Mulch Ado About Nothing: A Westlake Mom’s Guide to Dumping Your Christmas Regrets

Ah, the holidays—that magical time when families gather, children’s eyes sparkle with wonder, and Westlake mothers like me clutch our pearls at the thought of improperly disposed Christmas trees. Because nothing says "festive spirit" like turning your once-beloved Douglas fir into mulch, right?

Let’s be honest, by January, your tree is less "Winter Wonderland" and more "Fire Hazard of Regret." The needles have invaded every crevice of your home, your cat has declared war on the ornaments, and your toddler has somehow turned the tree skirt into a makeshift cape. But fear not, fellow Austinites! The city has graciously provided us with multiple ways to rid ourselves of this seasonal burden—because nothing says "community service" like outsourcing your guilt to municipal workers.

First, the elite option: curbside pickup. That’s right, if you’re lucky enough to live within city limits (and let’s be real, if you’re reading this column, you probably do), you can simply abandon your tree on the curb like a bad relationship. Just make sure it’s naked—no lights, no tinsel, no trace of the joy it once brought. And if it’s taller than 6 feet? Chop it in half, because apparently, trees aren’t allowed to have aspirations in this town.

For those of you outside the city (bless your hearts), there’s the peasant option: schlepping your tree to Zilker Park like some kind of festive pilgrim. Don’t forget to remove all wire frames from your wreaths—because nothing ruins mulch like a rogue piece of metal. And if you miss the exact four-hour window on January 3rd? Well, enjoy your new backyard bonfire, I guess.

Travis County, ever the overachiever, has five whole drop-off locations. That’s right, five whole places where you can deposit your dead tree and pretend you’re saving the planet. The best part? The mulch is free—because nothing says "sustainable living" like fighting your neighbors for a pile of ground-up Christmas carcasses.

And let’s not forget the real heroes here: the county workers who have to deal with your flocked, tinsel-clad abominations. Because nothing says "holiday cheer" like explaining to Karen from Pflugerville that her snow-sprayed tree is not recyclable, no matter how many times she demands to speak to the manager.

So go forth, Austin. Recycle your trees, pat yourself on the back, and rest easy knowing that your holiday guilt has been mulched into oblivion. Until next year, when we’ll do it all over again—because nothing says "tradition" like passive-aggressive sustainability.