Southern Hospitality

Ok, so maybe we don't have polar bears or electric eels to contend with in Texas. But we got some scary bugs. And weeds. (Can I get a witness?) And Bermuda grass, which I think I'm gonna start calling Bermuda Weed. Yep, that sounds more like it. Anyway, we have to look for our adventures around here in more modest ways than in bear conflicts. That is why we go Dale Gribble on the local fire ant colonies, trying to get inside their heads in the expensive and unwinnable war we have going with them. But this is the New American Way.

"I think they're gonna move toward the Bradford Pear and set up a strategic base camp there. They know that it'll be a weak point for us. I've just got this feeling."

I've poured boiling water on hills, knowing that it would not win the war, but wanting to make them re-think their proximity to my sidewalk. It's tough making the decision to move ahead with it, despite the certainty of casualties in my day lily bed. This is war. Sacrifices are made.

David grew up in Idaho and represents it as the land flowing with milk and honey. He paints a picture of an idyllic childhood, roaming the neighborhoods, hillsides, and forests with his little brother and sister, Mike and Debbie. There were numerous camping trips with his family, all without a single fire-ant encounter.

I even remember a time before fire ants, believe it or not. I grew up in Southern Oklahoma before they had migrated that far North. I remember plenty of other bugs to avoid while growing up, and many varieties of ants. But these usually minded their own business instead of having a preemptive foreign policy of attacking anything that moved. An enjoyable childhood activity of mine was to disturb part of an ant hill so I could see how they repaired it. Fascinating stuff. I enjoyed their unswerving devotion to perfection in making their beautiful hill just as beautiful as before.

But if you do that to fire ants, they just want vengeance, and they'll worry about rebuilding after they have demolished anything living within chomping distance. Less fascinating than exceedingly creepy is the way they boil out of their dens. Yeesh. Idaho is sounding more and more inviting all the time.

Texas is always using size as a marker for the reasons for its greatness. If we're talking beef ribs, belt buckles, or even hair, that's one thing. But insects that are large enough to be chipping in on property taxes? Or large enough to be wearing a seatbelt (nod to Larry)? Alleged friend and Boise resident Pam Blue even goes so far as to so sweetly remind me that they don't even have cockroaches up there. Probably no termites, either. Those Idaho license plates which currently say "Famous For Potatoes" should be boasting "Very Few Bugs." But I bet their beef ribs are really small. And probably tough, too.