FEMA brings temporary voting site to Upper Creek Precinct

Neighbors chatted about everything from road closures to sick pets to recent long work weeks.

And people — more people than usual — cast their ballots.

“We’ve had about 106 or 108,” said Chief Judge Richard Coleman at around 1:30. “I’ve worked at this precinct the last 18 years and that’s more than we normally see. It’s been steady, but we haven’t been overwhelmed.”

Upper Creek’s usual polling place, the fellowship hall of Smyrna Baptist Church, was out of commission, flooded by Upper Creek during Hurricane Helene in late September.

It was the only Burke County voting site that suffered damage, although counties west of here had it much worse during a storm that left more than 120 people in Western North Carolina dead and did billions of dollars’ worth of damage.

Enter the Federal Emergency Management Agency.

At the behest of Burke Director of Elections Kenny Rhyne, FEMA deployed a huge, aluminum-framed tent, complete with flooring.

“We’re dry,” said poll worker Terry Weekley. “It could have been worse. The further up the mountain you go, the people are in a lot worse conditions than we are.”

The tent was as secure as any other voting stop: It was guarded around the clock the day and night prior to the election.

It was almost uncomfortably cool, but it kept folks out of the rain long enough to do their civic duty.

“It’s been great except for being a little chilly and damp,” said poll worker Susan Keaton. “But everyone has been very understanding.”

‘Everyone’ in this case included more than just voters — several television stations and the BBC network had already visited the site as of early afternoon Tuesday.

Nothing attracts TV cameras like disasters.

Despite the media attention, this was, in many ways, Election Day the way it used to be.

Minutes after filling out her ballot, Kendall Townsend said coloring in the rectangular bubbles reminded her of the achievement tests many of us took in school.

There was more reminiscing as well.

Longtime voters in the precinct talked about the tiny, 8-by-8 cabin resembling a fruit stand that once served as a polling place for the precinct, as well as an old, one-room schoolhouse on nearby Fish Hatchery Road that also hosted voting for a time.

At that site, Townsend said, workers would sometimes set up a cardboard box so kids could cast their own “ballots.”

“It made them feel included,” Townsend said with a smile.

But with suspicions about voter fraud — which, statistically speaking, occurs so rarely as to be virtually nonexistent — quaint notions like kids’ ballots are strictly a relic of the past.

Civility, however, is still alive on the banks of Upper Creek.

Despite the contentious nature of the presidential election between Republican Donald Trump and Democrat Kamala Harris, this was a bastion of common courtesy on both sides.

“Things have gone really well. Any problems that have cropped up have been resolved easily,” Democrat observer Dan Huffman said.

At one point, a burly, bearded, stern-faced voter dressed in camo strolled in, proudly donning a bright red Trump cap. No one asked him to remove it, even though campaign clothing inside precincts is forbidden by law.

Granted, it was raining outside, so the gentleman needed a hat, and besides, he was the only voter in the tent.

And sometimes, in little country precincts, you have to pick your battles.

“Things have been smooth,” Keaton said. “We’ve had no complaints. People have been intrigued with the setup. It’s been fun.”

Outside, heaps of storm debris were piled at intervals along the roadway, awaiting pickup by county contractors.

Scraps of plastic and fabric, washed into the raging stream during the torrent a month ago, hung from creek-side trees like ghostly Halloween decorations.

Somewhere, frantic pundits debated the merits and foibles of the two major political parties.

Inside the tent, there was only the relentless tap-tap-tap of rain on the roof, the murmur of friendly banter between neighbors, and the pervasive sense that the America we once knew — the one not so deeply and bitterly divided — still exists, at least in Upper Creek.