It doesn't have the immediacy of a train wreck, or the crash of a passenger jet, or an earthquake leveling a city. Yet what is happening in California is immeasurable, worse than all these disasters combined.

For the last four years, this calamity has crept over the land changing verdant farmland into parched wasteland. It's a magadrought, and it's turning the Golden State into a dusty brown.

One hundred percent of California is in a state of drought; 94 percent is in severe drought, 69 is in extreme drought, and 49 percent is experiencing exceptional drought. But that 49 percent includes California's Central Valley, the nation's produce basket.

Yet it has survived nature's parsimony by pumping underground water for irrigation. Thus far, it has weathered the water-less storm and has continued to produce 50 percent of the vegetables, fruits, and nuts that stock the nation's supermarkets.

But these subterranean reservoirs are beginning to run dry. Farmers are forced to pay $400 thousand for a thousand-foot well. But some of these are dusting out. Growers who can't afford to chase the water table go out of business.

Just to the east of southern California, on the border between Arizona and Nevada, a more ominous event has been brewing for 80 years.

Construction began in 1931 during the Great Depression and in the midst of a equally punishing 10-year drought in what came to be called the Dust Bowl. When completed in 1936, Hoover Dam was the biggest on Earth. The water held in check by a 660-feet thick wall of concrete was dubbed Lake Mead; it also set a record for size.

Lake Mead provided water for homes and transformed huge expanses of brush-land into productive farmland. It spun massive hydroelectric turbines that made electricity available for homes, factories, and entire cities including that oasis of glitz, Las Vegas.

Forgotten was the fact that Hoover Dam was constructed in a desert-like environment prone to prolonged drought, little rain, and oven-like temperatures. Now Mother Nature is taking us to task and she will have her way.

In 1983, Lake Mead reached its highest elevation above sea level at 1,225 feet. Since then it has fallen to 1,075 feet. Power generation has declined in tandem with the lake's elevation by 23 percent.

California's governor, Jerry Brown, issued the first-ever executive order mandating a statewide 25 percent reduction in water usage. “I called for 20 percent voluntary [compliance] and we're getting 9 percent. That's not enough,” Brown said.

By the summer of 2016, the lake is projected to drop another 20 feet to 1,055 feet triggering water rationing. That, too, will be a first as will a further decrease in electrical output to 28 percent. But mandated home water meters necessary for enforced rationing won't be completed until 2040. That's 25 years!

But that dismal forecast may be too optimistic. California's snowpack, a frozen reservoir that provides water during the summer, is 0 percent of normal; there isn't any. That means still greater demands on the Mead reservoir that is almost two-thirds empty.

If Lake Mead dwindles to 1,000 feet, it loses the capacity to pump water and generate electricity. At that point, Hoover Dam, that symbol of man's triumph over nature, will become a monument to his hubris.

The effect on 40 million people who depend wholly or in part on water and power from the Lake Mead reservoir is unimaginable.

Not surprising, then, that the question on everyone's mind is: When will the drought end? Droughts are peculiar creatures. No one knows when they start or when they end. They can last for a year or a century.

However, there are parallels between the Dust Bowl's decade-long dearth and today's drought. Both occurred during periods of long intermittent dryness; both have copious pictures showing parched land and wilted crops; and both were periods when unsustainable demands were made on natural resources.

And one more parallel. Both eras saw Hoover Dam and Lake Mead as icons of the times. In the late '30s, Lake Mead was believed to be a never-ending source of water and energy. A symbol of technology ushering in a millennium of plenty.

Today, Lake Mead's shrinking elevation and diminishing power output is a source of deep anxiety about the false promises of technology and an uncertain future.

Sincerely,

Bob Scroggins

New Milford, PA