Early on the morning of October 9, 2017, a firestorm roared with unforgiving speed across a swath of northeastern Santa Rosa. The unincorporated community of Larkfield lay directly in its path. One-hundred and sixty homes there burned to the ground.
Three and a half years later, Larkfield is still being rebuiltâin some ways better than ever, thanks in part to an ambitious and innovative program by the Sonoma County Water Agency to bring sewer service to the modest, tight-knit community at the foot of the Mayacamas Mountains.
New homes of all shapes, sizes, styles, and colors, each designed to suit the ownerâs preference, are interspersed with dozens more in varying stages of construction. On a recent weekday afternoon, building and landscaping crews labored around Larkfieldâs every bend: installing framing, siding, hardscaping, interiors. Another 25 lots remained bare except for a blanket of bright-green spring grass.
New construction as of February 2021. Photo: Nate Seltenrich.
Though they appear heterogeneous from street level, below the surface roughly half of Larkfieldâs homes are connected for the first time via a hidden network of pipes. Before the fire, the neighborhood largely lacked sewer access, with all but a handful of homes on the perimeter relying instead on septic systemsâwhere household wastewater is passed through small settling tanks before being dispersed in a backyard âleach field.â
Lots are relatively small in Larkfield, ranging in size from 1/4 to 1/3 of an acre. In the 1950s and â60s, when most of the original homes were built, that was considered big enough for a septic systemâbut didnât leave room for much else. Nowadays, regulations call for at least half an acre in order to protect both human health and the environment, says Mike Thompson, an assistant general manager with Sonoma County Water Agency, also known as Sonoma Water.
âYou have the potential with a relatively tight cluster of septic systems to have an issue with groundwater contamination in this area,â Thompson says. âThere hadnât been monitoring done, but definitely a strong potential existed there.â
If excess nutrients or harmful chemicals from wastewater were to infiltrate nearby Mark West Creek, which runs to the north of the neighborhood, they could flow from there to the Russian River, which provides drinking water to more than 600,000 North Bay residents.
Sewer system construction phases. Map courtesy Sonoma Water.
âThe other issue is if the system fails, it becomes a public health and very direct environmental impactâ through more localized, surface-level contamination, Thompson says.
By 2017, many of the neighborhoodâs septic systems were approaching the end of their expected lifespan. A few had already failed. If residents rebuilt with their old septic systems still in place and then they failed, Thompson worried theyâd be unable to replace them due to current space requirements.
Better for everyone, he figured, would be to finally connect the neighborhood to the sewer system. Residents would gain an alternative to septic, a likely boost in property value, and greater use of their land, while Sonoma Water would acquire another source of recycled water.
âWe saw this as a once-in-a-century opportunity to make a community better than it was before this horrible event,â says Thompson, who helped launch and lead the project. âBy being able to bring sewer into this area, and do it while everything else was dug up, there were so many advantages.â
Back when the idea first arose in the weeks after the fire, one of Sonoma Waterâs main concerns was whether enough property owners would be willing and able to pay the cost, estimated at about $50,000 per parcel, of creating a new sewer collection system in the community. Sure enough, during their first community survey, staff learned that only a quarter of residents were interested.
Sonoma Water engineers meet with neighbors. Photo courtesy Sonoma Water.
âIt didnât go very well at first,â says Larkfield resident Chris Mocny, a retired engineering technician with Sonoma County who was already familiar with the local sewer system and liked the idea of extending it to Larkfield. But he was also among those initially discouraged by the expense. âWeâre looking at huge costs of rebuilding our homes, and then on top of it you want us to pay for the sewer? So we were very skeptical.â
Then Thompson and his colleagues had an idea: what if the agency offered a deferred loan program to cover the cost, with no payments for ten years? Soon nearly half the residents needing new homes were able to commit. By late 2019, two years after the fire, Sonoma Water was ready to build.
Between January and September 2020, Sonoma Water installed more than a mile and a half of eight- and six-inch PVC sewer main at depths ranging from three to 14 feet, along with 900 feet of narrower-gauge, low-pressure sewerâand 57 manholes. The projectâs âextremely fastâ timeline was aided by lighter-than-average traffic due to the pandemic along Mark West Springs Road, which bisects the neighborhood.
Looking forward, as more of Larkfieldâs existing septic systems fail but cannot be easily replaced, Sonoma Water expects that more property owners will choose to pay to access the sewer system. And decades after the last home connects, the agency will finally recoup all its expensesâwith interest. It will also have gained access to tens of thousands of gallons of additional household wastewater per day to treat and reuse for irrigation, industry, environmental restoration, and more.
2017 Tubbs fire arrives in Larkfield in the middle of the night. Photo courtesy Sonoma Water.
Along with augmenting recycled water use, the project supports climate resilience in a county that has been hammered by drought, flood, and fire in recent years by freeing up yard space in sewer-connected homes for accessory dwelling units, maximizing housing availability and density in the conveniently located neighborhood. In addition, public sewer systems are generally more resistant to damage from fires and other natural disasters than private septic systems.
“Resilience is more than just building a sewer project,â says Brad Sherwood, Sonoma Water community and goverment affairs manager. âFor Sonoma Water, resilience means investing in infrastructure that will help future generations of Sonoma County residents battle climate change.â
On a recent afternoon, one elderly resident who asked that her name not be used said she has lived in Larkfield for 20 years, and was happy to trade in her old septic system for a sewer connection. The deferred loan made it possible for her, she said.
Standing outside her newly rebuilt home, watering her freshly planted landscaping with a garden hose, she looked across the street. Where her former neighbors once lived, an empty lot sat quiet: a reminder that while Larkfield has come a long way since the fire, recovery continues.
Nate Seltenrich is a freelance science and environmental journalist who covers infrastructure, restoration, and related topics for Estuary. He also contributes to the San Francisco Chronicle, Sonoma and Marin magazines, the journal Environmental Health Perspectives, and other local and national publications, on subjects ranging from public lands and renewable energy to the human health impacts of climate change. He lives in Petaluma with his wife, two boys, and four ducks. www.nate-reports.com
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Hothouse Earth
By Ariel Rubissow Okamoto
Photo by Megan Nguyen
Nothing could be stranger than sitting in the dark with thousands of suits and heels, watching a parade of promises to decarbonize from companies and countries large and small, reeling from the beauties of big screen rainforests and indigenous necklaces, and getting all choked up.
It was day two of the September 2018 Global Climate Action Summit in San Francisco when I felt it.
At first I wondered if I was simply starstruck. Most of us labor away trying to fix one small corner of the planet or another without seeing the likes of Harrison Ford, Al Gore, Michael Bloomberg, Van Jones, Jerry Brown â or the ministers or mayors of dozens of cities and countries â in person, on stage and at times angry enough to spit. And between these luminaries a steady stream of CEOs, corporate sustainability officers, and pension fund managers promising percentages of renewables and profits in their portfolios dedicated to the climate cause by 2020-2050.
I tried to give every speaker my full attention: the young man of Vuntut Gwichin heritage from the edge of the Yukonâs Arctic National Wildlife Refuge who pleaded with us not to enter his sacred lands with our drills and dependencies; all the women â swathed in bright patterns and head-scarfs â who kept punching their hearts. âMy uncle in Uganda would take 129 years to emit the same amount of carbon as an American would in one year,â said Oxfamâs Winnie Byanyima.
âOur janitors are shutting off the lights you leave on,â said Aida Cardenas, speaking about the frontline workers she trains, mostly immigrants, who are excited to be part of climate change solutions in their new country.
The men on the stage, strutting about in feathers and pinstripes, spoke of hopes and dreams, money and power. âThe notion that you can either do good or do well is a myth we have to collectively bust,â said New Jersey Governor Phil Murphy whose state is investing heavily in offshore wind farms.
âClimate change isnât just about risks, itâs about opportunities,â said Blackrock sustainable investment manager Brian Deese.
But it wasnât all these fine speeches that started the butterflies. Halfway through the second day of testimonials, it was a slight white-haired woman wrapped in an azure pashmina that pricked my tears. One minute she was on the silver screen with Alec Baldwin and the next she taking a seat on stage. She talked about trees. How trees can solve 30% of our carbon reduction problem. How we have to stop whacking them back in the Amazon and start planting them everywhere else. I couldnât help thinking of Dr. Seuss and his truffala trees. Jane Goodall, over 80, is as fierce as my Lorax. Or my daughterâs Avatar.
Analyzing my take home feeling from the event I realized it wasnât the usual fear â killer storms, tidal waves, no food for my kids to eat on a half-baked planet â nor a newfound sense of hope â Iâve always thought nature will get along just fine without us. What I felt was relief. People were actually doing something. Doing a lot. And there was so much more we could do.
As we all pumped fists in the dark, as the presentations went on and on and on because so many people and businesses and countries wanted to STEP UP, I realized how swayed I had let myself be by the doomsday news mill.
âWe must be like the river, â said a boy from Bangladesh named Risalat Khan, who had noticed our Sierra watersheds from the plane. âWe must cut through the mountain of obstacles. Letâs be the river!â
Or as Harrison Ford less poetically put it: âLetâs turn off our phones and roll up our sleeves and kick this monsterâs ass.â
4th California Climate Change Assessment Blues
by Isaac Pearlman
Since Californiaâs last state-led climate change assessment in 2012, the Golden State has experienced a litany of natural disasters. This includes four years of severe drought from 2012 to 2016, an almost non-existent Sierra Nevada snowpack in 2014-2015 costing $2.1 billion in economic losses, widespread Bay Area flooding from winter 2017 storms, and extremely large and damaging wildfires culminating with this yearâs Mendocino Complex fire achieving the dubious distinction of the largest in state history. Californiaâs most recent climate assessment, released August 27th, predicts that for the state and the Bay Area, we can expect even more in the future.
The California state government first began assessing climate impacts formally in 2006, due to an executive order by Governor Schwarzenegger. Californiaâs latest iteration and its fourth overall, includes a dizzying array of 44 technical reports; three topical studies on climate justice, tribal and indigenous communities, and the coast and ocean; as well as nine region-specific analyses.
The results are alarming for our stateâs future: an estimated four to five feet of sea level rise and loss of one to two-thirds of Southern California beaches by 2100, a 50 percent increase in wildfires over 25,000 acres, stronger and longer heat waves, and infrastructure like airports, wastewater treatment plants, rail and roadways increasingly likely to suffer flooding.
For the first time, Californiaâs latest assessment dives into climate consequences on a regional level. Academics representing nine California regions spearheaded research and summarized the best available science on the variable heat, rain, flooding and extreme event consequences for their areas. For example, the highest local rate of sea level rise in the state is at the rapidly subsiding Humboldt Bay. In San Diego county, the most biodiverse in all of California, preserving its many fragile and endangered species is an urgent priority. Francesca Hopkins from UC Riverside found that the highest rate of childhood asthma in the state isnât an urban smog-filled city but in the Imperial Valley, where toxic dust from Salton Sea disaster chokes communities â and will only become worse as higher temperatures and less water due to climate change dry and brittle the area.
According to the Bay Area Regional Report, since 1950 the Bay Area has already increased in temperature by 1.7 degrees Fahrenheit and local sea level is eight inches higher than it was one hundred years ago. Future climate will render the Bay Area less suitable for our evergreen redwood and fir forests, and more favorable for tolerant chaparral shrub land. The regionâs seven million people and $750 billion economy (almost one-third of Californiaâs total) is predicted to be increasingly beset by more âboom and bustâ irregular wet and very dry years, punctuated by increasingly intense and damaging storms.
Unsurprisingly, according to the report the Bay Areaâs intensifying housing and equity problems have a multiplier affect with climate change. As Bay Area housing spreads further north, south, and inland the result is higher transportation and energy needs for those with the fewest resources available to afford them; and acute disparity in climate vulnerability across Bay Area communities and populations.
âAll Californians will likely endure more illness and be at greater risk of early death because of climate change,â bluntly states the statewide summary brochure for Californiaâs climate assessment. â[However] vulnerable populations that already experience the greatest adverse health impacts will be disproportionately affected.â
âWeâre much better at being reactive to a disaster than planning ahead,â said UC Berkeley professor and contributing author David Ackerly at a California Adaptation Forum panel in Sacramento on August 27th. âAnd it is vulnerable communities that suffer from those disasters. How much human suffering has to happen before it triggers the next round of activity?â
The assessmentâs data is publicly available online at âCal-adapt,â where Californians can explore projected impacts for their neighborhoods, towns, and regions.
The results are alarming for our stateâs future: an estimated four to five feet of sea level rise and loss of one to two-thirds of Southern California beaches by 2100, a 50 percent increase in wildfires over 25,000 acres, stronger and longer heat waves, and infrastructure like airports, wastewater treatment plants, rail and roadways increasingly likely to suffer flooding.