A raging "tcok" (creek in Miwok and pronounced "tok") runs through our front yard during February's high water season. My wife, Maria Rosa, and I gauge the level of danger by the porch step to which the muddy waters rise. First step: time to move vehicles up to the neighbor's place. The ocean flow of Tomales Bay raises the height of the creek by several feet and our little book of tides provides forewarning. High tide and heavy rains – watch out!

Actually, lovely Lagunitas Creek ("little lakes" from the Spanish) turns into an overwhelming torrent no more than once or twice a year. A concerned parent from my class of kindergarten-first graders donated a one-person kayak, should we find ourselves unable to wade our way to higher ground. Flood waters at the second step: time to break out the boat. (Rosie and I avoid discussion as to who gets the little blue kayak).

This ancient arm of the tcok, which occasionally crosses our yard, once served as her main pathway. Over the millennia, Lagunitas Creek has meandered back and forth across the land, as evidenced by the river rounded-rocks and sandy subsoil in my front yard. One might question the term "creek," at least during flood season, as here in the plain she spreads her girth from ten to over two hundred yards.

Truth is, I love this little tcok. I love the flooding too, despite the potential for destruction. Right in my own backyard, I'm compelled to face a powerful force that still reflects nature's natural rhythms.

I like to say our place sits at the confluence of the two major Marin water systems that drain the east and west sides of Mount Tamalpais running north along Bolinas Ridge. This slight stretching of the truth holds water when the flooding Lagunitas joins a leg of Olema Tcok ("Coyote Valley Creek" in the Native tongue) right beneath our stand of willows.

Shamanic wisdom perceives the confluence of two major waterways as an eminent place of power. Perhaps this explains why Rosie and I fell in love with the land when we first set foot here two years ago. The beauty and presence of the trees, the creek, the wildlife, the green hills and the open spaces immediately called to us. As in sacred sites, an animate energy that's almost palpable wells up from this special place.

I've walked the swollen banks of Lagunitas Creek and felt the power of her swiftly moving mass. I've stood in awe as huge timbers cruised by and sometimes jammed themselves in the undergirding of the old Green Bridge. Like a wild mare kicking her heals to toss a rider, these annual bursts of energy serve to cleanse the path of the creek. Accumulated debris sweeps away and she changes her course at will.

Scott, my next-door neighbor, lives right on the creek. Last year I helped sandbag the support posts for his home to protect them as the unforgiving current ate the ground away. The stream knows no bounds during this phase of her yearly round.

Sloshing through mud holes and leaping side streams as I hiked along one wet and windy day, I stopped and stared at the sight of a dead cow isolated on a thicketed high spot in midstream. The unfortunate creature had become wedged between two willow trunks and drowned when the rising river washed over the temporary island. Turkey Vultures circled the site for days with the smell of death in the air.

Excitement courses through my senses as I savor this taste of untamed nature. Despite the potential for death and threats to the security of my own home, the raw power and natural majesty of the river erupts with a vitality that kindles my deeper instincts.

Native peoples, like our indigenous Miwok, look with respect to creeks and streams and rivers as the veins that carry the life sustaining blood of Mother Earth. No doubt the living spirit of this tcok has been revered and honored down through the countless times before time. In the present moment, signs of a healthy Life Force abound.

Like elegantly curved statues, a Great White Egret and sometimes a Blue Heron will stand absolutely still along the water's edge in wait for an unsuspecting fish. Canada Geese with their unmistakable honking call return each spring and frequent the banks of the creek in search of a daily meal. When the evening sky turns pink and purple and red, they fly with out-stretched necks in classic V-formation and head back to the grassy wetlands at the base of the bay.

Rosie and I felt sadness when, in early winter, we failed to hear the melodious serenade of the many Pacific tree frogs who sang their mating songs last year. Had they, too, succumbed to the worldwide loss of frogs and other amphibians? But, when the plentiful rains of February finally arrived, the chorus of "ribets" began to ring and our nights were enriched with their primal sound.

Early one Saturday morning, just before the winter storms appeared, Janice called from next door. With the excitement of a young child in her voice, she exclaimed, "You have to come over. About fifty or sixty salmon are swimming in the pool just below our deck!" I rushed over and gazed at a hoard of reddish, two-foot long Coho slowly moving about as though, I thought, with no great intent.

I read that returning salmon will patiently wait at the mouth of the stream of their origin till the rains sufficiently raise the level of water. Once the waters clear, they complete that miraculous journey back to their place of birth to reproduce and die. After those first rains, the salmon had moved upstream to their spawning grounds.

For a California creek so close to a major population complex, fragile Lagunitas (also known as "Papermill Creek" from the loggers) fares quite well. Despite dams, refuse, run-off from animal and human waste, run-off from pesticides and fertilizers, diversion as a source of drinking water and the general impact of civilization, little Lagunitas struggles to hold her own.

With wildlife habitat in mind, the collective intention has now been set to remove the agricultural levees just beyond our place so the tcok can reclaim her lost wetlands by the mouth of the Bay. Community efforts to protect and increase the salmon run are widely supported and hopes run high for some recovery of her healthier condition.

The modern world has impacted the stream for a relatively short period of time - a mere few hundred years. I rue the severe environmental pressure imposed by some 300,000 individuals who now populate the region of Marin County and Southern Sonoma. A peak population of 3000 Miwok lived lightly on this same land for thousands of years during which time her waters ran pure and the salmon ran strong.

Perhaps the tide is now turning to learn from that experience and to revive the life - indeed the Life Force - of the tcok. This change-of-heart provides hope for the recovery of endangered waterways in other communities. In the moment, I feel blessed to live on land that preserves much of its natural beauty and in a cultural milieu that sees preservation as a priority. The spirit is alive and well in the tcok called Lagunitas.