Hung Out to Dry

Here’s the definition of irony: At any given moment of any given day, the earth contains 326 million cubic miles of water, give or take a raindrop. Yet less than two years ago, Stuart A. Cofer darned near went out of business because of—yep, you guessed it—not enough water to go around.

Cofer owns Cofer’s Home & Garden in Athens, Ga., a state that has spent the past two years mired in one of the more severe droughts in recent U.S. history. Californians, caught in a nasty dry spell themselves right now, might beg to enter the discussion—once they finish begging for rain. Ditto, the citizens of Texas, whose mid-’90s drought cost that state $5 billion in agricultural losses. If you factor in large portions of the Southwest—the large, almost-always-dry ones—you’ll probably have a number of contenders for the title nobody wants.

Cofer can empathize with all of them, because he has “been there; done that.” Actually, he has graduated to “doesn’t dare go back; can’t fathom doing it again – ever!” status. In the process, Cofer’s family-owned garden center that has marked the Athens landscape for the better part of nine decades almost literally dried up in a span of 20 grueling months.

Spoiler alert: The drought didn't act alone. Regardless of who done it, what was done has found a notorious place in company history.  “Let’s put it this way,” Cofer said last month. “The economy is nothing compared to what we’ve gone through with this.”

The storm behind the ‘non storm’
“This” is Cofer’s drought experience, which mirrored that of thousands of other green industry pros and millions of Georgians in general. It began roughly in late 2006 when, basically, it just stopped raining in the northern part of the state—and then rarely rained in the area again for much of the succeeding two years. At its roots, that’s what a drought is: too little precipitation to replenish the sources needed to meet an area’s demand for water.

As Cofer and the rest of Northern Georgia found out, a drought can be a product of neglect or short-sightedness, a pin in a political hand grenade, a cap on a bottle of common sense, and a noose around the neck of commercial enterprise. Some Bible-belters have even called this particular drought “the spawn of Satan.”

If only that's all it was ...

As Cofer and the rest of Northern Georgia found out, a drought also can be a product of neglect or short-sightedness, a pin in a political hand grenade, a cap on a bottle of common sense, and a noose around the neck of commercial enterprise. Some Bible-belters have even called this particular drought “the spawn of Satan.”

Whatever the definition, the latest “Great Drought”—which last month was deemed to be, at least, in remission—proved to be a great pain to everyone even peripherally involved. And, make no mistake: There is nothing peripheral about what it did to the growers, retailers and landscapers of the region. 

From a numbers standpoint, it looked like this: The Georgia Green Industry Association estimated that 35,000 of 80,000 industry professionals lost jobs. In turn, dozens of growing, retailing and landscaping businesses either shut down operations temporarily or shut down for good. 

Cofer, himself, went into “survival mode,” cutting payroll, slicing shipments to the bone, and drastically reducing inventory. To that end, he made the decision to carry almost exclusively locally grown plants—on consignment. Eventually, he desperately applied for—and was granted—a drought disaster loan from the Small Business Administration that helped him hang on. “The paperwork was easy enough to obtain,” he said, “But I was only able to get [the loan] by an act of God, because they had designated garden centers and landscapers as businesses that were eligible.”

Financial calamity, unfortunately, is what can happen to an industry founded on a product that needs water when there is little to be found. Cofer would add that it’s also what can happen when common sense and foresight wind up in short supply, as well. He believes the drought itself didn’t deal the death blow to many of his colleagues; the real killer was The Camel.

The Camel?
It has been said that a camel is a horse put together by a committee. And in the days and weeks that the drought stretched on, Georgia found herself with a “two humper.” Reaction to the situation was widespread and loud. Ironically, had everyone who contributed his “two cents” worth to try to solve the problem actually contributed two cents to try to solve the problem, the problem might have been solved—or, at least better-addressed. 

Instead, urgent local, regional and state politicians began meeting frequently to try to craft a solutions set that would best conserve what was left of a dwindling water supply. But that was only part of the problem. Not everyone in the region was up the same dry creek.

In regions where more prudent urban growth planning had taken place and where infrastructures were equipped for prospective drought situations (see Cofer’s home, Athens), there was still an ample supply of water for a conservation-conscious populace. In some areas, there was virtually no water at all— or, equally damning, there wasn’t an adequate supply of reservoirs targeted for public consumption (see Atlanta).

In essence, Georgia, the peach state, was stuck with apples and oranges—in about as many ways as you could imagine. 

Besides the “haves” vs. the “have nots” water-wise, battle lines separated agendas of all manner. There were debates between conservation groups and pro-business negotiators, between Democrats and Republicans, between all-for-one strategies and one strategy for all. The 20-20 hindsight crowd even made an appearance, noting that it had predicted a disaster of this magnitude when its pleas for infrastructure changes that could better match supply with demand fell on deaf ears in various planning meetings in the years prior to the drought.

Then there was the fact that many of the same arguments had already been offered a few years earlier. Following a more moderate drought in the early part of the decade, the Georgia Environmental Protection Division (EPD) drafted a Drought Response Plan in 2003, setting in place potential water-use restrictions that would vary based on the severity of any future droughts.

Not enough ammunition
Even in those early discussions, the green industry pros had balked at that plan, which had the potential to be very restrictive of their water use—and, just as significantly—of that of their customers. But with no prominent lobby for the growers, retailers and landscapers, they carried a knife into a gunfight.

“The nursery industry is usually overlooked because we’re viewed as a lot of small companies,” Cofer said. “They see a landscape company with six employees or a grower with 20-something employees. They don’t see that collectively we actually represent a lot of jobs.”

The voice of the industry went largely unheard as government leaders moved forward in response to the 2007 situation, ultimately choosing to enforce the EPD’s 2003 Drought Response Plan and declaring that 55 counties in Northern Georgia —“from Atlanta, up,” Cofer said—had reached Level IV drought status.

Level IV drought response called for a strict residential watering ban—yes, ban—in all counties in the drought zone. And in the edict that put the plan in place, the state government said consideration wouldn’t be given to lifting the ban or to revising the restrictions until the spring of ’08. 

The news wasn’t much better for plant professionals. New rules stipulated that businesses that use water must purchase a permit to use the water outdoors—but to do so they had to come up with a plan to reduce water use by 20 percent compared to the previous year’s average. There weren’t many green operations wasting water as it was. Significant cuts in usage were going to make plant-watering difficult, if not impossible. 

The regulations went into effect on Sept. 29, 2007—a date that might as well have been put on a tombstone for many of the region’s nursery, garden center and landscape operations and their staff’s jobs. 

“When you take away the ability to use water,” Cofer said, “psychologically, that tells the gardening public, ‘don’t plant.’ The rules just decimated the nursery industry the way they were written. The way the government’s message came across was that outdoor watering was ‘evil.’ We paid a heavy price.”

Almost immediately, residents in the region began taking to heart the aforementioned subliminal message, and they quit planting. In turn, they quit visiting plant sources, and green commerce began to dry up along with the parched soil. Cofer saw one nearby independent operation go out of business last year. Landscape architects in the area either moved or chose new careers. Likewise, practically every regional landscaper in general, because, in general, there just weren’t any landscapes to tend.

“The fallout still hasn’t been determined,” Cofer said. “But it was bad—very bad.”

‘Game on!’
It was roughly at this point that Cofer made a decision that was good—very good—for the sake of his business and for the industry as a whole. He decided to fight back. Already an avid student of the ordeal, he started learning everything he could on matters of water conservation and government affairs. “It took a lot of time away, but I did everything to learn stream flows and watch rainfall patterns,” he said. “I read all the data I could find on water usage—where it comes from, how it’s stored.”

He sought and was granted a place on the local water council, along with several other area plant people. Then they went to work to save their work.

“We lobbied hard,” Cofer said. “We told anyone who would listen, ‘Hey, we’ve got a good nursery representation in this state.’ And these rules just aren’t fair. One thing you discover the deeper you get into these matters is that a lot of this happened by no fault of anyone. Generally, everyone was trying to do the right thing. They just haven’t used a lot of common sense.”

They haven’t, particularly with regard to his industry. For example, Cofer cited a University of Georgia study of the drought that estimated that no more than 3 percent of the area’s water is used on outdoor watering. Still, the green industry took one of the biggest hits, regulation-wise. Cofer found that particularly galling when he looked around town and saw car washes flourishing because of laws that forbade at-home water use. “You can’t tell me that car washes don’t use more water than what we use,” he said. “That was just crazy.”

Another “curious” decision was the blanket nature of the regulations. At first, certainly, the entire region was in a dire situation. But a year after the initial restrictions were put in place, some areas had seen enough rain to put them in better stead than others. Athens, which has access to water from both a reservoir and a river, was basically in the “haves” group mentioned previously. Other urban areas that grew faster than the infrastructure could keep up, such as Atlanta, were definitely in the “have nots” group. Yet the same laws applied across the board. 

Even as the story played out through 2008 and into this year, and the drought conditions improved ever-so-steadily, Cofer’s quest to turn the political tables has been Quixotic at times. “You’ve got to go through so much red tape,” he said. “The government is just so slow to move. Even then, once you get changes made, the economic damage is already done.”

Silver lining?
Still, Cofer has seen some hope, particularly lately. By showing his customers how to minimize their watering regimens and by pointing them to plants that require less maintenance, he has been able to convince one group, anyway, that there’s still value in what he does. 

Meanwhile, he and his nursery-politico colleagues are finally getting people in government to lend them an ear, albeit about two years too late to help many of his friends. “Our industry has made headway,” he said. “We’ve made our voices be heard loud and clear. Our friends in the legislature have heard our cry. We’ve put together studies that show what we mean to the economy and how we’re actually among the better environmentalists. It’s not something that can be changed overnight, but, finally, there might be some change.”

That said, there still are times when Cofer is more tempted to scratch his head than to use it to outfox the system—even in the midst of recent, but still E-v-e-r S-o S-l-o-w progress. For instance, he does a big “huh?” when he checks the water levels of Athens-area sources and sees an ample supply, as has been the case lately, and then reads the latest government missive that says water restrictions will be in place until further notice. They’re not as strict as they were in the beginning, but they still make peddling plants a challenge. 

“Sometimes I just don’t get what they’re thinking,” he said. “When we have an abundance of water, we should be able to use it. When the water’s short, we need to conserve it. We’re not the enemy here. We’re green. We’re the first environmentalists. Yet the rules continue to devastate the businesses that do that. Pardon my French, but that’s just ‘bass-ackward.’”

Or, at the very least, ironic.