A Farmer's View of Riparian Systems^[1]

E.M. Faye, Jr.^[2]

"One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can."
Wordsworth—The Tables Turned

We can only imagine the spot William Wordsworth had in mind when he wrote those lines, but I can think of several places on my own farm where those words have special meaning to me.

Four generations of my family have worked the land along the Sacramento River that I call home. And I can empathize with everyone who would like to share with me the special feeling one gets in a spot where nature remains pretty much undisturbed. Visitors often seem to envy me—just the same way, I suspect, that I occasionally envy someone who lives within walking distance of a school or who doesn't have to call long distance to order a pizza to go.

Richard Warner invited me to add my thoughts to this discussion. I wasn't certain whether it was because I sit on the State Reclamation Board, whose job it is to keep the Central Valley river systems from flooding, or as Deputy Director of the Department of Food and Agriculture, whose job it is to promote and protect California agriculture in the interest of public health, safety, and welfare. Or perhaps because I farm along one of the great riparian systems in the State, the Sacramento River, and thus have more than a passing interest in the subject. I'd like to believe it is for all three reasons.

I must first confess to a built-in bias on the subject at hand as it relates to me. My first impulse is to advise everyone to stay away from the riparian systems. People either tromp them down, close them off, trash them, or set fire to them. They may even catch poison oak. I hope they do.

After all, many people in this land are still strongly influenced by the ownership ethic—the dream of having one's own place in the country, away from the hustle, the hassle, the "have to", and the "have not." The fact that it becomes more and more difficult as population and mobility increase, to find a spot where someone else didn't arrive first, only augments the urge. And furthermore, the guy who got there first often has altered the scene, either with stuff he brought in or by taking something away.

As one who, in this particular case, got there first, I tend to be a strong defender of private property rights.

My problem is that I can see a little of the view perceived by the outsider who would like to get in—the "have not" who wants. I, too, lament each solitary oak tree removed from a tomato field that I have passed for years—a lone sentinel in a vast flat field, a spot of shade for horses to stop 50 or 60 years ago when it meant little to leave a few spots uncultivated in a 40-acre field. I, too, love to stop my car at the side of the road next to a lush coastal stream that empties into the ocean less than a thousand feet away. I would like better access to the vast untrafficked foothill lands covered with scrub oak and manzanita that characterize both sides of these great flat valleys—great country for horseback riding.

But I am compelled to defend that built-in bias I mentioned a moment ago, because I think my main message is in that arena. I suspect there will be sufficient voice represented here for the point of view of those who want more public access to private lands or to close off more land altogether.

In today's competitive economic climate, the owner of that tree standing alone in a tomato field has to weigh its value to him in terms of more than its beauty. It costs him extra to plant, irrigate, and harvest around it. It is a hazard to safe application of fertilizer and pesticides or herbicides. He's trying to stay in business and there is no economic reward for inefficiency. The tree goes.

The tree may be an isolated event, standing by itself, so to speak. But it represents the same principle applied to some riparian systems. There are isolated spots, sometimes many acres in area, that stand in the middle of or jut out into otherwise developed agricultural lands. Examples would include old sloughs and finger lakes or cut-off river bends along a meandering stream such as are found along the Sacramento River. Years ago when farm equipment permitted little more than cutting trees, clearing brush, and plowing, little could be done to include these spots into a farm. We simply worked around them and accepted the inefficiencies. As a matter of

[1] Paper presented at the California Riparian Systems Conference. [University of California, Davis, September 17–19, 1981].

[2] E.M. Faye is Deputy Director, Department of Food and Agriculture, Sacramento, California.

fact, we don't have a single field on our farm that has four square corners.

We have three or four places on our farm that could be defined as riparian systems. We keep them because we love them. So far, our devotion to them has outweighed the demands upon us to require their soil to help support the rest of our operation.

I submit to you the notion that most of the riparian forests that remain around us will continue to remain. Their demise, if it occurs, will happen no faster than their replacement. The development of our county, state, and Federal parks, preserves, forests, and even private parks continually brings land back into preservation. One need only to fly from here to New York to be impressed with the vast area of riparian systems that blesses this land. We have great wilderness areas already dedicated to long-term preservation.

Consider the Sacramento River for a moment. When commerce along the river was at its peak and the river itself was the principal transportation medium through the Valley, the big boats operated on steam. The steam resulted from water heated by burning wood. Where do you think that wood came from? The era ended or at least changed, before the trees were all gone, but there was a time, about 80–100 years ago, when there were few trees over a foot in diameter within a half-mile of the river. Nearly all the oaks and sycamores, the ash and cottonwood we glorify today, are second growth, or at least were too small to cut in the heyday of the steam era. But the era passed and our resilient nature bounced back. I don't think we're worse off for the experience.

It is my position today that the concern of some for the changing scene need not turn to excessive zeal to conserve or protect what remains. It will still be here long after we're gone. Rather I would encourage you to concentrate on improving the quality of life while we're here.

Make friends with a farmer. Pick up a bottle or a plastic beer holder or a rubberthonged slipper that some thoughtless klutz left on the bank of the river. But don't legislate access or prohibition from access.

I believe we have a far greater problem with waste material, if you'd like to consider working for a better environment.

I should comment, however, that I'm not really too worried about the environment as a whole. While we do mess up our own nest as an animal—the cities are outrageous, roadways an embarrassment, and waterways undrinkable—it usually only hurts ourselves. It only takes one incident like Mt. St. Helens to demonstrate how inconsequential our projects like roads and houses can be. It only takes one good Pacific storm to clean up the air. It only takes one good wind-whipped lightning-started brushfire to clean up a mountainside. Then begins the timeworn process of rain, erosion, silting, germination, and regrowth that has provided us this vast and treasured agricultural valley in the first place.

The durability of the Medfly should demonstrate how adaptable various life forms are to changes in their original habitat.

The fact that a few species pass by to extinction while we happen to be watching does not mean we should feel responsible for a general degradation of the earth. Sure, we help some to extinction, but many have gone that we had nothing to do with. New ones come along too.

So I am recommending that you not be overly zealous. That you not try to save all sinners or cure all ills with a flurry of activity which may make you more satisfied while you're here, but may not really add to the best interests of everyone.

Seek soft solutions, if you will.

Provide economic incentives if you can figure out how. Buy land or let people give it when they want, but don't take it away either intoto or in the form of restrictions.

Our system of private enterprise, with its incentives built on an individual's ability to make the best use of the resources available to him, has served all of us well. We have come to the point where less than 5% of our population provides the food for the rest of us. It is only now in our evolution that people are free enough from the demands of food gathering to have the luxury of telling the food producers that they don't like what the producers are doing.