[T]he drought is testing Texas' model of local control over water, says Melanie Callahan, interim executive administrator of the Texas Water Development Board in Austin. There's more interest now in balancing that local control with regional or statewide coordination of water policy
"The law basically says you can pump whatever you want that's beneath your property, which is an extremely poor model of water resources planning," says hydrologist Paul Hudak at the University of North Texas in Denton. Because of the drought, "there's going to be more and more emphasis on trying to transfer water between parts of the state. But the entire state is suffering right now, so where do you get it?"
The drought has put the ruggedly individualistic state in the awkward position of demanding quick and massive help from US taxpayers. Federal aid will offset most of the $5.2 billion in agricultural losses and $250 million in wildfire damages and firefighting costs.
Related story: Politics of fighting wildfires: Did Rick Perry's Texas do enough on its own – Just last week, the most recent budget cuts meant 90 Texas Forest Service employees were laid off. Some volunteers pay for expenses out of pocket. And the repeated emergency calls are stressing equipment like tankers and pumpers not built for continuous use.
Christian Science Monitor | By Patrik Jonsson Staff Writer | Sept 26 2011
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Lake Conroe, Texas – The onset of a Dust Bowl-like drought has forced 25 million Texans to go beyond questioning whether to turn on the sprinklers.
As massive wildfires sully the air over Houston and Austin, and as ranchers sell off cattle to prevent mass starvation of their herds, the unfolding environmental crisis in Texas is changing everyday patterns of life – and even causing some to reconsider the Lone Star State's famous low-tax, react-as-you-go political philosophy.
Pitted hardest against each other are cities and agricultural interests, the ranchers and farmers who use 60 percent of the water and whose water rights help them to maintain their slipping grip on the land and political power.
The Llano River was down to a trickle in June, flowing at little more than 3 cubic feet per second, compared to its normal flow rate of more than 300 cfs. Todd Wiseman/Texas Tribune
As the drought has deepened over the summer, so has unease among Texans about what's being done, or not being done, to cope with it.
"We're scared to death," says Kerry Williams, city secretary for Llano (pop. 3,000), where charcoal barbecuing – the essence of Texas cuisine – is outlawed because of fire risk. "No one has any clue what anybody is going to do," she says, not only about water used for recreation but also for drinking.
The anxiety is as intrusive as drifting wildfire haze. Prayers for rain have not been answered – at least not yet. At the same time, Republican Gov. Rick Perry, a presidential aspirant, is holding up his state as a model for American growth and rugged self-determination, even as many residents hope for an infusion of federal aid.
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