They’re Blowing up the Texas Hill Country

Recently I flew from snowy Michigan to sunny Texas for a quick trip with my mom and sister. Our destination was my mom’s hometown of New Braunfels, a once-small town 35 miles northeast of San Antonio.

Sisters Jennifer and Kathryn, holding Tina and Tuffy, respectively, circa 1985

I have a hundred childhood memories of trips to see my grandparents at their farm just outside of town. It was a beautiful piece of land, dotted with cows, twisty live oaks, and the occasional prickly pear cactus. My sister Jennifer and I would play in the barn and go fishing for catfish. We’d sit on the front porch and watch the sun go down beyond the black silhouette of the windmill. We’d collect eggs from the old hen house each morning. And when a neighbor’s dog abandoned two adorable puppies under that hen house, we took one of them home—Tuffy became a beloved member of our family for the next 15 years.

So on Saturday, after enjoying a bigger breakfast than can ever be good for a person, Mom and Jennifer and I found ourselves on the road leading out to the farm. We knew it had become a pecan farm, but none of us had seen the place in years. Someone had told us the old stone house had become a city landmark, so we decided to stop. I hopped out to read a historical plaque on the side of the road when WHOOSH!, an enormous green dump truck flew by. A few moments later, another. And then another. Along the way we’d seen a big mining operation. Huge tracts of land were laid waste. Dust filled the air. The trucks were coming and going from the quarry like fire ants foraging around a nest.

Noise and light pollution present additional problems. Mark’s neighbors sold their farm, and the land—easily visible from the pecan store and farmhouse—now looks like a wasteland. Mining often continues around the clock, with large lights illuminating the work zone at night. At all hours Mark can hear the irritating sound of back-up beepers.

The trucks near Mark’s land are operated by a third-party company, he told me. Drivers are paid on commission based on how many loads they can run. They line up at 5AM for the first haul at 6AM. Most drivers do two in a day. Really ambitious ones can do three. They thunder down small farm roads carrying 20 tons of material. But because they don’t own and operate the trucks, the mining companies aren’t technically responsible for the increased traffic and wear and tear on the roads.

Texas is one of just seven states with no comprehensive APO mining regulations. The effects are staggering when you consider that the APO industry in Texas is 69% larger than the next largest state, California, as measured by the value of crushed stone, sand, and gravel. According to an investigation by KVUE, “The state has no permitting process for quarry operations, although aspects of the operation undergo a more extensive permitting review. To crush rock, companies must supply modeling to the TCEQ that they will not exceed regulation for the release of dust particles. The state reviews that modeling but conducts no independent analysis of that information. And while quarries face state inspections, the TCEQ does not routinely monitor air around quarries to ensure they are not releasing excessive dust.”

Citizens like Mark Friesenhahn are fighting for regulatory changes. Mark is part of a retired, volunteer “Quarry Row” Technical Team made up of experienced mining engineers and geologists. They have worked to quantify the APO industry and its impacts on Texas, and are interacting with state legislators and involved stakeholders.

Mark’s team has calculated, for example, that adopting comprehensive regulations would add a negligible amount to the “end user”—just 0.2% ($500 or less) to the cost of a new single-family home and 1-2% ($2,000 or less) to every mile of highway construction. Concerns that increased regulation will cost too much or shut down growth in the area seem unfounded.