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You’ve heard of the Gold Rush: How thousands
thought they could make their fortunes by coming to California to
pick up nuggets off the ground. The Green Rush was different. Quality
of life in the North Valley was the goal, not just wealth. But it’s
tough to pick up quality when you’re rushing.
EPIPHANY
On Halloween morning 2007, Cynthia Monahan, a divorced
38-year old marketing consultant for Sungate Systems, crawled her
forest green 2006 Volvo SUV onto the congested eastern span of the
San Francisco Bay Bridge toll plaza. An illuminated sign above the
roadway mockingly projected delays of up to 50 minutes. Fumbling
for the five dollar toll to cross into San Francisco she mumbled
to herself, “I have got to get out of this city.”
Cynthia wasn’t alone. Dozens of other drivers
waiting and waiting in traffic that foggy morning were thinking
the exact same thing: “Why am I here?”
Sure, they knew the problem: Rush, rush, rush.
No time to smell the roses - or the coffee in their 20-ounce commuter
mugs. But as the economic bust of the early years of the century
lingered, lots of folks in the San Francisco Bay Area found themselves
running in place, anxious about the next round of downsizing, and
watching their nest eggs dwindle in a futile attempt to maintain
the storied “Northern California Dream”.
It was time to get out.
The only question for Cynthia was whether it would
be on her timetable or determined by the beancounters at corporate
headquarters in Denver.
THE REAL NORTHERN CALIFORNIA CALLS
But where would she go? Seattle? Too rainy. New
York? Just as crazy as San Francisco. Las Vegas? Ugh. She put the
question aside. Besides, Cynthia’s younger brother Pete was
coming up from Newport Beach that weekend on his way to a rafting
trip on the Sacramento River. Maybe all she needed was a vacation.
And maybe the answer wasn’t one of those
big cities at all.
Around that time, Central California’s North
Valley started to looked like the answer for lots of people of different
ages and different nationalities — retirees ready to cash
out on their urban and suburban real estate in favor of a quieter
life; young families in search of a place to work and grow; and
immigrants unable to afford homes in other parts of state.
Business leaders and public officials in the North
Valley were eager to roll out the welcome mat. But it wasn’t
a red carpet; it was green. Its first appearance took the form of
eco-tourism: River rafting, hikes in the forests, fishing in the
rivers, canoeing on lakes with snow capped Mount Shasta looming
in the distance.
During the first decade of the century, agriculture
on the Valley floor suffered a series of shocks, from increased
prices for water to increasing competition from other agricultural
providers. Countries like Vietnam were able to vastly increase its
share of the world rice market through its introduction of genetically
modified strains that were both cheaper and better accepted than
U.S. rice.
Meanwhile, the price of agricultural land in the
North Valley was falling even as the pressure for industrial and
residential development was increasing — a sure formula for
shifting land use patterns, especially around large urban centers
like Chico and Redding.
Cynthia’s sister-brother rafting trip was
a success.
On the drive home that foggy night on Interstate
5, Cynthia listened to her brother prattle on and on about how cool
it would be to just leave their congested cities, pull up stakes
and open a bed and breakfast near the river. But it would be a different
kind of resort. Not New England, frilly lace and crumpets. It would
be adventure oriented and trendy, with rooms outfitted with high
speed T6 wireless internet nodes and morning editions of the New
York Times. In short, it would be geared to California’s urbanites.
She shook her head, “Now that’s crazy.”
Pete returned to Southern California.
GREEN RUSH INTENSIFIES
Five months later, the San Andreas Fault rocked
Southern California, just a handful of weeks after a devastating
Christmas Eve terrorist assault had paralyzed Los Angeles International
Airport. The rush was on in earnest. That evening, Cynthia’s
voicemail had one message.
It was Pete. “I think this is a sign, Cindy.
Let’s do it.”
And Pete wasn’t the only dreamer.
Commercial real estate developers with their ears
to the ground had already picked up large tracts of former farmland
for industrial parks and shopping centers. Residential real estate
developers competed for prime acreage in the foothills.
Regional officials who had been trying for years
to promote economic diversification and lure businesses to the area
suddenly found eager takers for the tax incentives they continued
to offer.
By the end of the first decade of the century,
growth was the big issue in the North Valley. Some loved it, some
hated it. But love it or hate it, it was happening, and the danger
was that the newcomers would love the region to death. Eco-tourism
had opened the door. Tourism had been increasing by double digits
every year throughout the decade, and a lot of the tourists liked
what they saw, enough that they wanted to come back and stay. Second
homes were a hot business, especially around the wildlife preserves.
After two years of operation, Pete and Cynthia’s,
SutterADVENTURE, had a 6-month waiting list.
Retirees were drawn to the attractive lifestyle
and to the kinds of cultural amenities offered by Chico State. Small
towns like Paradise benefited from big increases in their tax roles.
Sales of $500,000 plus homes doubled each year between 2008 and
2014.
Even the less affluent communities in Colusa and
Butte Counties felt the trickle down effects of the rush. The construction
trades were way up. Employment in tourism and domestic work grew
steadily. With agriculture in trouble throughout the North Valley,
new jobs were created in services and homebuilding, attracting immigrants
to the area. And with the US/Mexico borders as porous as ever, the
number of Spanish speaking children in North Valley schools grew
significantly.
Yet, a pro-growth/anti-growth tug of war sapped
much of the energy that should have gone into planning. And although
they were part of the rush, people like Pete and Cynthia were less
civically involved and less engaged in long-term local issues than
those who had lived in the North Valley for most of their lives.
Short-term interests prevailed as people thought
they were too busy to get involved. Besides, who has time for planning
commission meetings when your guests are clamoring for espresso?
LOVED TO DEATH
By 2020, Chico, Yuba City and Redding were surrounded
by miles and miles of congested two-lane highways leading to dozens
of stripmalls, huge movieplexes and auto malls ending only at clean
looking suburbs boasting large houses on large lots. (“Homes
starting in the low 400s” read a sign said outside Orland).
Because anti-growth forces had fought every proposal
for over a decade, no adequate plans had been put in place for a
proper transportation system, and air quality was the worse for
it.
When civil unrest in Mexico sent hundreds of thousands
north in 2021 and the southern counties of California refused to
welcome them, many of the new immigrants made it all the way past
Colusa County to Glenn, Butte and Tehama in search of a place to
put down roots. Of course, they were too late for the Green Rush,
and too poor to pick up the leftovers.
The income gap between the rich who had gotten
in early and the poor who arrived late put a strain on the social
fabric of the North Valley. The rich pulled their kids out of public
schools that were bursting with children. The poor lacked good jobs.
Crime increased as a function of the gap between the haves and have-nots.
Gated communities contrasted with shacks and trailer parks.
By 2025, citizens of the North Valley were all
too aware of the irony that one of the largest regional employers
was a manufacturer of solar panels for clean energy production.
Chico also boasted a renowned research institute on environmental
quality and sustainable economic development. You see, the North
Valley was making its contribution to clean air for the rest of
the world but its residents increasingly choked their way to work.
Stuck in traffic on her way to pick up organic
milk for tomorrow’s 20-person tour group, Cynthia peered through
her bug splattered windshield and realized that the North Valley
wasn’t different at all. “San Jose with more trees,”
she sniffed.
ENDGAME
What happened to the North Valley, asked those
who first came there in the Green Rush? How had the natural beauty
that had drawn them there in the first place been lost? The Green
Rush seemed like a good idea at the time. But, for lack of careful
planning, its very popularity sowed the seeds of its own destruction.
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