LAKEPORT, Calif. — Maria Valadez would like everyone to chill out.
Every election, the prickly Lake County registrar follows California’s litany of voting laws and certifies thousands of ballots by the time she is required to. And every year, people still complain.
“The state gave us a deadline, we meet the deadline,” an exasperated Valadez said from her small office in Lakeport as a handful of staffers sat at computers verifying signatures more than two weeks after election day, when they had tallied fewer than half of the votes. “I just don’t understand, why do we need to rush?”
In a state known for its slow processing of election results, Lake County, with only about 38,000 voters, is often the slowest of them all.
For years, the rural Northern California county — known for local disputes over marijuana cultivation and several brutal wildfires — has been among the state’s last to announce votes after elections, often frustrating candidates and befuddling political pundits.
The reason appears to be a combination of factors, including an under-resourced elections budget in one of California’s smaller, lower-income counties and a desire to keep a meticulous, steady process that was instilled by trusted staff decades ago, even as technology advances.
“Elections are a lot of security, transparency and accountability. That’s what we do here. And it has been like this for all of the years I’ve worked here,” said Valadez, who was hired in 1995 and trained by the prior registrar, who was hired in 1977. “We have a lot of checks and balances. We do them as we go.”
She repeated: “We have a deadline, we meet the deadline.”
State law requires counties to finalize their official results 30 days after the election, this year by Dec. 5. Though Valadez is adamant that she’ll make it, the pace of progress is startling compared to most of the country. Shortly before midnight on election night, Lake County reported just 5,784 ballots. A few thousand more have been counted since. Yet by Thursday — 16 days after the election — Lake County still had more than 10,000 ballots left to count, according to the secretary of state.
“I’m not unsympathetic to the challenges that come with unfunded top-down mandates from Sacramento, but there is a pattern of sheer awfulness with Lake County in particular going back at least a decade and they’ve earned all the scorn coming their way,” Rob Pyers, who operates the election guide California Target Book, said on social media last week.
He said Lake County is “in the running for slowest election department worldwide.”
This year, that may not matter much. Unlike some other counties in California, where daily ballot counts are still changing results in tight races for the House of Representatives that will determine the size of Republicans’ majority in Washington, Lake County did not have many hot contests on the ballot.
Still, the slow count means residents are waiting to find out who will serve on local schools boards, the Clear Lake City Council and the county board of supervisors.
Lake County’s lag has delayed statewide outcomes before.
In the 2014 primary election, the race for state controller was razor thin. California voters had to wait a month to know who would compete in the general election as Lake County officials took their time with the final ballots even as they were barraged with phone calls from politicos feverishly refreshing their browsers for updates.
It was Lake County that declared Betty Yee had edged out fellow Democrat John Perez by fewer than 500 votes and would advance. The county met its deadline. Democracy lived on.
Now, it’s a different world than when Valadez first started working in elections 30 years ago, and her department’s speed — or lack thereof — has spurred conspiracy theories like those inflamed by Donald Trump when he lost the election in 2020.
As Valadez and her staff calmly processed ballots Wednesday, an angry man from North Dakota called to inquire about what’s taking so long.
Conservatives have singled out Lake County on social media as proof that deep blue California is aiming to rig elections. The man who lives 1,600 miles east and can’t vote in Lake County suggested something nefarious was going on.
Valadez invited him to visit her office off the shore of Clear Lake, to her tightknit community where the security guard at the courthouse next door calls entrants “kiddo.” She has nothing to hide, she said.
“We take our job very seriously,” Valadez said of her small staff. “The integrity of my work is very important to me.”
California is among the slowest states to call elections not only because of its huge population, but also because of voting laws designed to increase voter participation, including sending all registered voters a ballot by mail, which can prolong when some races are called.
“California deserves all the scorn it gets for holding up House election results,” screamed a headline last week in the New York Post. The article went on:
“Hey, bud, what’s the rush? seems to be Golden State officials’ work ethic.”
Derek Tisler, who focuses on elections as counsel for the Brennan Center for Justice, confirmed that Lake County is among the slowest to process ballots in the U.S. this year. But that’s OK, he said.
“We get impatient, but I think everyone would agree that at the end of the day, we want things to be accurate,” Tisler said. “That is what election officials are going to prioritize. It makes sense they’re doing things in a way that they feel confident in.”
As a wall of rain beat down this week on most of Lake County, a place that struggles with meth and opioid abuse, where 73% of public school students qualify for free and reduced-price meals, Valadez said she’s doing her best “within staffing and resource limitations.”
The Lake County registrar’s office has five full time-employees, and one is currently on leave. A few retirees have been added as temporary help. The county — population: 67,000 — does not have a high-speed vote counting machine, instead verifying everything by hand.
Kim Alexander, president of the nonpartisan California Voter Foundation, said places like Lake County don’t get the same resources as bigger tourism destinations with urban centers and higher property taxes. The state does not help counties pay for elections staff or voting equipment even as it issues more mandates, she said, making local officials’ jobs harder and uneven, depending on where they live.
“I get really frustrated when I hear lawmakers complaining about how long it takes to count, because they could actually do something about it,” Alexander said. “If elections were not a chronically underfunded government service, we could have faster results.”
Valadez also pointed to voting preferences as a potential reason for the timing of the county’s results. Unlike a growing number of counties, Lake County does not offer voting centers, a hybrid model that allows voters to drop off ballots several days before the election.
Voters here prefer to vote in person at their neighborhood polling precincts and some are still getting used to receiving a ballot in the mail, Valadez said.
But even if Lake County got a boost in funding, and more voters sent their ballots in by mail early, it’s unclear if elections officials would change much of their decades-old strategy.
Wearing a bright red pixie cut and a Carhartt flanel, Diane Fridley, 71, worked to verify votes this week at a computer in the registrar’s office in Lakeport, scrolling her mouse across the screen to identify any issues with ballots.
For more than 40 years, Fridley was the Lake County registrar. When she retired in 2019, she passed the torch to Valadez. But in between babysitting her grandchildren, Fridley comes in to help around election season.
A Lake County native, Fridley remembers when voters had to bring their birth certificates to their polling stations. She has lived through the days of hanging chads. As someone who likes to have the same breakfast every morning — a slice of apple pie — and is hypervigilant about counting ballots, all the changes have been hard, but exciting.
“Yeah, it takes us a little longer, but we dot our I’s and we cross our Ts,” she said. “We’re positive whatever totals we have are correct. I’m not saying other counties don’t do that, but we try to be perfect.”
Fridley and Valadez exchanged a knowing look.
“There’s a deadline for a reason,” Fridley said, echoing Valadez. “We always meet the deadline.”
