Tumbleweed Update

When my son first spotted Tumbleweed, she was barely past being a kitten herself but was accompanied by what must have been her offspring. It was tiny and my son wasn't able to coax them near enough to catch them, although he put out food and water. The little kitten apparently didn't make it because it never came back with Tumbleweed, but once she allowed us to pet her, we knew we needed to get her spayed. Let me tell you, she put up a valiant fight against being put into the cat carrier. But although she twisted and spread her claws out, she never actually bit or scratched us. 

We took her back to our house after she was spayed to recover for a week on our sunporch. After a couple of days she was itching to get out. You can see her little shaved belly and the leg where the IV went. But once healed, she was happy to be back on her own stomping grounds.

In no time, she was as lively as ever and back to exploring. She knows there is often food in my son's truck so she tries to figure out how to get in. 

And then there is the killing. Shrews, chipmunks, birds. It's clear how she survived before we started feeding her.

Here she torments a cicada, spinning it around.

And good grief, can that cat climb! It's amazing especially to watch her climb back down a tree, turning her body with each step to maintain her grip.

Her fur has all grown back since the surgery and she has become an incredibly affectionate companion,  climbing into our laps demanding to be petted or following us around on the property as we work. Just one more thing to love about that little slice of mountains we have. 

Still not dead.

I just spend every minute possible up at the Ridge, either working on the land or helping my son. So much so that I'm waaaay behind on things I need to do at the house. So, a little update, then I truly am going to try to start posting a bit more frequently.

I still get nervous every time my son is up on the extension ladder or, worse, on the roof. I think he's careful, but he's still young and prone to doing things like stopping to check a text message.

The short ladder I'm a little more comfortable with. And I do enjoy helping in whatever way I can, even if it means lying on my back under the trailer holding a water tank up with my knees and forearms while my son bolts the hanger straps into place.

The tiny house is now encased in metal roofing and siding. It reminds me of a squared-off airstream trailer. Or like a house in Iceland, many of which are small and made of metal. My son hasn't yet put the cedar trim around the upper casement window in the sleeping loft because he wants to get the facia board in first.

At any rate, he's turned his attention to getting it insulated since cold weather is approaching. This involves tanks of frightening chemicals and what looks like Hazmat gear. I suggested the bags over his new work boots. 

I'm safely outside while he's doing the spray foam insulation. He's got enough on all the walls to stay reasonably warm and has moved in with a sleeping bag in the loft. He was welcome at our house but was eager to get back out on his own. 

And in the meantime, my husband and I continue to work on the trails. We carried the two wooden chairs from the front yard up to the East Ridge next to the tree we call our tree, and often stop there to sit and just soak in the serenity. The video quality isn't great, but you can get a sense of how peaceful it is up ther with no sound but the birds, the breeze, and the falling leaves.