A Tiny Town Near Collapse

To see the California drought at its worst, TIME Correspondent James Wilde visited Orland (pop. 3,241), a farming community in the Sacramento Valley. His report:

Until now, Orland has been famed chiefly for its appearance in Ripley's Believe It or Not as a tiny town with no fewer than 13 bars and 21 churches--all active. Today, Orland is better known as a victim of a savage drought that is entering its second year. Its orchards, dairies, small farms and citizens are all in trouble, and the bars and churches are better patronized than ever before. In fact, the churches have been holding rain prayer meetings from 10 in the morning until 10 at night--so far to no avail.

Normally, Orland's three reservoirs contain 140,000 acre-feet of water; now they are down to 5,000 acre-feet. Instead of the usual 18 crop irrigations per season, there will only be one this year. Farms have suffered more than $3 million in losses, and farmers' incomes have been cut by one-half to two-thirds. The town's businesses, which depend on agriculture, are down 40% in sales. Twenty-seven of 58 grade AAA dairymen have sold out and left the community. If the orchards do not get sufficient water by spring, the remaining trees will die. The whole economy is on the brink of collapse.

The true dimension of Orland's plight becomes apparent in a walk through the fields with burly, gray-haired Robert McCombs. His quarter-mile-long slough for storage is empty. So is his well. His oats are stunted like a day's growth of beard on the dry fields. He sold off calving cows earlier this year because he could not water them. Paul Pehrson's 20 acres of orange trees are literally dying before his eyes. "It would take me ten to 15 years to get started again," he says. "I can't face starting all over again." The only immediate remedy for orchard growers was an offer from a company in Los Angeles to provide water at nearly $90 per acre-foot (the usual price: $5). "I couldn't afford to pay that," said Walnut Grower Charles Jasper. "It would come to $27,000 a year, I figure."

The manager of the local branch of Lloyds Bank California, June L. Young, admits that farmers are far behind on their mortgage payments. "This is the second year we've had to carry many of them. I'm not going to foreclose on anyone this year, but we can't hang on indefinitely."

Normal amenities are being curtailed by the drought. For three months, many farmers have trucked to town--which still has water in its deep well--to fill pails of water at the firehouse, use the toilets and take a bath. Townspeople have been inviting their country friends to share the water. Says Greg McCombs, editor of the local weekly newspaper: "I have no water, so I use a friend's bathroom in town."

What makes the situation all the more frustrating is that relief is tantalizingly close. Some 300 to 600 feet below the surface lies a geological formation known as the Stony Creek alluvial fan that has 13 million acre-feet of water. The town is seeking a federal grant of $5 million to drill as many as 30 wells by May. But bureaucratic red tape has tied up the town's application for federal assistance.

A range war broke out during the 1898 California drought, and neighbor shot up neighbor. This time people are helping each other out. Orland has produced the prototype American yeoman, the small citizen-farmer. Right now, the farmers are fighting for their heritage. They know it will not be easy, and it will be a sad day if they lose.

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