FRESNO, Calif. — Right here in Fig Backyard, a suburb that creeps as much as the sting of the San Joaquin River, on land my neighbors desire not to think about as a floodplain, the rain began falling in late December and didn’t cease for 2 weeks. My garden become pond. Geese had been honking like they haven’t honked in years.

Because the final massive storm was nearing, I acquired a name from my aunt and uncle, California natives who high-tailed it to Cleveland a half century in the past. “You guys all proper?” they requested.

The pond had but to succeed in my entrance door. “I believe we’re going to be OK,” I stated.

I reminded them that there are seven dams on the San Joaquin. I don’t know of every other river in America that has been extra corralled by man. Over 90 % of its movement is shunted through canals and ditches to farmland that produces almonds, pistachios, desk grapes and mandarins. “Meals Grows The place Water Flows,” shout the indicators hanging from used-up cotton trailers alongside Route 99.

“Sure, I perceive all that,” my aunt stated. “However I heard on the information {that a} bomb cyclone is headed your approach.”

I’m a chronicler of menace as all California writers ultimately come to be, however in all my years writing about this place, I had by no means heard of such a factor. Then the storm blew by like every other. I made a decision to chalk up the bomb cyclone to some bored meteorologist who, like Charles Hatfield, the infamous California “rainmaker” within the 1910s, wanted a brand new technique to promote a storm.

The nice deluge of 2023 has come and gone and left us Californians questioning what to make of all of it. Will we shake our fists on the sky or thank the heavens? Easy methods to apprehend the lack of life and property alongside the reward of rain and snow which may break a decade’s drought?

In a state a thousand miles lengthy with 100 million acres of wildly completely different landscapes inside it, the way in which we inform the story is dependent upon which California we name dwelling.

I’ve been by a handful of floods, they usually wanted no hype: 1964, 1969, 1982 to 1983, 1986, 1995, 1997, 2005, 2017. A flood 12 months all the time breaks the drought years, or so my grandfather the raisin farmer informed it. Drought is California. Flood is California. Within the wettest years, rain and snowmelt coming down the rivers produce some 200 million acre-feet of water. Within the driest years, they produce 30 million. Between the extremes lies a mean 12 months, which occurs so sometimes that it’s a delusion we inform ourselves. So long as we hold religion within the common, it’s us and never nature in command.

Once we’re within the midst of drought, we’ve no reminiscence of flood. Once we’re within the midst of flood, we’ve no reminiscence of drought. Amnesia is how we constructed agriculture throughout marsh and desert and homes in floodplains and canyons of fireside.

There are two home windows for floods in California, they usually have an effect on completely different components of the state in numerous methods. The storms of December and January that fly off the Pacific Ocean wreck shoreline and heave large rocks and dirt down hillsides. They punch holes in roads that swallow automobiles. They swell creeks which have been sand for many years. They swamp the homes of farmworkers on a aspect of city the place flood management is the bond measure that by no means makes the poll.

This month’s storms took the lives of twenty-two individuals, together with a 43-year-old lady whose automobile was washed right into a winery in Sonoma and a 5-year-old boy who, on the drive to highschool along with his mom, was swept off by a surge of the Salinas River. This we mourn.

And but many people within the San Joaquin Valley watched the rain come down with reduction, realizing this may spell the tip of drought, realizing that the good water-moving system constructed by the federal and state governments greater than a half century in the past was as much as the duty, realizing the levees within the delta, dug by Chinese language laborers within the 1860s, had been nonetheless standing.

Now we await the second window of flood, from mid-January to early April, the one which comes with the solar. These floods happen when a heavy snowpack within the Sierra Nevada is met by heat rains — a so-called Pineapple Categorical.

I keep in mind one flood of this kind, the flood of 1997, as a result of it launched me to a spot the place the hubris, insanity and ingenuity of California’s defiance of nature was on full show: an unlimited basin of farmland simply 50 miles from my home that when held the most important physique of freshwater west of the Mississippi.

It was early February 1997, and the flood had began to fill the basin up. “Tulare Lake has come again to life,” my colleague from the Sacramento bureau of The Los Angeles Occasions shouted over the telephone.

What the hell was Tulare Lake? I pulled out my AAA map and there in a nook of Kings County, subsequent to the city of Corcoran, the cotton capital of the West, was a sq. of blue that designated the lake.

I acquired in my automobile and drove all the way down to Corcoran to see it. The floodwaters had been now pushing previous the contrivances of the cotton growers, previous dam, canal and ditch, previous pumps designed to ship rivers’ movement backward. The phantom lake, no less than a touch of it anyway, made sq. by the exhausting strains of levees, had discovered its outdated spot.

I climbed atop a large earthen levee on the base of a mud highway. The solar was excessive, it was balmy exterior, and I attempted to orient myself. That is cotton land, I muttered. Solely there was no earth to be discovered.

For 10 miles in a single route and 9 miles in one other route, an inland sea stretched earlier than me. Nature had come again. Geese and dirt hens, blue and white herons, pelicans stabbing at catfish and carp. The wind was whipping whitecaps previous phone poles.

What was this remade place? I requested myself.

At Tulare Lake, on the terminus of the Kings, Kaweah, Tule and Kern Rivers, 4 bands of Yokuts, individuals native to the area, had lived alongside the shore as late because the 1840s. The lake took up some 800 sq. miles, dominating the California map. It was shallow sufficient that the ladies scoured for mussels with their toes. The lads rode boats made out of bulrushes with a gap to spear fish.

The Indigenous individuals had been lengthy passed by the early Twenties, when the Boswells and Salyers, cotton farmers chased out of Georgia and Virginia by the boll weevil, confirmed up in Corcoran. The lake had been midway drained by all of the upstream farmers. The cotton growers dried up the remaining. They planted a brand new plantation. The South, its Black cotton pickers, its Jim Crow, rose up within the West.

When the epic flood of March 1969 rolled in, your entire experiment may need been written off as folly. All of the earth-moving on the planet wasn’t going to shore up the primary levee in opposition to the fixed lashing of waves. That’s when the cotton king J.G. Boswell reached out to a person on the opposite aspect of city who had 40 junk automobiles that will make an ideal buffer.

By the point Boswell was completed, he had bought 5,200 pancaked jalopies for $78,000. Utilizing cranes, his males laced eight miles of the massive curved levee with Chevys, Cadillacs, El Dorados, Pontiacs and Thunderbirds. It was a bumper-to-bumper bulwark. The lake ended up holding at 130 sq. miles. A cotton crop was salvaged.

Final week the farmer Don Cameron was standing on his sprawling land on the butt finish of the identical Kings River. He too had come by the storms simply advantageous. His Crimson Wing boots caked in mud, he regarded to the considerable snowpack on the distant Sierra. Would the Pineapple Categorical are available in February and soften all of it in a rush? Would the spoils of floodwaters carry north to the delta and out to the ocean? Or would he be capable to seize a little bit of that movement for his grapes, almonds, pistachios and tomatoes?

Having spent the previous decade chasing too little water for an excessive amount of cropland, he had turned his farm right into a basin able to storing floodwater within the earth to recharge the depleted aquifer he counted on for irrigation.

“Two weeks in the past, I used to be residing the lifetime of drought,” he stated. “Now I’m wanting on the snowpack and perhaps the promise of floodwaters. I’ve been farming right here for 41 years, and the water I’m pumping out of the bottom is dropping a foot-and-a-half a 12 months. It’s not sustainable.”

He pointed to the mountain to the east. “These waters up there,” he stated, “are our lifeblood.”