DOWN HOME: Death Valley & Ten Plagues

Maybe I need to plant some cacti on the side of our house. The east wall by the garage has been my Death Valley for five years now. Except for one terrifically hardy knockout rosebush and Mexican feather grass, I haven't been able to get anything to prosper over there.

This spring, I consulted with a nursery, and we put down new plants. We selected varieties that should handle the Texas heat and thrive with a modest amount of moisture. We also reworked the soil, setting in nutrient-rich mulch.

And what did we get? The Sonoran Desert. I've followed watering directions, but it's hard to overcome the driest, near-hottest summer ever to afflict our parched corner of the planet.

Normally, I'd think plants that only receive morning sun would fare better than anything that has the temerity to try to grow in the light of our hellish afternoons. But now I'm thinking maybe the garage wall—unprotected by any trees—absorbs and holds the morning and midday heat, and then it simply bakes the plants in my flower bed all afternoon.

Or maybe God is preparing to visit plagues upon America (OK, perhaps just Texas), and I've suffered the misfortune of living on the spot where he's testing various forms of pestilence.

To top it off, Joanna, my wife, said she's heard grasshoppers are heading our way. Seems that grasshoppers actually like hot, dry summers. They're connoisseurs of crackling, shriveled flora.

This is worse than it sounds. See, I grew up reading the King James Bible. So, I know the biblical name for "grasshoppers." That would be "locusts." And, of course, you know locusts were the eighth of the Ten Plagues of Egypt, and Egypt is a desert-ish place whose climate is approximately as wicked as Texas in August.

We might expect the Ten Plagues to afflict Texas this summer, but they can't get started. That's because the first plague happened when water turned into blood. In order for our rivers and streams to turn to blood, God will need to put water in them first. So, we might be safe.

But if you see a platoon of frogs hopping down your driveway, or if your longhorn dies up by your front porch, or gnats block out the mid-day sun, call your travel agent. You might want to stay away for a little while. And you really don't want to be around for the boils.

As you recall, God used the original Ten Plagues to soften up Pharaoh's heart so he would let the Children of Israel leave for the Promised Land. Problem is, most Texans already think they live in the Land of Promise, and they're happy to stay right where they are.

Still, if you see an angel carrying an axe, you might want to grab some saltines and Vienna sausages, pack up the kiddoes and drive over the Red River. Even if you've grown up thinking Oklahoma is wilderness, that 10th plague is a doozy.