And now the cloak and dagger, tax spike begins.

This isn’t something that honors the dead nor even the river that rose up to take them from this world. It’s the odious affairs of humans, who are possessed by the idea that they are doing the right thing, without even consulting the people they’re supposedly doing it for.

Texas and taxes, particularly property taxes has been a quiet range war brewing on the horizon. With no state tax other than purchases, counties, cities and the state have to find someway of dislodging even more from an already struggling public.

When a disaster hits, the doors close and county commissioners meet. Under an emergency circumstance, they can raise the property tax rate to 8.0% of the valuation of the property. Prior to the Kerrville flood, it was at 3.5%. They did. They went all in. They’ve added a whopping 4.5% increase on taxes for homes still standing.

I wonder how the valuation for properties will look like on this end of the ledger sheet?

How many people just can’t wait to move to Kerrville?

Will they valuate homes based on the fact that this is not a desired destination for now, or the pre-flood, hey, I wouldn’t mind living there value?

Let me tell you something about Kerrville real estate. Even before the flood, it wasn’t moving. I’ve got four houses on my block that have been for sale for over four months. Prices are dropping as fast the water level in the Guadalupe now. So homeowners will be expected to pay 8.0% on properties that are sinking in value.

And how long will this property tax be enacted for? Is it a temporary stopgap to deal with the expenses of re-building the infrastructure? No one knows except come October, a sticker shock like no other will hit homeowners headed into the holidays.

When I ran for city council in Fredericksberg, I was part of a small group of rabble rousers who demanded accountability from our local government. We dominated the city council meetings. One after one, we took to the mic to address their egregious power grab during COVID. The city had set up a snitch line to report businesses who were letting people in without a mask. With enough pressure we shut it down.

What was remarkable, was that hardly anyone else opposed us and yet, we were labeled as “difficult,” “angry” and “ungrateful.”

One of the last stands we took was opposing the $10 million that the city took from the Biden admin as part of “The American Rescue Plan.” We had poured over the language of the contracts and there were stiff penalties if re-payment wasn’t made on time and that the city would have periods of self-auditing which would be reported back to the federal government. The City Manager scoffed at our claims and had to be reprimanded by the City Attorney in real time, to avoid any legal consequences.

He hadn’t fully read the contract.

Kerrville took it--well $7 million of it. And what did they do with that money? According to the Texas Tribune, “The county approved $7 million in ARPA dollars on a public safety radio communications system for the sheriff’s department and county fire services to meet the community’s needs for the next 10 years, although earlier estimates put that contract at $5 million. Another $1 million went to sheriff’s employees in the form of stipends and raises, and just over $600,000 went towards additional county positions. A new walking path was also created with the ARPA money.”

Gotta have that new walking path!

If the sheriff’s department had foregone their $1 million in stipends and raises, they could have purchased a $1 million early warning system that could have been deployed in Hunt, where cell service is spotty. Would it have defeated a twenty-six-foot wall of water that rose in fifteen minutes? Doubtful. But it would have alerted the sleepers on the banks of the Guadalupe much sooner. And in the aftermath of the disaster, there would be a lot less finger pointing that’s going on now.

This is the dirty part of the story that is just getting started. Once the shock and numbness wears off, people are going to want hard answers to tough questions.

Don’t ask the mayor. He’ll tell you he wasn’t around back then. That’s the only thing he has going for him and yet, when you look at his CV and all of the civic involvement, including being a former city councilman, a business owner whose printing shop rests on the bank of the Guadalupe, you’d think he’d have some accountability, some input.

Nope.

It was the people that were there before him.

So far $30 million has been raised from the general public. That’ll take care of some big machinery for thirty days or so, but it’s going to just be a drop in the river as they say.

Tom Brady apparently flew into town and met with the grieving parents of the Camp Mystic girls. This is a decidedly better look for him versus vying for Sydney Sweeney’s attention while Orlando Bloom did the same at Jeff Bezo’s garish and decadent nuptials in Venice.

He also managed to give $1.8 million to the families of the girls towards their funerals. Apparently Tom didn’t get the memo. The Camp Mystic girls come from the wealthiest families in Texas and can well afford the cost of their funerals.

Now the people who had the single-wides down by the river, whose lives were wiped out, they could have used some of Captain America’s generosity. But Tom didn’t seek them out.

Water finds it’s own level apparently.

We were hit with another squall today. Winds whipping around 25 mph, rain pelting sideways. But at least we’re not alone. New Jersey, Boston and even New York are struggling with floodwaters.

What’s really going on here?

Who has the controls to the weather machine and are we being punished for talking about certain people, places and religions that seem to be ever more scrutinized?

How long will it take for one of these pastors on the take, to blame these floods of biblical proportion as God’s wrath for people who disrespect and criticize a certain country in the Middle East?

I can hear it now; “And heaven rained down upon man, woman and beast, displacing them from the comfort of their shelter as a stern reminder, to never question the people of the holy land and their cherished place as God’s chosen ones.”

Get ready. It’s coming.

DISASTER IS THE BEST DEODORANT

Trump officially landed in Kerrville on Friday after having toured the destruction of the Kerrville flood by helicopter.

It was a veritable who’s, who in Texas politics.

Wheels Abbott sat next to Trump on his left. Ted Cruz was there. Chip Roy, the rep for Kerrville and one of Trump’s staunchest opponents from the Freedom Caucus was there. Whatever beef they had was buried deeper than the shallow, muddy graves of the Guadalupe. The phrase strange bedfellows comes to mind as Trump not only acknowledged Roy, but treated him with respect, singling him out for the job well done in Kerrville. Roy, graciously acceptedTrump’s praise and returned it with a solemn, but heartfelt thanks to the president and the government’s rapid, relief response.

This was a win for Roy as he’s been embattled on the home front where people lean decidedly more to the Trump center than the Roy right.

Lt Governor, Dan Patrick was there. Attorney General, Ken Paxton as well.

Hell, even Dr. Phil was there. The stars come out for Trump, even in a time tragedy.

Conspicuously absent was George W Bush, and Camp Mystic maven, Laura Bush.

Kerrville’s mayor, Joe Herring was there, but you wouldn’t know it. Trump must have thanked and mentioned dozens of people involved, from Abbott all the way down to the guy that used to own the Hunt store. Not once did he mention Joe Herring’s name.

Kerrville will survive, but Joe Herring’s political career won’t. Getting shunned by the president in a global presser is akin to having full blown leprosy. This has been a brutal disaster for Kerrville’s troubled mayor in more ways than one.

Melania and Kristi Noem were there.

Melania was sporting some survivalist chic with a black baseball cap and a creme-colored, khaki, safari jacket with an olive green, body-fitting pantsuit underneath. It bordered on survivalist cosplay, but Melania looks good and isn’t a whiney, privileged bitch, so most people won’t care.

Noem of course was rocking her DHS cap, tresses flowing over her new style of camo-couture.

Designer-disaster-wear was on full display.

This is part of the spell the Magus of Maga weaves. Surrounded by beauty, these are the accoutrements of the Alpha, “The Don” that was rapped about in the 90’s for his power and bling. Trump has morphed tastefully, somewhat, into the role of the elder pimp, even if elder statesman still seems to be a bit elusive at times.

Flanked with all that eye candy, he still manages to excel in tragedy, that Mars on his AC, quick to act. He throws himself into these shocking and mournful events with high degrees of empathy, courtesy, and protocol. Disasters aren’t much different than than the issues Trump has faced at build sites over the years even if the human toll is next level, he knows how to get things done.

In New Palestine (now that sounds more symbolic than ever before) Trump was there way before Biden. He bought hundreds of burgers, fries and diet cokes at McDonalds.

In North Carolina, he swiftly deployed FEMA resources such as bulldozers and backhoes, set up shelters as well.

In LA, he sat with Karen Bass at a city council meeting and offered both his support and pointed critique.

But make no mistake, Trump needed Texas as much as Texas needed Trump. After the Bondi/Bongino/Epstein debacle, where Trump shattered his base by memory holing the man he knew and partied with for well over a decade, the stench of a cover-up was in the air.

It was a complete 180 for Trump and one of his campaign promises about bringing trafficking to light and saving the children was now being heavily scrutinized and angrily debated.

Here’s the thing about using children for emotional currency, especially missing children; If you don’t follow through on all of the promises made, mining the emotions of the masses for the most vulnerable segment of our society, by default, one becomes complicit.

Just 48 hours after the Epstein presser left almost everyone stunned and MAGA reeling, there’s Trump dishing out condolences, recognizing and praising everyone for their efforts.

He is the center of the storm, the steady and calm paternal presence. He’s had some experience with this now and will no doubt be praised and lauded for his strong, confident and compassionate response to Texas.

But the combative and caustic side that explosively blew, when he bum rushed Bondi to answer the Epstein questions for her, was unleashed in Kerrville as well.

A reporter asked him a fairly benign question about the federal response effort, the cutting of funding to NOAA and Trump called the reporter (a woman) an evil person for bringing something like that up in a time like this.

She was followed up by a male reporter who was glazing Trump and spoke glowingly about his response to the flood and asked him what the next steps are. How did he respond? Now there’s a great question! What’s your name? I really liked that and I like you.

Trump was damning and dismissive in one moment, glowing and grateful in the next.

If you’re an American tuning in, which one of the journalists would you want to be and how would that modify your behavior moving forward?

Would you rather be scolded or praised by daddy?

As the waters of the Guadalupe recede and the wreckage of lives begins to emerge through the Hill Country mud, tragedy has had a somewhat cleansing effect upon Trump.

But will it be enough to repel the ongoing stench and stain of the Epstein affair?

If a disaster doesn’t do it, then maybe The Nobel Peace prize will confer that untouchable status Maga Don has always been always been searching for; Legitimacy and the ultimate “Get Out Of Jail Card” once and for all.

I will not be doing the Astro Weather tonight as I have a family issue to tend to.

SCENES FROM FLOODLAND

The occasional thrum of the big copters can still be heard. The rampant sirens of the first responders have slowed to almost normal, but the presence of the Kerrville flood is everywhere. The mood is a strange mix of somber and grey with the occasional, “Hill Country Strong” sign popping up, random attempts at rallying morale.

Across the highway from where I live, the mega-church’s parking lot is still stocked with emergency vehicles, tractors, food trailers, and lots of cars belonging to volunteers and people staying there with no place to go. It seems to be a central point as Kerrville bleeds into Ingram, Ingram into Hunt. This stretch of the highway is like the last outpost before the going gets rough.

Just a bit down the highway and to the right, there’s a road that leads to the river. It’s where a trailer park “used to be.” It’s gone. Washed out. Wiped off the map. This was a travelers trailer park, not home to single or double wides. It was a destination for RV’ers on the river for years, hoping to soak in the Hill Country waters, grab some BBQ and watch the annual fireworks display at Louise Hay park, with country bands playing from a stage that’s no longer there. The temporary, aluminum and canvas theater of the night was found miles down the river.

Most people know someone who either survived or didn’t. Some of the stories are heartbreaking. The soccer coach from the local high school, his wife and four children, all gone. Perhaps in a most merciful way, if one of them survived, the guilt and pain would be unbearable but hopefully redemptive.

In 2013, Wimberly had a flood nearly as bad as this one. At one house, a family of four from Houston were visiting their relatives, again on the river. It rushed and rose, again too fast to escape the crushing torrent. It split the house in two. The father of four from Houston was ejected and shot like projectile into the dark rapids. The violence of the current slammed him into a tree and he lost consciousness. Somehow he managed to get washed onto the riverbank. When he came to, he set out in search of his family and the house that was no longer there. His wife and two young children perished. If that doesn’t bring you to Jesus, it’ll bring you to drink.

That man was here this week, helping out however he could.

My mind wanders into metaphysical spaces, as the fear and frenzy were matched only by the size of the supernatural wall of water. I imagine angels and archons, hovering above the rushing grey slosh, just waiting for that final breath and the severing of the silver cord, diving in for comfort or capture, a holy war to see who can be saved or recycled.

I think about the soccer coach and the family of four. Did they find each other? How did their transition manifest? How did they go from cold, choking, fear and confusion, frantically floating down the Guadalupe, now the River Styx, bodies floating above the water, looking down at the broken, rag dolls that used to be their life. Was it angels or was it archons?

The death toll keeps rising, the missing mount.

Texans are quick to respond. I’ve been here for thirteen years and my experience of most Texans are that they are polite and respectful, but not warm or inviting people. Treat them with respect and you’ll get it back, but not a whole lot more. Of course there are exceptions, but I can count the times I’ve been invited to someone’s home for dinner or a BBQ on both hands in thirteen years. It’s a double Capricorn state, Sun and Moon. It’s no nonsense. There’s still dry counties here and there’s always Jesus.

But when the shit hits the fan, that steely, leathery, reserve jumps into action. That Capricornian efficiency kicks in like clockwork. It was all hands on deck within hours. I’ve never seen mobilization happen this quickly, but then again, my experience with natural disasters of this nature is limited.

But contrast this with the lack of response to the LA fires and it’s not even close. If the Texans had been in Santa Monica that day of the fires, I guarantee you, houses and lives would have been saved.

Most men here can handle a chainsaw, bulldozer, jackhammer, blow torch, winches, you name it. A lot of women too. Those skills come in real handy in a crisis.

There were ATV’s, pontoon boats, horse patrols, copters, drones, amphibious vehicles. There was one marine, trained in sea and search rescue, who rescued 165 people alone, dropping down from a copter and snatching people out of the rapid ride to their early demise.

The churches showed up as well. A number of them put up people, fed them, took donations and all within the span of eight hours. By the evening of the fourth, churches became outposts and hospitality and hope.

The Wal-Mart parking lot accommodated the search and rescue as well, there was more food and Christian services.

While the flood has and will be devastating, the rapid and thorough response has oddly restored some of my faith in humanity. We are often at our best in a crisis and I refer to Americans as the “we.” Our Cancerian Sun shows out and we care for strangers like they are our own kin.

On a day that’s usually set aside for a gaudy display of fireworks, too much BBQ and beer, country songs that warble on about God, country, BBQ, broken hearts and beer, the usual ritual of re-upping our right to be free and celebrate, this disaster of a day, while certainly lacking the festive gusto and distended guts, was in many ways far more American than the faux reenactment of independence. In fact, moving forward for Kerrville, Ingram and Hunt, they should rename the fourth, “Dependence Day” because people had to depend on each other in a way they would have never expected, just days before.

For me, the lead up to the storm was strange. I kept looking at homes in other places, higher and drier than here. Zillow was the most visited site on my cell phone last week.

On Wednesday, I walked out of the gym and the sky felt strange. The best description I have was “heavy” and “dense.” There was an ominous feel in the air. I called Joan and told her about what I felt. I said it, “feels like something big is going to happen.”

We’ve had a relatively cool and wet spring, leading into summer. Most people were rejoicing because “we need the water.” You’ll hear that a lot in Texas; “Boy we really needed that water.” The heat can be unbearable for months, sometimes 100 for thirty-straight-days, so no one was complaining about the dark and damp skies. If you talked about too much, there was a feeling you might jinx it. Don’t complain and just enjoy the reprieve, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know exactly what was going to happen, but I knew something BIG was coming.

At about 11:30 on the third, it started to come down, buckets of rain, thunder and lightning and it just kept coming. I was still up at 1:30 and the first emergency alert came through on my phone. Stay put. Shelter in place. No problem. I can do that.

Two more times before I got up around 8:30 there were two more emergency alerts. The final one around 5AM, just before the river rose 26 feet in fifteen minutes. There were warnings, but fifteen minutes is barely enough to get your clothes on, get a few things, get to the car and outrace the rising, raging currents. Even if you somehow managed to get to your vehicle, there was no guaranteeing that you could make it. Plenty of footage of people floating down the river in their SUVs with the lights still on. That’s how fast life and death happened.

Kerrville has become conspiracy central. Augustus Doricko was seeding the clouds and caused the flood. Trump cut NOAA funding. The Camp Mystic girls didn’t drown, they were trafficked. Kerrville passed an initiative to build a gas plant. Thiel and company want to turn it into a 15 minute city. Under a dark shroud of blame, someone has to be responsible for the death and destruction.

There’s a bogeyman for every flavor of disbelief.

Meanwhile, the milquetoast mayor just wants your prayers, lots of them, keep them coming. He’s a symbol of an over civilized man, replete with awards from the local Masonic lodge to the League of Women’s Voters, he’s served on more committees than people have had jobs. He’s got the resume of a civil administrator, writes a weekly column and owns a printing company. Of course church is in there somewhere. He’s the epitome of a Saturnian man, living and profiting off the local order. But when chaos hits, when Uranus cracks the sky, he cannot respond. He is as helpless as a child in the grip sudden destruction and disorder.

A few days after his request for prayers, he blamed Trump.

Of course he did.

In a time of crisis, he was enveloped by fear and then blame. Being chairman of the arts council wasn’t much preparation for Kerrville’s weak-mayor-of a man.

I’ll continue to give you updates and share stories as well as contribute more to Locals in general.

Thank you all for your love and support.