drought is not sexy

“The lake is low, the gas is high, it’s the perfect time to stop on by.”
Might as well stop driving through the North Georgia lake lands and do a little gift shopping. This is the first mention of the many months drought in our region that I’ve seen in a while. The lakes, more accurately reservoirs, were constructed by power companies and water districts during the last century. Engines of industry and growth have mostly become the playground for retirees and tourists and local anglers. The lakes are low, startlingly low. They are one of the most visible and tangible markers of the 2007, possibly 2008, drought that parched the ground and lowered water tables across the southeast. Most of South Carolina got less than half the normal rainfall last year. People spoke about Atlanta outgrowing its water supply. Legal disputes over water rights continue between Florida, Alabama and Georgia. None have yet figured out how to deal with a thirsty Atlanta. And no one wants to contemplate how thirsty Hotlanta might be if the rains don’t come before the summer.

The early months of 2008 have brought rain, but not enough to lift the drought status. Unless you spend a lot of time crossing the endless bridges that traverse these fingers of lakes or have views of your own exposed dock and lake bed, days pass without thinking about it, especially in winter. Long showers, dish washing, laundry. All the normal water uses continue without much thought. Most of the conservation during this time of drought has been voluntary although at one point the governor of Georgia embarked on a campaign of divine supplication as a drought mitigation strategy. The trees managed to put on a notable display of color in the fall. Drought, unlike tornadoes, floods and other sexier natural disasters easily slipped off the media radar once the collective memory of summer’s searing heat and charred lawns receded.

I sat on a friend’s dock the other day. The former hydroelectric power source is a perfect example of drought’s tenacity. Across this slip of a water body, muddy and shallow from decades of erosion, is a newly renovated water treatment plant for a nearby municipality. Exposed lake bottom extends beyond the wire fence separating her property from the neighbors rendering the demarcation insufficient. In some places, the pronounced and extended retreat of water has enabled pioneer plants to grow, die and now shiver in the winter wind. How many months before tree seedlings root in this new medium? How many hanging fences and exposed docks and beached pontoon boats do we need to remind us of where the water should be?
I didn't sit for long contemplating the treatment plant and not enough muddy water. The smell of the lake was different, off, like a milk gone sour. That wasn't sexy either.