Q: Will hiring a lawn service to do my mowing make me soft?
Preston Culberson
Nacogdoches
September 2009
A: Well, boy hidy, Mr. Deep Pockets, seems somebody has suddenly found himself standing in some mighty high cotton. And, at the same time, in some increasingly tall grass. Did your numbers hit? Ol’ Aunt Hattie, bless her soul, remember you fondly in her will? Well come in? However it happened, you now face one of the classic quandaries of the freshly minted. It is not so much the softening that comes with newfound wealth that should concern you; in many world cultures such plumpness is a badge of honor. No, what you need to protect is the pride you now take in a job well done by your own hand. For this there is no substitute. Who feeds and waters the patch of God’s green earth on which you reside? Who risks life and limb repelling columns of indestructible fire ants and sortie after sortie of dastardly chinch bugs? You do, brave sir. And if you are anything like the Texanist, you do it with a passion that few comprehend. Apocalyptic drought? Mounting water bills? A stream of threatening notices from the local water authority? None have kept you from pouring your heart, soul, and previously paltry savings into the shorn seas of verdancy that surround your abode. And when strolling strangers stop to admire your turf while you, filthy and sopping in last night’s beer-and-hot-wings sweat, nod proudly from behind 190 cc’s of roaring John Deere, it’s all worth it, right? The feeling that rushes over a man at that moment is pride. Pride as sweet as the aroma of freshly cut grass in early springtime and as addictive as the fumes from an open gas can. It’s clear that you have reached an income level at which domestic help becomes affordable, yet in the case of your landscape, think hard about what you will be giving up. Money can buy many services, but the self-wrought happiness derived from a perfectly mowed lawn carries no price tag. Don’t do it.
Q: If I want to eradicate a stand of prickly pear cactus, can I just mow over it with a shredder, or do I need to burn it or dig it up or something?
Peter J.
Amarillo
June 2009
A: The Texanist, rather than advising that you go after it with a ferocious hunger for total annihilation, would have you stop for a minute, take a breath, tweeze out those remaining spines, and maybe have a cool drink of water. Although held in low regard and deemed a noxious weed in some parts of the world (g’day, mate), the spiked flora in your yard just happens to be our official and beloved state plant. Furthermore, though it may have aroused your appetite for destruction, it is just as capable of arousing your appetite for things that are delicious. The prickly pear (or nopal), of which you seem to have a good starter crop, can be used as a main ingredient in a variety of very tasty and very healthy dishes: cactus jam, cactus jelly, cactus juice (a scientifically proven and Texanist-approved hangover cure), cactus and eggs, cactus salad, cactus-and-fava-bean soup, and so on. Instead of haphazardly plowing over the thing with a rotary cutter (leads to spreading and vigorous regrowth), setting it ablaze (difficult to accomplish), or bulldozing it (expensive and you need a permit), you would do well to embrace this nettlesome green mass. (Not literally, of course. A friend of the Texanist’s, one James Richard, attempted thusly to display his love of nature some years ago outside La Kiva bar, in Terlingua; not a good idea.) Consider cultivating and harvesting it; try marketing the product roadside. These times call for enterprise, after all. The Texanist will ask only that you enclose 40 percent of the profits with your thank-you note.
Q: Something has been wrecking my yard during the night and I suspect varmints. I consider myself an animal lover but have reached my wits’ end. What can I do to keep them from further destroying my beautiful landscaping?
Carla
Bastrop
February 2009
A: It may surprise you to learn that the Texanist’s coexistence with God’s creatures has not been entirely free of occasional violent run-ins with sundry vermin. His fuzzy foes have ranged from beady-eyed squirrels, half-witted whitetails, and yowling feral cats to trash-scrounging raccoons, pale possums, and a bloodthirsty chupa-cabra. These encounters have tended to be relatively quick and one-sided, though at least one has graduated into a decades-long feud that as of this writing shows no sign of an easy resolution (one day the Texanist will find you, you goat-sucking abomination). But as is often the case, the Texanist would discourage his readers from doing as he does and instead attempt to promote the wisdom of what he says. The plain fact is that in the vast majority of instances, your four-legged nocturnal caller is more vagabond than vandal and will, with time, move on to greener pastures (once he’s left yours in tatters). If, however, you are as out of patience as you suggest and cannot wait for this to transpire, you may simply peruse the telephone directory and summon your local critter ridder, wildlife relocator, or exterminator. But be warned that we are speaking now of some very cold fellows, men with hollow eyes, hard hearts, and dark, drafty voids where once danced the bright souls of innocent, fauna-friendly children.
Q: My husband and I have just finished remodeling the front porch of our home, but our homeowners’ association nixed our paint color choice for the porch ceiling, saying it didn’t conform to the guidelines. This color, a shade of baby blue, is very common for a porch ceiling in Texas, and we think it should be added to the list of acceptable colors. Can you back us up on this?
Name Withheld
Houston
October 2011
A: You and your husband are correct with regard