pet food to families in need.

He sold the cat food.

To buy beer.

Some people simply can't be helped.

Ham Radio and Embroidery

Dennis installed my new DX Commander antenna, so I'm getting closer to finally getting on the air. We still need to tune it, but that requires dry ground—which, at the moment, feels like wishful thinking.

The newest addition to the mountain: a giant antenna and a whole new way to explore.

I'm also still plugging away at Morse code.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

As if that wasn't enough, someone gifted me an embroidery kit that teaches a new stitch every day.

I'm currently on Stitch #4—the satin stitch—which is my favorite so far. The split stitch was fun too. The straight stitch and back stitch, however, look like I embroidered them after several margaritas.

It will probably take me a year to finish this!

Embroidery is surprisingly relaxing. It's basically coloring with thread, except the crayons occasionally stab you.

Once I finish the sampler, I may start designing my own patterns.

Screaming possums.

Pooping crows.

The possibilities seem endless.

I think that finally catches you up on our summer shenanigans.

So...

What have you been up to this summer?

P.S. My instapot had an orgasm.