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For environmental advocate Florence LaRiviere, it all started at a worn-down picnic table.
It was 1951 in Palo Alto, California. The nurse and her husband, Philip, a Navy navigator and physicist, had just moved into an affordable post-war home. To escape the heat, the young couple would pack up their children and dinner, and ride a few miles over to the breezy edge of the San Francisco Bay.
鈥淚 will tell you there is nothing so lovely, no place so charming, as the marsh in the evening. The tide changes and moves the cordgrass. It bends back and forth鈥he only sound 鈥� it can be very quiet 鈥� is the birds jumping into the air and crying as they fly,鈥� said Florence LaRiviere, who is now 95.
LaRiviere and her husband would spend the next half-century ensuring future generations could play in the pickleweed at the end of the road. That 鈥� and more. Indeed, in extension of their efforts, most of the bay south of the San Mateo Bridge is in public ownership. At the center of that labor of love, still today, is LaRiviere.
Measuring under five feet tall, LaRiviere has a wispy voice and a demeanor of both grit and grace. She rattles off years and names and organizations with little more than a brief pause. She is now legally blind, and calls her glasses 鈥渏ust protection from flying objects.鈥�
Dredging first caught her attention in the 1950s. From their treasured picnicking spot, the LaRivieres noticed that the city was 鈥渟cooping out a bucket of mud from the bottom of the bay, swinging the arm around and dropping all that mud on live, beautiful tidal marsh鈥� to maintain the harbor, she said. 鈥淎nd we knew something was wrong there.鈥�
Not only that, but developers were floating a $30-million plan to transform the marsh. LaRiviere poked around and discovered the local Audubon chapter. 鈥淚t was a bunch of women that would go to the council meetings, planning committee meetings, and make a scene about what they saw happening that shouldn鈥檛 be,鈥� she said.
Audubon members Lucy Evans and Harriet Mundy took LaRiviere under their wing. It didn鈥檛 matter that LaRiviere didn鈥檛 know one bird from another. She鈥檇 found her calling.
She was shy, but 鈥渋f you get fussed enough, you will stand up and say something,鈥� she said.
LaRiviere said Evans and Mundy were nurturing, but also fed her challenges. 鈥淭o the extent that sometimes they鈥檇 call me up and say, 鈥榊ou go down here and here鈥檚 what I need you to say,鈥欌� she said, laughing. More than one person has said the same about LaRiviere 鈥� when she calls, you go.
Their first shared victory came in the early 1960s when their petition stopped potential development until creation of a land-use plan. That Palo Alto marsh later became the 1,940-acre Baylands Nature Preserve, managed by the city on the southwest side of the San Francisco Bay.
As LaRiviere said, it was just the first time that she鈥檇 get her feet 鈥渨et in the wetlands.鈥� 鈥淭he bay was a constant source of destruction,鈥� she said. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 how we started really getting worried about everything going on along the edges of the bay.鈥�
Even then, LaRiviere saw clues to the great natural history of the bay. She envisioned flocks like a dense cloud that darkened the sky, grizzly bears along the banks of streams, and giant condors hovering in the sky.
These wildlife wonders are captured in Malcolm Margolin鈥檚 鈥淭he Ohlone Way,鈥� which describes the San Francisco region prior to European arrival.
鈥淭hat story kept me inspired to keep fighting,鈥� LaRiviere said.
Scientists estimate that the bay was then chock full of cordgrass, pickleweed and saltgrass across its nearly 200,000 acres of tidal marsh. Following the 1849 Gold Rush, it shrank, as marshes were diked and drained for farming or evaporating salt, or filled for development. Hydraulic mining in the Sierra foothills sent contaminated sediment flowing downriver to the bay.
As the marsh withered to 40,000 acres, so too disappeared the grizzly and the condor. Researchers have called it the most invaded, most altered estuary in the world. Just over 100 years after the Gold Rush, the demand for houses and business threatened to take the rest.
While three women&苍产蝉辫;鈥�&苍产蝉辫;Sylvia McLaughlin, Kay Kerr and Esther Gulick 鈥� took up the charge in the Berkeley area, creating the association now called Save The Bay, LaRiviere was becoming the center of a network that would establish the nation鈥檚 first urban national wildlife refuge national wildlife refuge
A national wildlife refuge is typically a contiguous area of land and water managed by the鈥疷.S. Fish and Wildlife Service鈥� for the conservation and, where appropriate, restoration of fish, wildlife and plant resources and their habitats for the benefit of present and future generations of Americans.
Learn more about national wildlife refuge 鈥� right along the eastern fringe of the bay.
This chapter started in 1965, not at a picnic table but at LaRiviere鈥檚 kitchen table, where she read the local newspaper. In it was an invitation: 鈥業f you鈥檙e worried about what鈥檚 happening to the shores of the San Francisco Bay, come to my office in the morning at 10 o鈥檆lock,鈥欌� she recalled.
She, and a couple dozen others, showed up at the office of Santa Clara County planner Art Ogilvie. He wanted Congress to establish a national wildlife refuge in the bay, 鈥淭hen we will have the federal government to preserve our precious wildlife and our marshes,鈥� said LaRiviere, quoting Ogilvie.
鈥淭hat was the beginning of a long, long journey that persists to this day,鈥� she said.
Out of that gathering grew a grassroots committee that met with garden clubs, environmental groups, agencies, women鈥檚 clubs, fraternal clubs 鈥� you name it.
鈥淲e would speak anywhere anyone would have us,鈥� LaRiviere said. San Jose State University professors would wait as late as midnight to speak at these meetings, to preach the value of the marshes to the surrounding communities. Their success, according to LaRiviere, would rely on knowledge and attitude.
鈥淵ou have to know your own subject,鈥� she said. 鈥淎lmost always, you need to have a good hands-on, feet-on understanding of the land you鈥檙e talking about and why it鈥檚 of value.鈥� And, of course, be cheerful, she said.
It worked. Three years later, the committee approached U.S. Rep. Don Edwards with the request to establish the national wildlife refuge. In 1972, his bill passed and was signed by President Richard Nixon.
The San Francisco National Wildlife Refuge, later renamed to honor the Congressman, would soon stretch 180,000 acres from Dumbarton Bridge south to Alviso.
鈥淲ith the kind of government we have, you can be effective,鈥� LaRiviere said. 鈥淲e dusted off our hands, and we said, whoa, we did it!鈥�
In 1985, LaRiviere brought people around that same kitchen table. They felt they鈥檇 made a big mistake, she said. 鈥淲e were not ambitious enough.鈥�
The group had focused on protecting and restoring salt evaporation ponds, but they now saw development encroaching the neighboring areas, the seasonal wetlands. Together, the marshes and wetlands are home to more than 750 wildlife and plant species, including shorebirds, ducks, and the endangered salt marsh salt marsh
Salt marshes are found in tidal areas near the coast, where freshwater mixes with saltwater.
Learn more about salt marsh harvest mouse and Ridgway鈥檚 clapper rail.
The Citizens鈥� Committee to Complete the Refuge was born. The all-volunteer organization that meets monthly to this day. Their near-term goal was to expand the refuge boundary, but they remain in pursuit of restoring and protecting every open acre of bay shoreline and salt pond.
鈥淲e started standing on levees of the bay with a clipboard and a petition saying 鈥業 really like this land on the edges of the bay and I鈥檇 like to keep it from development. Sign me on.鈥� And we got thousands of signatures that way,鈥� she said.
They developed brochures and pamphlets. Safeway even printed their material on paper grocery bags.
鈥淭hen it was about time, and we went to Mr. Edwards again,鈥� LaRiviere said.
The committee had secured permission to protect more land, but 鈥渢hen there鈥檚 the battle to keep the lands from being destroyed before they can be purchased,鈥� LaRiviere said.
One of those battles had long been underway 鈥� around yet another table, in the home of Ralph and Carolyn Nobles. The Nobles and their organization, the Friends of Redwood City, had defeated a Mobile Oil plan to develop the 3,000-acre Bair Island along the bay.
But the island was still at risk, LaRiviere said. The bay鈥檚 environmental groups once again joined forces. The committee and Friends of Redwood City recruited bay Audubon chapters 鈥� spurred by Arthur Feinstein 鈥� and enlisted the help of Sacramento consultant Bill Rukeyser to convince Japanese developer Kumagai Gumi to sell the island.
Rukeyser was advised to get the owner鈥檚 name 鈥渙ut in public鈥� with his photo, LaRiviere said.
She estimates about 400 people showed at the congressman鈥檚 hearing. Most were supporters, waving the committee鈥檚 鈥淪ave the Wetlands鈥� auto shades, mimicking a flock of the herons illustrated on them.
After a long campaign, the congressman鈥檚 bill passed in 1988 and was signed by President Ronald Reagan. It gave the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service the green light to acquire up to 20,000 additional acres.
鈥淭he Fish and Wildlife Service is what we chose to protect our bay years ago, and I have never regretted that,鈥� LaRiviere said.
Rukeyser was advised to get the owner鈥檚 name 鈥渙ut in public鈥� with his photo, LaRiviere said.
The two-year effort culminated with a provocative full-page advertisement in The New York Times鈥� west coast October 8, 1996, edition.
The Nobles and LaRivieres wrote the text, Feinstein said, which asked the company鈥檚 owner to let Bair Island go back to nature. It also listed the Japanese environmental organizations supporting the effort 鈥� a lasting benefit from LaRiviere鈥檚 earlier role as a wetlands ambassador to Japan.
Less than a month later, 鈥渕y phone rang, and it was the head of refuges around here, Rick Coleman,鈥� LaRiviere said. Coleman told her that Kumagai called and said, 鈥淟et鈥檚 talk.鈥�
鈥淏oy, I鈥檒l never forget that,鈥� she said.
Within a year, Bair Island was purchased and deeded to the refuge. In 2003, the refuge acquired 9,000 acres of former salt ponds for restoration. Alongside the state, the California State Coastal Conservancy, and a host of other partners, the effort to restore these acres and an additional 6,000 acres in state ownership has become the largest wetland restoration effort west of the Mississippi River.
鈥淭hese are lasting examples of what can be accomplished when people work together, but it always takes a leader with persistence and vision to start and sustain those efforts,鈥� said David Lewis, who has been at the helm of Save The Bay for 20 years. 鈥淚 love Florence for what she has accomplished and for inspiring others to emulate her.鈥�
The refuge鈥檚 latest complex manager, Anne Morkill, places LaRiviere among her personal conservation heroes 鈥� Rachel Carson, Margaret Murie and the women who started Save The Bay.
These women are incredible community leaders, Morkill said. 鈥淚t鈥檚 very selfless work. They dedicate their entire lives to protecting wildlife and their habitats and the community鈥� They go to D.C. to lobby, work with regulators, work with citizens, review tedious documents that we agencies put out there. It鈥檚 amazing鈥� That鈥檚 what鈥檚 always inspiring to me.鈥�
Within the refuge鈥檚 30,000 acres is a 100-acre marsh and former salt pond. Now flush with native plants and wildlife, it was named LaRiviere Marsh in 2013. When LaRiviere spoke of it, a grin spread across her face, and her eyes glowed.
鈥淭he Fish and Wildlife Service has given us the greatest honor by naming that beautiful, lovely, endangered-species-rich marsh after us, after my husband and me,鈥� she said. 鈥淏ut it should be named for about 20 or 30 people that all of whom gave so much of themselves, of their time and energy and their love to this land and the creatures.鈥�
The dedication illustrates the fervor with which the LaRivieres pursued bay protection as a team. LaRiviere鈥檚 husband, who died in 2012, would pore over environmental documents and 鈥渨ith withering accuracy, contradict and correct developers鈥� consultants鈥� statistical analyses,鈥� Feinstein said.
Philip LaRiviere adopted the title 鈥渟wamp physicist,鈥� and handed out business cards on which he鈥檇 sketched himself in shin-height marsh peering through a magnifying glass. 鈥淵ou have to have a little fun,鈥� LaRiviere said as she held his cards.
LaRiviere 鈥� now a great grandmother 鈥� still gathers people around her kitchen table in that same Palo Alto home. While she continues to drive conservation into the future, her 1951 home oozes of decades past.
The exposed beams, glazed walls and low-gabled roof remain true to the subdivisions designed by Joseph Eichler for World War II veterans and their families in California. The furniture follows mid-century clean lines and simple shapes, but with family photos and remembrances tucked in every corner.
It鈥檚 tidy, too, of which LaRiviere is proud. She鈥檚 navigated the walls of books and files in the homes of many environmentalists, and laughed recalling a visit to a friend鈥檚 home. 鈥淲hen I got to the bathroom, I had to laugh,鈥� she said. 鈥淭he bathtub was full of papers. The bathtub! I don鈥檛 know what the woman did鈥� I have never felt so bad about this house after that.鈥�
Perhaps it鈥檚 not the house, the tidiness or the furnishings that mattered at all, but the space it gave to her life鈥檚 work and her family. LaRiviere and her husband raised their four children in this home.
For decades it has welcomed LaRiviere鈥檚 vast network, whether they were guests for her three daughters鈥� wedding receptions, a church friend recovering from surgery, or a homeless man with no place to watch a presidential inauguration. "That鈥檚 my mom,鈥� her daughter Ginny LaRiviere said. 鈥淚t鈥檚 all about doing what鈥檚 right.鈥� No one wants her to change anything, she said.
What has changed is the steady wave of awards and recognitions washing over the wood paneling. They line the office and the television room, and are so numerous that some remain stacked on shelves. They name LaRiviere and her husband, or the committee, or just LaRiviere.
There are awards for lifetime achievement, wetlands conservation leadership, outstanding contributions, endangered species recovery, and a special commendation. Presenters range from Environmental Law Institute, Chevron, and Eddie Bauer to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, The Bay Institute, and the League of Conservation Voters.
The sacrifices made to achieve award-winning advances in conservation are not lost on Carin High, committee co-chair.
"One thing she had promised her family was that after they were successful in saving Bair Island, she would pull back from things,鈥� High said. 鈥淎nd of course that came and went. The fact they have been willing to share her with us is really a credit to the rest of her family. She and Phil were just such a force to be reckoned with.鈥�
Together, the Citizens鈥� Committee to Complete the Refuge, Save The Bay, Audubon, the Sierra Club, and dozens of other environmental organizations and agencies kindled what some have called an environmental renaissance in the bay. High said the committee aims to add another 10,000 acres to the refuge.
鈥淭he thing Florence has really taught us is that you have to be in it for the long haul. It鈥檚 good to be passionate and 鈥榬ah-rah鈥� and fight a fight, but you can鈥檛 get discouraged. You have to be willing to pick yourself up and dust yourself off and get back into it.鈥�
On a day last November, LaRiviere鈥檚 daughter Ginny took her back to where it all started. They rode in an old gray Honda Civic, LaRiviere鈥檚 curled white hair barely rising above the passenger seat. She wore fish-shaped earrings, a matching blouse and fleece, crisp trousers, and flats. That day, black-necked stilts poked around the marsh, and wintering ducks sailed the ponds.
Visitors walked and biked the road along the marsh. Some sat on benches and looked out over the water. A photographer sought the shorebirds鈥� perfect angle.
LaRiviere and her daughter moseyed down the boardwalk, a light breeze ruffling their hair. While LaRivere no longer sees where the bay touches the sky, it lives on in her mind鈥檚 eye.
鈥淚f you care enough, and if you have staying power, you can bring about great things,鈥� LaRiviere said.
