Where's the logic in owls?

We went camping this past weekend. It was a nice spot, on a lake, with hiking trails (although, whoever drew the campsite map needs a lesson in geography). We appreciated the beauty of a lovely summer weekend.

Then dusk fell.  

The ladies at the next campsite chatted and got all caught up with each others' lives, much to my husband's displeasure, especially when he realized only I had brought earplugs. He confiscated them immediately.
Now, the chatting didn't bother me. I knew they'd eventually fall asleep.

It was the owl. 
That night owl. 
That loud, devious Barred Owl. (I know this because I googled the hooting when I got home. See how devious he is?)

Image courtesy of Simon Pierre Barrette www.flickr.com/photos/vireo_solitarius  via https://crazybugladyblog.wordpress.com/tag/barred-owl/

It sat high in the trees between our campsite and the ladies' next door, dead set on keeping me up at night. 

So my question is this. If an owl hunts at night, where is the logic in sitting in a tree hooting from dusk to dawn? Owls are quiet, swift killers, so how and when is this character hunting? He did not one second of hunting all three nights we were camping. Wouldn't some kind of natural selection have weeded him out? 

You don't eat, you starve. (Well, except some women I know who only eat rabbit food and that is pretty sparse. But I digress.)

As I expected, my question wasn't answerable. Cell service was spotty in the unserviced campsites and I don't have a data plan, either. And my husband didn't know, as he heard only a few hoots. Remember, he confiscated my earplugs on that first night.

So, as dawn approached on the last day of our camping trip, I lay on our air mattress and thanked God that the owl finally stopped calling. Peace reigned and I knew I would finally get an hour or so sleep.

Then a crow woke up.

De-conferencing takes time, you know!

Last week I attended the Romance Writers of America
in Atlanta. It was fabulous! And hats off to the local Georgians. (Is that the right way to say it?) They are super friendly and very kind, gentle people. And they sure know how to build big hotels. I was blown away by the Atrium alone in the Marriott Marquis.

 One man standing beside me likened it to being the belly of a dinosaur! The spine was the set of glass tube elevators and some writers couldn't even look out of them. I was told it was the second largest atrium in the world. Wow! I would faint in the largest, I'm sure.

But this conference wasn't about atriums. It was about writing, and now, a week later, I'm still processing all I heard and learned. That's the way it is with conferences. You take the time to stuff in all the info and networking you can and then you do what I am doing right now.

Camping and de-conferencing. I'll let you know how successful I am this coming week. But in the meantime, stay tuned as I fill you in on some of the fun things I did!