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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

Tennessee town run dry by drought trucks in water


Debbie Cash fills a bottle with water for later use Wednesday in Orme, Tenn.  Water is trucked to Orme from Alabama, and it is turned on for residents for about three hours a day. Associated Press
 (Associated Press / The Spokesman-Review)
Greg Bluestein Associated Press

ORME, Tenn. – As twilight falls over this Tennessee town, Mayor Tony Reames drives up a dusty dirt road to the community’s towering water tank and begins his nightly ritual in front of a rusty metal valve.

He releases the tank’s meager water supply, and suddenly this sleepy town is alive with activity. Washing machines whir, kitchen sinks fill and showers run.

About three hours later, Reames will return and reverse the process, cutting off water to the town’s 145 residents.

The severe drought tightening like a vise across the Southeast has threatened the water supply of cities large and small, sending politicians scrambling for solutions. But Orme, about 40 miles west of Chattanooga and 150 miles northwest of Atlanta, is a town where the worst-case scenario has already come to pass: The water has run out.

The mighty waterfall that fed the mountain hamlet has been reduced to a trickle, and now the creek running through the center of town is dry.

Three days a week, the volunteer fire chief hops in a 1961 fire truck at 5:30 a.m. and drives a few miles to an Alabama fire hydrant. He meets with another truck from nearby New Hope, Ala. The two drivers make about a dozen runs back and forth, hauling about 20,000 gallons of water from the hydrant to Orme’s tank.

“I’m not God. I can’t make it rain. But I’ll get you the water I can get you,” Reames tells residents.

Between 6 and 9 every evening, the town scurries. Residents rush home from their jobs at the carpet factories outside town to turn on washing machines. Mothers start cooking supper. Fathers fill up water jugs. Kids line up to take showers.

“You never get used to it,” said Cheryl Evans, a 55-year-old who has lived in town all her life. “When you’re used to having water and you ain’t got it, it’s strange. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve turned on the faucet before remembering the water’s been cut.”