THERE is general agreement that California, like Texas or New England, is a land apart. In the popular mind it is somehow different, a state with distinctive qualities both of the physical environment and of the human spirit which give it a personality of its own. It has mountains, deserts, valleys, beaches, and rocky coasts in magnificent profusion. Its boisterous and romantic past, its cornucopia harvests, its moving pictures, its ferry boats and cable cars, the brash, geometric newness of its stuccoed cities and suburbs, even the very name "California," mellifluous and of mysterious origin,' all symbolize a way of life or a state of mind if not a geographical area to most of the world's people. The regional consciousness of Californians, remarkably strong for so restless and rootless a population, has had its origins in the common problems and interests imposed by geography. An off-side geographical position and a unique and gentle climate have strongly influenced the settlement history of the state and the character of its economy and culture. And the steady stream of promotional literature from the professional romanticists seems, if anything, to have made the outside world more convinced and aware of the uniqueness of California than are Californians themselves. Among the factors of the physical environment it is probably climate, especially water availability, which ties more things together than anything else. It so happens that California's arbitrarily conceived boundaries outline the only area of winter rain and summer drought in North America with rather remarkable accuracy. Northward from the Siskiyous and Mount Shasta summer rains of cyclonic origin occur with increasing frequency; on the deserts of the Great Basin and the Colorado River drainage summer thundershowers are relatively common. But the cold