Vanishing Oasis

The rocky, scrub covered mountains rise almost from the centre of town and turn shades of purple and tan as the sun lowers behind them.  They act as a wall between Palm Springs and all things west of it, the desert, the freeways, Los Angeles, the ocean. The town itself is flat, flat, flat with extraordinarily tall, thin palm trees that sway in the afternoon wind like drunk super models, throwing no shade. These palms and many others that have been planted, along with the thriving bougainvillea, oleander, fruit trees and flowers are courtesy of the huge aquifers that sit under Palm Springs. Those aquifers are in danger now from the prolonged drought in California that is Mother Nature's way of reminding California of its roots....desert roots. 

I have been visiting Palm Springs and the Coachella Valley for almost thirty-three years, my first visit being on my honeymoon. It is an almost too pretty place, coloured with deeply green lawns, gardens filled with flowers, blooming vines tumbling over white painted walls. And lots of trees... citrus trees, palms of all shape and size, eucalyptus and palo verde, and even some pines. The colourful lushness of Palm Springs always made me prefer it over Scottsdale, Arizona, another spot I visited frequently, even though they had almost identical climates. The difference, of course, is all that water that the Coachella Valley was sitting on. It filled swimming pools, fed decorative waterfalls, was sprinkled on golf courses and generally made you believe you were in an oasis in the desert. You were, in fact. 

But that's all over now. California's long and persistent drought has reached into the heart of Palm Springs and is ripping out its manicured emerald lawns and replacing them with sand and gravel. I spent quite a bit of time in Palm springs this last winter and I was so dismayed to see house after house sporting gravel front yards with a few tiny desert plants dotted about. Some didn't even bother with that. Large established trees were being sawed down, replaced by small cacti.

 Many yards that had gone through lawn replacement last year were now sporting patches of grass growing through the gravel making them look unkempt and down at the heels, like old men who are past caring about their appearance, proving that even in the desert grass is hard to kill.

I know, I know, it's a necessity. The governor of California has asked residents to voluntarily cut back their water consumption and the population has responded, thanks in part to the turf buy-back program the government offered. So I get it but it doesn't mean I like it. Palm Springs is looking more and more like Scottsdale, all shades of tan and grey, baking in the sun with less and less trees. it's a strong reminder of climate change and our dependence on water. 

On one of my recent visits to Palm Springs I went into a garden centre downtown and spoke with a woman working there about the situation. She said they were booked up for months ahead with lawn replacement jobs and yet even though she benefited from the work she didn't feel it was necessarily the right answer. The lawns do not require as much water as people think and they have a cooling effect as well as contributing to an ecosystem for the bugs and the birds. But that is an artificial ecosystem and one California can longer support. Being just a visitor it is not for me to pass judgement on what the citizens do.
Through all this the mountains stand guard, unaffected by the drought, the disappearing green lawns and flowers of the desert below just a passing dream of the humans that tended them. The desert has been there all along, waiting for a comeback.