“Five Feet High And Rising” — Johnny Cash
My mama always taught me that good things come from adversity if we put our faith in the Lord.
We couldn’t see much good in the flood waters when they
were causing us to have to leave home,
But when the water went down, we found that it had washed a load of rich black bottom dirt across our land. The following year we had the best cotton crop we’d ever had.
I remember hearing:
How high’s the water, Mama?
Two feet high and risin’
How high’s the water, Papa?
She said it’s two feet high and risin’
We can make it to the road in a homemade boat
That’s the only thing we got left that’ll float
It’s already over all the wheat and the oats,
Two feet high and risin’
How high’s the water, Mama?
Three feet high and risin’
How high’s the water, Papa?
She said it’s three feet high and risin’
Well, the hives are gone,
I’ve lost my bees
The chickens are sleepin’
In the willow trees
Cow’s in water up past her knees,
Three feet high and risin’
How high’s the water, Mama?
Four feet high and risin’
How high’s the water, Papa?
She said it’s four feet high and risin’
Hey, come look through the window pane,
The bus is comin’, gonna take us to the train
Looks like we’ll be blessed with a little more rain,
4 feet high and risin’
How high’s the water, Mama?
Five feet high and risin’
How high’s the water, Papa?
She said it’s five feet high and risin’
Well, the rails are washed out north of town
We gotta head for higher ground
We can’t come back till the water comes down,
Five feet high and risin’
Well, it’s five feet high and risin’.
*********************
Good morning!
The waters here in the high desert are about to rise as the atmospheric river advances upon us. If things aren’t dramatic these days, they don’t sell. I long for the days when everyone was excited about a good old fashioned rain storm. Growing up in the Central Valley of California, precipitation was a welcome event. Only in California could farmers feed the world from an actual desert. Like everything else in California, the lush green fields were only made possible by man-made irrigation systems. Not natural rain.
Rain was rain. It rained at times. Sometimes alot. It didn’t need the name of a Cyclone Bomb or Atmospheric River. It was going to be a week of rain. You might get leaks. Check your roof. Carry an umbrella. Don’t drive through any more than one inch of water. If a street is flooded, choose another. Get over it. It’s just rain. Drama sells, so choose really scary new names for a natural event.
The irrigation systems depended on snowmelt from the high Sierra’s. When a drought came along, everyone nervously waited for rain. After the irrigation systems were abandoned, farmers moved on and the fertile west side of the Central Valley again returned to the desert it always was.
Water. It’s always about the water. For 17 years, I helped irrigate our vineyard. During each growing season, from March to August, our water valves delivered water to 16,000 Thompson Seedless vines (now 100+ years old). These old girls depended on us to get them every drop we could. In exchange, they’d produce a crop of grapes the flavor of which you’ve never tasted in your life.
Scheduling which farmer got water at what time was intricate and down to the minute. Water flowed 24/7. Throughout the month, every drop had a farmer’s name on it, all based on the number of acres one owned. It was precise and to the minute. You’d better not open the valve one minute before your time began or an angry neighbor would come knocking. There were those sneaky farmers that left their valves open the tiniest bit to steal what they could. We knew who they were. Everyone did. The system worked if everyone was respectful and accurate. Water wars are a real thing in the farming world.
From the 1st-4th of each month, my battle with gopher holes and the hot summer sun raged on. During a summer, a straw hat could splinter to pieces from daily temperatures of over 105. At dawn of an early morning, with temperatures already pushing 80 degrees, the peaceful walk down the avenue was a time to listen to the birds and watch for coyotes on the hunt while checking on the progress of the water coming down the rows. Through the year, the water flowed from the highest mountains of the Sierra Nevada’s, down into the valley, through an intricate irrigation system of valves and offshoots, while filling the underground aquifers of California. Summer rain was unheard of and yet we lived in a desert oasis.
In a different state today, we all sit on pins and needles, awaiting the atmospheric river that should be dropping snow, not rain. The Sierra Nevada mountain range provides water for the states of California and Nevada. The snow pack delivers that in a calm and peaceful way throughout the year. It’s melting as we speak. So far the snow pack is at 2x the normal for this time of year. There’s a lot to melt. The desert isn’t quick to absorb rainfall.
My little town was flooded once in recent history. It, too, is a farming oasis with an irrigation system. That year, the canal failed. Just ask Miss Firecracker. She lived through it with her best friends, The Floridians. Hundreds of houses were under water. People were evacuated with helicopters to higher ground. The Mysterious Marine remembers and can speak about the damage, as well.
The Truckee River flows right through several neighboring towns. It’s pretty full right now, and the heaviest rains haven’t hit just yet. With the reservoirs full, we wait.
How high’s the water, MM?
Two feet high and risin’.
As we wait on the rain, the Wookie is as round as a watermelon. We are about to be flooded with a crop of Wook-lets. This week promises to be one of suspense as we await the rising tides and new life.
Whatever you do today, pray for California and Nevada. If you aren’t being tried by inclement weather, celebrate. If you are, remain prepared. You might not face rising water, but shortages also occur due to closed roadways and interrupted deliveries. Don’t forget to stock necessary medicines and pet food. As always, be prepared.
More tomorrow.