Meanwhile, East of Eden

"The water came in a 30 year cycle. There would be five to six wet and wonderful years when there might be 19- 25 inches of rain, and the land would shout with grass. Then there would come six to seven pretty good years, with 12 - 16 inches of rain. And then the dry years would come..."

                                       John Steinbeck, "East of Eden"

Steinbeck summed it up pretty accurately, and so here we are in the midst of one wet and wonderful year, with the only detractor being that with so many dry years in a row before this, the land is scarcely capable of holding all this water.

Dry creeks filled with drought-killed trees are flooding for the first time in years and carrying the debris downstream. Sinkholes of formerly parched earth are opening up underneath the streets in southern California and swallowing cars whole, and 40 year-old trees are finding that even harder than surviving the droughts, surviving the deluge that comes after the drought is even more impossible.

And so it is in my neighborhood. Yesterday we had an astonishing 15 inches of rain on our hilltop, thanks to three micro-bursts which caused literal walls of water to fall around us. 50 mph wind gusts took out five of the neighbor's trees, narrowly missing our property.

The community effort which occurred immediately after these tree falls was nothing short of amazing; in less than 15 minutes there were at least 10 neighbors, half with chainsaws, hacking off branches, stacking logs and clearing the road. It was heartening to see, and made me realize what a wonderful neighborhood we live in.

But as a result of so many trees in the area coming down, we also lost power for about 12 hours on a very chilly and windy day. I sent Big Ag a text with one word:  GENERATOR. We've been bickering over the last several years about whether or not we needed one, and thankfully (or not) Mother Nature saw to it that a combination of necessity and comfort won this argument.  

So that night, we cooked dinner indoors, had a lamp on and ran our pellet stove until we were warm and our bellies full. I am as proud of that new generator as I would be of a Mercedes -- prouder even, because it's much more practical for where we live and we'll probably have it longer than we have any car we currently own. 

Today the power is back on and the cleanup has begun all over the state as we slog our way through this "wet and wonderful" year, ever mindful that too much water is still preferable over not enough. We'll take the downed trees, flooding and power outages over endless sunshine any day of the year. Because just like Steinbeck points out, the dry years are always coming.

Just not today.

It's all about water

The first week in March, residents of my area will have the chance to vote either for or against formation of a new water district to manage the dwindling groundwater levels in our basin. All over the county there are "Yes on Water District" and of course "No on Water District" signs.

The conflict has been civil thus far, with both sides respectfully disagreeing with the other. My boss, for instance, is a "vote yes" kind of guy, as most vineyard owners are. We, owning just under two acres, are a "no" family.  It's not so much the idea of a water district we're against -- a different district make-up and we probably would have voted yes for it -- it's just that we're uncomfortable with the make-up of members and how they are chosen. 

If no water district is chosen, the County will end up managing the basin, something they've said they are prepared and ready to do.

Anyway, the proposed district's make-up goes like this: Three members are homeowners, voted in by other homeowners. The other nine seats are chosen via vote for slots representing the size of the acreage you own. So there are three slots for large landowners, three for medium landowners, and three for small landowners.

Wherein lies the problem. Because a "small" landowner is defined as owning 30 acres or less. Unfortunately most of the real "small" landowners here -- the ones whose wells have been going dry -- own 5 acres or less. 

Everyone I personally know who owns over 20 acres is growing something on it -- either alfalfa, wine grapes, or olive trees. And members will be chosen by voters being allowed one vote per acre. Meaning that the business people growing wine grapes on their 30 acres will have 30 votes, versus our two votes for our small holding of just two acres. Thus, the category that should be fighting for the little guy probably will not be, as they're not so little after all.

One morning at work about six months ago I met a very lovely older gentleman who owns a small winery and 30 acres of land not far from where we are. We had a very respectful discussion about water and water rights. His position is identical to that of most of the larger landowners who are growing something on their land -- they consider the water under their property to be theirs, to use as they wish. 

In his words, "The day someone comes to my gate with a meter they want to put on my well -- so they can know how much water I'm using -- is the day I meet them at the gate with a shotgun. It's my water and I'll use it as I please." This is an exact quote.

I tried mentioning to him that the aquifer under our feet was more like the air we breathe -- his air does not stay directly on his property for his use, as air flows. The water flowing underground onto his property comes from somewhere and (if there's any left) goes somewhere else -- probably to his neighbor's. It didn't matter. I think since all he could see from his back patio was his land and his vineyard, he also believes it all must be his water underground, too. And so we elected to disagree on the topic of water rights.

But that gentleman could very well end up representing us "small" landowners on the new water district board, should it go through. He's got 30 votes after all. If he decides to run, he'll get lots of help with election costs from his business friends, who are larger grape-growers he's chummy with who would probably love to see him on the board, due to his sympathies towards large landowner water usage. And that scares me. 

So I will be voting "no" on the new water district, because, although County control is not ideal, I'm more confident they will take our needs into account than a grape grower whose livelihood relies on them being able to use water, at will, to keep their tonnage weights up and their profits good. If there were endless water, that would not be an issue, but until we have a permanent solution in hand for our water woes, conservation is the order of the day -- for everyone, whether you own 2 acres or 2,500. 

I'm not confident that a "fox guarding the hen house" situation is what's needed here.

Wild weather

Yes, that is snow!

After a couple of crazy Pacific storms, we awoke to sunshine this morning as the ground gradually dries out and  the songbirds emerge to sing again. As the skies cleared, we even noticed there was snow on some of the highest peaks of the Coast Range, probably in southern Big Sir.

We Californians are a tender lot (as far as weather goes; in earthquakes, we are storm troopers) and an inch of rain in 24 hours is a very big deal for us. But this time, in addition to the scary, wet stuff falling from the sky, we actually did have some damaging winds which took out a couple of residences, several garden sheds, and even a huge water tank.

And while it was no polar vortex or Hurricane Katrina, we did wake to strong thunderstorms which rained, hailed and generally blew us around most of yesterday.

This little sparrow seems glad it's stopped raining.

One thing is for sure, we needed the water, and honestly, we need about 15 more storms just like it to even begin to make a dent in the drought.

While I don't hope for any more damage to property, I certainly would like to see another 15 inches of rain. And since snow in the high hills equals water in our reservoirs, I say bring on the white stuff, too.

Sputnik demonstrates appropriate anti-hypothermia techniques for stormy weather.

Bucket List

I have two items on my so-called "Bucket List" of things I want to do before I die. I've been blessed to lead an incredibly varied life, working in several different professions and living through some interesting times. So thankfully, my list is not long. I think everyone should have a bucket list though, and everyone should have some kind of a plan in place to git 'er done, as they say, before kicking said bucket. 

Mine is as follows:

1.  I'd like to live in a climate with four true seasons, including some (but hopefully not a huge amount of) snow. Washington State or northern Idaho is in, Wisconsin and Minnesota are out. 

It should have a true fall, starting sometime in September.  Spring can start later than here, maybe April or even May. Mild summer, relatively speaking.

You may surmise from this that I am tired of only being able to wear sweaters four months out of the year, and not every day at that. That's true. I am also tired of, and increasingly unable to deal physically with, heat. Today, for example, it's 80 degrees. Not a bad temperature to be outdoors in at all, but kind of kills the mood for decorating the house or baking holiday cookies, believe me.

2. I really, really, really want to see the Aurora Borealis, or Northern Lights. I am hoping to combine #1 and #2, even if it only happens from my back porch once or twice in my lifetime. That's all I need to check off the box.

As Big Ag and I head into our mid-50s, these two items play large in my mind, although I am happy where we are currently living...for the present. Which means the next 10 years. We're close to our kids and close to family. Sometimes things are fine for the present, but you know there's not going to work, long-term in your future, though. Some men are like that. So are some states.

One thing Big Ag and I both agree on that helps this decision a lot is that we know we cannot afford to continue living here once we retire. California is one expensive state to live in, mostly because real estate is so pricey. (Even if you own your own home outright, you will still be paying a huge property tax bill based on the estimated worth of your home.) Add to that some of the most expensive gasoline in the nation, sky-high utility bills, and just the general cost of doing business, and this is a tough town to stay in once you aren't earning anything and are living off your social security and savings.

My idea is to go where you can save the most money if you want to last to the end of life's competition in good shape. And sell high and buy low whenever possible. If you're leaving California, that's easy, because real estate values are so incredibly over-inflated in the first place.

A dear friend relocated to Idaho recently and called me, so excited to tell me about paying her vehicle registration renewal fees. Here in California it was costing her about $400 a year to do this. In Idaho it cost her $35, every other year. It turns out not only do they give a discount to seniors on their auto registration, they will also cut your property tax bill if you earn less than a certain amount each year. 

Our other big concern is water. There is not enough of it here. And as has been true for eons of human and prehistoric history, everything (including creatures on two and four legs) has to follow the water. So we'll be looking for a place that gets a lot more rainfall, with additional water in the form of snowfall, to make survival a little easier. 

People from out of state are always shocked when I tell them our well lies 600 feet below the surface of our land and that water costs us at least $100 a month in electricity to bring it up from that depth. I tell them, "you ain't seen nothin' yet." The aquifer we're drawing out of is currently in decline, and people are having to drill deeper and deeper. And once you get to about 1,000 feet, there are huge amounts or boron or worse, the possibility of going "artesian" which means suffer-flavored, extremely mineral water that isn't always drinkable without filtration and settling. Is that sustainable long term? I don't know. I won't be here to see it.

So in springtime we plan on taking a trip, a scouting trip, up to the Northwest to look at neighborhoods and visit with friends who have already relocated there. Who knows, in another 500 years people like us may be known as the first of the  Great Northern Migration, following the water to more northern latitudes as climate change takes hold for real. 

One thing that's for sure is that when your bucket list is also your retirement plan, if you live long enough the odds are good you will get to live out your list as well. So while I'm not buying sweaters or snow throwers yet, it's a safe bet to say both are in my future.

Gonna get some water in that "Bucket List" bucket.

Drought solutions

Future flagstone patio!

As I am writing this, there is the whine of a tractor in the back yard as the landscape guys scrape off several hundred square feet of dead lawn in preparation for a flagstone patio and fire pit that will go in its place. All over the western US, people are starting to do the same thing as we are -- come up with backyard alternatives to the water-sucking lawns we no longer have enough water for.

There are lots of alternatives to grass, depending on one's budget. The flagstone patio, gravel fire pit and wood bark with a few drought-tolerant plants scattered around is pretty medium-cost. Decking is about three times as much. Artificial grass is yet another popular alternative. Leaving dead grass or dirt to just sit there costs nothing, of course, except for aesthetics and resale value. 

Future fire pit (mmmm, s'mores!)

But whatever your constraints, there is something everyone can do to lessen the drought, and killing the lawn is by far the easiest.

What we can't do is keep on watering as we have been over the last 50 years. In the last month or so I've been both to Los Angeles and Fresno, both of which are still extremely green in comparison to the county I live in. On the one hand, that's a positive because it means people here in my home county really do understand that life has to change, and are willing to do what it takes to change it. I'm proud of myself, and my friends and neighbors for that. 

On the other hand, it also means that cities with hundreds of thousands (millions for LA) of people are still not getting the message, and living life as usual. Ugh.

On another homesteading blog I read frequently, a Los Angeles couple stressed the importance of keeping trees watered in the area because trees provide shade and are beautiful. But if the trees are not native to the area, watering them is just kicking the rock down the road a little more. We need to deal with the ridiculous things we've planted in the name of them being beautiful and realize there are a lot of beautiful things we don't have here: Fireflies. Ponds. Snow. And you know what? We are OK without them. They don't belong here, but there are many, many other beautiful things that do belong here, in our dry Mediterranean climate. We're not starved for beauty by any means.

And so, here in SLO County, the waiting list for landscapers to come and do lawn removal and backyard renovation is long, as people get in on the act and start to live a different life than what their parents did. 

As for us, I'm exciting about having a new entertaining space, and although I will miss the cool green grass outside the back windows, let's face it -- it really never belonged here in the first place.

Tomatoes in an arid land

This last week I have been up to my elbows in tomatoes, putting up spaghetti sauce, paste, and salsa for winter. This is a mostly enjoyable activity, but this year, due to triple digit temperatures and our ongoing drought, it's been painful. Painful to stand over a hot boiling stock pot blanching tomatoes as the steam rises, and painful to see the water running down the drain as I clean the blanched tomatoes, separating the meat from the seeds and skins before running another stock pot full of water to can them once they are mixed with onions and spices and are sauce. Water, water everywhere. And not a drop to drink -- if you are using it to can. That won't do.

Promotional pic for the Victorio Food Mill

And so I purchased this: A hand-crank food strainer which can separate the skins and seeds without having to blanch the tomatoes first or even rinse them in water (except to lightly clean them before starting). This will not only save time and help keep the house cool but will also save gallons of water.

I used it this morning and was amazed how something probably invented in the late 19th century could make life in the early 21st century so much easier. All morning long, I processed tomatoes...probably 40 pounds total. There was no heat on, no electricity being used...just the quiet churning of the arm turning tomatoes into paste. Both the house and the stovetop stayed cool as the heat blazed outside. I listened to Dave Brubeck on Pandora and worked through the morning, freezing my paste once I'd finished until I process enough that it makes sense to turn on the canner. I might do it next week when it cools off...or I might do it in November when I'll be more grateful for a warm kitchen. 

Either way, today I'm enjoying the feeling when you've purchased something and realized it was totally worth the investment...in comfort, in conservation of energy, and in efficiency. Winner!

Dying Nicely

Our summer project of killing half our lawn is already off to a good start. As you can see, much of it is brown and the good news is, everything that is brown is what we WANT to get rid of. In other words, the lawn we are keeping is staying green and the lawn we're removing is dying nicely. Some more will die as the summer wears on, but we're off to a really good start.

In a way it bothers me to kill a healthy lawn; that is the farmer in me whose job it is to keep things green and growing whenever possible. But sometimes having to kill something is inevitable.  I do not smile when I see my dead lawn, instead I tend to look down at those moments and remember why it is that I have to kill it: It's so we can plant some appropriate plants in the space, or add additional patio area.  It's also so I'm not throwing good drinking water on a crop that provides nothing for us but something to look at and walk on. And most importantly, it's because if everyone is cutting back -- and even if they are not -- using less water during a drought is the right thing to do.

A time to die.

Any good farmer or homesteader should have trouble with killing living things; the day it doesn't bother you is the day you need to pack it in, buy a condo in the city, and seek the services of a professional therapist, because taking pleasure or just not caring about the times when you have to be a participant in the taking of any life is just, well, creepy.  

I find when I have to kill something, whether it's a plant or a creature, I go down  little checklist in my mind.  Question One: Is the killing necessary so that something else may live or so that something does not suffer? Question Two: Is there a better way to accomplish this rather than taking said life?  If the answer to #1 is yes, or the answer to #2 is no, then I know what I have to do.  But truthfully, there isn't a spider, ant trail, chicken or patch of grass I don't run through the aforementioned checklist with before commencing with killing it. 

Thankfully today it is only part of a lawn that has to die here, and I can honestly look forward to the things that are going to take its place.  But no matter what, I am cognizant of the fact that as the homesteader here on this particular patch of land, part of my job is deciding what lives and what dies. It's a responsibility I hope I never take lightly.

More lawn removal

Here's an ariel shot of the domestic end of our homestead -- our house and yard. Our acreage is off to the left side of this photo and can't be seen in it, but it's there, just down the hill beyond those trees.

If you see the highlighted areas in the image, that represents the second portion of lawn we will be killing and getting rid of this summer, as part of our back yard renovation plan. As you can see, the front yard has already had its lawn removed and drought-tolerant landscaping has been put in.

So if we took out half the lawn in putting in our front yard landscaping, raised beds, and chicken coop/run on the right side of the house, this new project will remove about half of the half that's left. Meaning in three years, we've taken out 75 percent of our water sucking, useless, non-edible lawn, which should bring us to a point of well exceeding the State's mandate that we reduce usage by 25 percent, due to the current drought.  

I'd love to take out even more, but we are leaving a bit of lawn on the back and side of the house, first because we can't landscape over our septic tank, and second because we plan on having a fire pit and want to be able to apply the sprinklers to it if it's ever necessary, since it's rather close to the house.

So I'm already excited, dreaming of what's going to go onto those highlighted areas -- more Spanish lavender, more red hot pokers, and more ceanothus, plus some other natives I've been wanting to try -- including milkweed, main food for the lovely Monarch Butterflies that live around here part of the year. Plus a larger patio area for entertaining. Who says water conservation can't be beautiful?

And the best part is that easiest phase of the project comes  first: shutting off the water in those zones, sitting back and letting the summer sun bake the unwanted portions of lawn into dead, yellow straw, which we can then just landscape over. 

And then the creative planning and real physical work begins, probably next winter.

All part of moving things forward in a (very) dry land.

The small things

Mega-drought.

Living during a time of mega-drought, you have to learn to hang on to hope.  The world is finally waking up to the reality of climate change, after many, many years of angry denial and turning the issue into a political football.  Is there anyone left out there who still doesn't believe? Probably, but it no longer matters any more.  Just like the "theory" of gravity, climate change is not something you have to believe in for its effects be felt.

Last night I was driving through some vineyards with Big Ag and looking at the 1000-foot wells, the giant uncovered reservoirs, and the acres and acres of grapes we grow here.  And I thought of another place we used to live, which had nothing but almond orchards, as far as the eye could see.

And I asked my man, who is proficient in All Things Agricultural, if all of this was sustainable, long-term.  He thought about it for a minute -- actually so long I thought he might have forgotten the question -- before answering, "probably not, long term."  And what was long-term in his books, I asked? 20 years until it first gets ugly, he said, and 100 years before most of it is finally gone.

He said that our great-grandchildren would see ghost orchards and ghost vineyards, which brought to my mind how local hikers sometimes stumble upon ghost towns up in the Sierra Nevada Mountains -- the empty, decaying remnants of the boom towns from the Great California Gold Rush of 1849. Maybe our days will be known as the century of the Great California Agricultural Rush, from 1950 - 2050, give or take a few years.  Who knows?

But I will tell you something.  If you focus on those things, particularly if you are a sensitive person who tries to live a "do no harm" kind of lifestyle, you will find yourself enormously depressed at what the future holds.  So my advice is this: Be aware, but don't dwell on it. Here is the one and only thing you can do to make a difference: You can do what you can, where you are. And that's about it, so you might as well stop worrying.

Local, small production vineyard!

The only place you can really change things is what goes on in and around your own dwelling. You can set good limits and you can set a good example, and that is about it.

In an era of decline, you can learn to use less and make do with less, and just go on with your life in that way. Because, realistically, that is all you can do.  You are not going to convince the almond growers to uproot their trees and bankrupt their very profitable imports to China, all in the name of future generations. Not gonna happen. You are not going to convince anyone that there is probably a limit to how deep a well can be dug, and that aquifers that have been around since the glaciers last retreated are not a renewable resource.

So be mindful and do what makes you happy. Yesterday, for instance, I was thrilled to find a nice picnic basket and a used salad spinner at the thrift store, because neither of those things need to be new for me to use and enjoy them.

New acquisitions.

That picnic basket and salad spinner made me happy because I know nothing new -- not the plastic or the wood -- was culled or made for me to buy it second-hand.  And they cost a total of six bucks between the two. Plus it was a sunny day and while a sunny day means no rain, well, that doesn't mean I should feel guilty and not enjoy it.  I'm not in charge of when it rains.

Part of this state of being -- the peace of mind before The Great Decline -- comes because, to some extent, I realize we are all being swept along in a human current that we can only swim against so much.  So ultimately the descendants of the  homesteaders, the off-gridders and the preppers will more than likely share the same future as those of the SUV-gas guzzling, Keurig-cup using, styrofoam plate dining and everything-new demographic, with not much to be done about it.

Your only job is to do what you can, and what will leave you with a clean conscience, knowing you did everything you could.  So use less water, but enjoy the sunshine, and, although it seems strange, enjoy being the last generation for whom everything was once possible.

The Paper Plate Conundrum

It's been all over the local news this week that the town of Cambria -- a seaside village nestled next to one of the most beautiful stretches of coastline in the world -- is going to run out of water sometime next month. Their well water has dropped to historically low levels during our drought, and they are getting down to the dregs of their little aquifer as we speak.

About two hours east of Cambria, in the Sierra Foothills, the town of Porterville is also at least partly dry.  Approximately 20 percent of the households in the town of 55,000 now lacks running water, due to declining water levels underground and, again, dry wells.

So far here at the homestead, we are OK on water, our taps still flow and we're still able to irrigate our crops and water our livestock.  But the neighbors across the street have had their well run dry, and are having to truck water in. How much longer can our good fortune last?  I don't know.

 But I've started to wonder if we should, like our Cambrian neighbors to the west of us, begin to take more drastic measures to cut down on water usage.

You see, since this water crisis, everyone in Cambria has switched to using paper plates and plastic utensils for dining.  But eating off paper plates is an environmental conundrum. On the one hand, there is no question that by the Cambria locals doing this in their homes, they are saving a precious local resource, which is water.  On the other hand, it takes energy (including water, but not local water) to manufacture anything like a paper plate, it takes gasoline and oil to ship a package of paper plates to the store, and it takes even more gasoline and oil to have the trash man come and pick up all those paper plates every Wednesday, once they're used and discarded, and ship it all to the dump.  Plus of course, it will take several years to break down in a landfill.

I used to hate paper plates and what they represented, until a last summer, when we were forced to use them for a couple of months whilst remodeling our kitchen. We broke them out once we had no running water in the kitchen and used them instead of regular dishes when we dined in.  

I hated it and felt very guilty, but when the electricity bill came in, I was shocked. It turned out we used a lot less electricity when we did not run our dishwasher, and used less propane when we were not using as much hot water to wash dishes in. Which meant conservation, but at the cost described above. We saved gasoline, oil and other western resources in using less electricity, but, then again, more of those same resources from probably other regions by using paper plates.

I think as climate change progresses, you are going to see similar conundrums, where people have to choose between what works locally for them and what we've traditionally seen as conservation strategies. Paper plates are probably the bane of the tree-saving crowd, but the messiah of the water-saving crowd. Growing local food to eat is great until local water becomes scarce, and then buying produce from the market actually saves your own water for other lifesaving purposes, like drinking.  

It's a very sad tale of hard choices, and if this drought persists here in the west and climate change alters living habits elsewhere, there may be a lot more of them to come.

First Day of Fall

The first day of fall in these parts always, and I do mean always, feels like summer.  Yesterday was no exception, it was about 90 degrees and sunny.  Fall creeps in steadily here, like smoke under the door, gentle, quiet and, at first, unnoticeable. She will first be providing us with colder evenings (low 50s and down into the 40s by next month), and then will mercifully keep shortening the length of the day by a minute or two until the heat can no longer make a stand during the afternoons. That's how it happens here.  The trees will not change color until November, and it will probably still feel like fall until just a couple of weeks before Christmas.  Then winter will set in for good and we will kiss our all-to-brief fall goodbye.

It is safe to say that I am weary of summer, yet I still count my blessings in regards to the many foggy, cold mornings we had in July and August, along with pleasant 80-degree days.  This summer was not a bad one at all, as far as temperatures go, but I am still ready for a change in seasons.

So now the wait for rainfall begins, especially at the end of this extremely dry year -- a record breaker out here in the west.  But before then we have a roof to repair and pellet stove to do the annual service on, so hopefully we can get all that done before the (hopefully) wet season sets in.

Fingers crossed on all accounts, especially for timely, heavy rain. 

In the meantime, we in the west wait earnestly for that first fallen leaf of autumn.

Conservation

California bears the dubious distinction of being one of those states where water conservation is not so much an option as a lifestyle, due to the fickle nature of the Mediterranean climate we live in, coupled with the weather pattern shifts Climate Change is bringing to the western states (well, every place, really).  

Yet, with each new drought and subsequent request that people conserve more, the question is inevitably asked:  How much more can we do?

California endured nasty droughts since before there was even a place called California, and most people do the right thing and use water wisely.  They are now being asked to reduce an additional 20 percent of water usage, which can be difficult if you kept up with the conservation measures you started doing in the late 1980's, during the last great drought.

That's the position we are in here at the Hot Flash Homestead.  We don't always flush (TMI?), we rarely wash our cars, and we've taken out almost all of our lawn.  So the 20 percent has to come from somewhere, and we've decided it's going to be here:

Yes, I think there's still room to save water in the bath and shower.  Starting now, we will be recycling the bathtub water, using a siphon and tubing, out to what's left of our lawn.  This way we can drastically cut down on the water we're using to water.  Grey Water is safe to use on lawn, shrubs and trees -- just not on vegetables.  Even more so since I make all our soap from gentle, natural ingredients, easily biodegradable, without any harsh chemicals. 


We are also looking at water collection barrels, which would allow our roof's rain runoff to be stored for drier months.

I'm not sure if it will get us to a 20 percent reduction in use since we already conserve so much, but it will help.

Of course the biggest and best changes would come if everyone in the state removed most of their lawns, if golf courses shut down or changed over to AstroTurf, and if swimming pools, agricultural ponding basins or reservoirs were covered to prevent evaporation.  But at this point, I guess that's asking too much of people.  So for now, we all do a little, and hope it helps a lot.

But, I suppose every drop in the bucket helps. And so we adjust our usage downward ... one more time.

Green in the midst of drought

As any Californian can tell you, right now we are in the midst of an extreme and historic drought.  We've had a few years that have been light on rain, and the last 12 months have been bone dry, with less than an inch of rain falling.  

But in the midst of all this brown, I've had something of a green revelation:  In drought conditions, eating a more vegetarian diet is a great thing to do.  Raising plants uses less water than raising a large supply of animals, since animals require those same plants plus more water to drink, to keep their living spaces clean, etc.

My solution is not going to go completely vegetarian, but rather mostly vegetarian for the foreseeable future.  We still plan on raising two hogs (split between another couple and ourselves) for our chest freezer this spring, but with the right kind of planning, that one hog could provide the bulk of our meat for an entire year, and since it's not factory-farmed or butchered, we can use water more wisely while raising them than you could on a larger scale. Our other source of animal protein will be our laying hens, since their water use is negligible, and they provide such a delicious product -- eggs!

And in the meantime, searching for that vegan chocolate mousse I made for our dinner party the other night has led me to several lovely vegan and vegetarian websites, chock full of yummy recipes, which has me excited to begin to eat more vegetarian meals. I think we could easily make do eating meat just once or twice a week, and there's no question that not only our bodies, but also our geographic region, would be the better for having a less water-intensive diet. 

In the midst of drought, bring on the green, I say.

Makin' Rain

So what's a cloudy day like this good for?  Not rain.  Nope, on this dry but cloudy day, I'm running the sprinklers (which is happening in this picture, if you look to the far left).  Over the last couple of days I've noticed our last stretch of remaining lawn in the back yard has taken on a definite yellow-ish cast, indicative of a lack of water.

It's only March, which in a normal year would usually mean our watering schedule would still be set for winter....a 10 minute sip of water, once a week, just to cover any dry weeks between storms.  You don't usually dare do more than that, because those regular rainstorms provide more than enough potential water to soak your yard nicely.  But in this very dry year, that 10 minutes weekly is just not cutting it, so last night I adjusted the watering schedule on the timer to water longer and more often.  And with a long stretch of clear weather in sight, it looks like we're going to be headed into a very, very brown and dry summer.

It's not a good sign.

While one or two dry years won't change the fate of our world, a longer period would.  Steve, the owner of the winery we like to frequent, was telling us a couple of weeks ago he's already had to start up his wells to water his vineyards, which means him, us and all our neighbors are all taxing the aquifer a little more than normal in this dry year.  And in an area of falling aquifer levels, that's never a good thing.

The other problem is the mineral content of our well water, which is high. In a municipal area, you'd just call it extremely hard water, capable of clogging your pipes and making your glassware opaque.  But in agriculture it's different. Every year, this area counts on some good, drenching rain to remove the built-up minerals from the soil and wash them away, so the rain deficit is a problem here, too, as plants don't grow as well in soil with mineral build-up.

The only bright spot is that, with so little rainfall, the brush around the area has not grown up as green or as thickly as it sometimes does.  This means that we probably have a lower wildfire risk than usual. But unfortunately, it also means that some wildlife, like deer, will have a harder time finding forage.  

But since it's a little late for enough rainfall to bring our totals back to rainfall, we'll just push through and look towards next year for some better rain totals.  

Wet and wild afternoon

Dark skies at noon

It's been a dry year so far, but today the rain poured down for about an hour or so.  It probably won't do much to improve our precipitation stats, but it was a welcome change from our un-seasonably sunny and warm winter so far.  

I was happy to see it, because we water our vegetable garden with well water. And our well water is extremely high in mineral content, as you can see by residue on the Mason jar I use to heat the water for our coffee every morning.  It's delicious water, but needless to say, we won't be needing any calcium supplements anytime soon.

Mineral Build-up

The cure

So this afternoon, even though it was a cool 46 degrees when it started raining, I ran outside to catch some roof runoff so I could water our raised vegetable beds.  Mineral-rich water is not harmful to drink or even to water your plants with, but if you water with it often enough (as we do through the dry seasons and in winter if there's no rain) those minerals will build-up in the soil and can affect plant growth and production.  Out in the fields, there's not much you can do about this but pray for heavy rains, but with raised garden or vegetable beds you can give them a good wash-out by collecting rainwater and soaking your beds with it.

While I was out there, though, the sky grew extremely dark and the temperature dropped at least 10 degrees...and the rain went from pelting to slushy.  Nonetheless, I stayed at my post, doing bucket duty until all the beds (and I) were thoroughly soaked and my fingers were numb and aching from the cold.  It may seem silly to cry cold when much of the nation is experiencing a blizzard as I write this, but standing outside in the wind and rain, soaking wet, when it's only in the high '30's is cold, believe me. 

But then I had the privilege of coming indoors for my farmer's reward....some hot spiced tea, a good read, and the pellet stove warming me from head to toe and drying my wet clothes. 

All for some rain water.  Precious rain water. Totally worth it.

My disappointment with Fukuoka

I recently finished reading Masanobu Fukuoka's "Sowing Seeds in The Desert," which has become something of a must-read for homesteaders and conservationists recently, as was his older book, "The One-Straw Revolution."

While there are some things I really appreciate about his low-interference approach to growing vegetables and trees, when he steps into the larger arena of reining in the growing desertification of our planet, I think he makes a huge miss, not a hit.

The idea of growing non-native species in areas of land which have become deserts is initially appealing; after all, who doesn't think that stopping good land from becoming a desert is a great idea.  But it's only a good idea on the surface.  By introducing non-native legumes and grass species to a landscape that has never produced them, they have the potential ability to spread and eventually crowd out native plants.  Native plants are designed to feed the native wildlife at an appropriate pace (think about what happened when humans began growing grains in the grasslands of the midwest and the wild rabbit population exploded).  In other words, if you start monkeying around with the wild landscape, you do so at great risk to what native plants and wildlife are left in the surrounding areas.

As far as the destruction that's taken place on our planet due to commercial agriculture, I completely agree with him about its effects, especially when he discusses places that were once rainforests and are now barren fields where commercial crops were briefly grown and then failed, once the soil's nutrients were used up.  But I don't believe, sadly, you can just seed-bomb and grow a new rainforest there.  

But, left alone, some places could indeed revert to something close to what they once were, if allowed to do so.  If you take California's San Joaquin Valley as an example (where I lived for 25 years), it is a great example of a piece of land that's been used for a purpose that, under normal circumstances, Mother Nature would never have allowed. Crops have been grown, soil has been enriched, and large quantities of water have been brought in, diverted from other places.  

Now, if for some reason the world had to leave this area suddenly and not grow there anymore, eventually, with time, the native grasses would once again populate the area.  If you restored the rivers that used to flow there by un-doing the mountain dams, you'd even have some gorgeous, lush greenery in places.  But most of the area would, naturally and as God created it, be a dry grassland with some vernal pools here and there, greener as you got closer to the Sierras.  And while I am sure you could green up the whole place by introducing clovers and other green covers, that's no more natural for that area than rows of crops and orchards are.

Having said all this, I am thinking that perhaps I got started with the wrong Fukuoka book. I am actually looking forward to reading his other titles, which apparently deal with more that the small-scale farmer can do on his or her own land.  Those ideas and suggestions may be more practical for me and therefore, more understandable.  I could certainly see adding some, say, alfalfa and clover to our pastureland to increase its ability to feed our future livestock.  

But as for changing the world, my own opinion is that mankind has done quite enough of that, and that the best thing we can do is leave the truly damaged places (like former rain forests) alone, to recover and to heal -- and either revert to what they once were, or become something completely new and different.