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MENDOTA -- Water built California's semi-arid San Joaquin Valley into an agricultural powerhouse. Drought and irrigation battles now threaten to turn huge swaths of it into a dust bowl.
Farmers have idled half a million acres of once-productive ground and are laying off legions of farmhands. That's sending joblessness soaring in a region already plagued by chronic poverty.
Water scarcity looms as a major challenge to California's $37 billion agricultural industry, which has long relied on imported water to bloom. The consequences of closing the spigot are evident here in rural Fresno County. Lost farm revenue will top $900 million in the San Joaquin Valley this year, said University of California at Davis economist Richard Howitt, who estimates that water woes will cost the recession-battered region an additional 30,000 jobs this year.
Standing in a parched field in 104-degree heat, valley farmer Joe Del Bosque pointed to cracked earth where tomatoes should be growing. He didn't bother this year because he can't get enough water to irrigate them. He's cultivating only about half of the cantaloupe and asparagus that he did in 2007. He has slashed his work force and his bills are mounting.
"We can't survive at 10 percent of our water," said Del Bosque, 60, a white cowboy hat, long sleeves and jeans protecting him from the blistering sun.
Desperation is rippling through agricultural communities such as Mendota, 35 miles west of Fresno, where an estimated 39 percent of the labor force is jobless. It's a stunning figure even for this battered community of about 10,000 people, which has long been accustomed to double-digit unemployment.
Sporadic food giveaways by churches and nonprofits draw hundreds of people. Enrollment in area schools has dropped by one-quarter this year. Crime is up, so much that the cash-strapped town voted in May to form its own police department rather than rely on the county sheriff.
On a recent afternoon, a dozen men in white T-shirts and jeans were leaning against a liquor store wall across from City Hall, hoping someone would hire them. Others, such as Candelario Torres, sat in the shade of Kiki's Pool Hall, playing cards and swatting flies. They, too, waited for the slim chance a farmer would employ them to weed tomato fields or pick cantaloupe.
"There's no water, so there's no work," said Torres, a 56-year-old father of three who doesn't have a car and can't go far to look for jobs. "Everyone in here is looking."
It's much the same in rural towns such as Firebaugh and Huron, where jobless farm laborers helped push the Fresno County unemployment rate to 15.4 percent in May, above the California rate of 11.5 percent and up from 9.4 percent a year earlier.
Gov. Schwarzenegger last month asked President Barack Obama to declare Fresno County a disaster area to boost federal aid.
But that's not what the farmers say they want. At a recent town hall meeting in Fresno, while some women in the audience knitted, men in baseball caps and T-shirts shouted down officials from the U.S. Interior Department: "We don't want welfare; we want water."
But climate change is intensifying competition for this resource and may well force changes in the way the valley has been farmed.
Dependent on water deliveries
This area, once known as part of the great California desert, always has depended on water from somewhere else. In the early part of the 20th century, homesteaders dug wells or hauled water from up north, but in 1952 they formed the Westlands Water District. It later contracted to buy water from the federal government, which built a system of canals and reservoirs that captures water in the northern part of the state and sends it to farmers in the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta.
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