P.S. I Love You: Reconnecting with the Springs and Palms in Palm Springs

High & Dry surveys the legacy of human enterprise in the California desert and beyond. Together, writer Jack Eidt and photographer Osceola Refetoff document human activity, past and present, in the context of future development.

The spirits are seen in the morning in the desert, in the form of mirages, of people, bodies of water, and villages. Thus, the people know the spirits still live and show their power to the people. We know that we are not forgotten.

–Francisco Patencio, Cahuilla Elder and Chief, 1943

The blooming desert miracle that would become Palm Springs (P.S.) all began with the Agua Caliente Hot Mineral Springs. The sacred water source of the original Cahuilla People was considered more than just a commodity, but a living being, a sentient entity with its own rights. The Agua Caliente valley location was used for warm baths, potable water, irrigation, and healing powers. The hot springs and the surrounding grove of indigenous Desert Fan Palm trees spawned the name Palm Springs, a place that would attract spa retreatants, SoCal weekenders, retirees, and snowbirds from all over the world.

Yet it took me decades to learn about the history of the Agua Caliente, as my relationship with P.S. started when my college-girfriend’s family leased a condo some blocks away from the Spring. To us, the word meant spring break — car-cruising the streets downtown, late-night tequila parties, and hung-over basking around the pool in the burning hot sun.

Like most visitors, I had no idea about the sacred spring and the people that stewarded it, right there, around the corner. And maybe the real estate developers who built the city did not consider the valuable water flowing from underground a sacred living being. Thus, we have a disconnect between the Springs and the people who use it today.

The abundance from the underground hot spring aquifer, fed and replenished by the adjacent Colorado River aqueduct, has sprouted a glamorous vacationland and wellness retreat. P.S. is on the map for its mid-century modern architecture, arts scene, LGBT culture, and international music and film events. And don’t forget the extravagant fountained golf resorts and water parks.

It’s hot, glorious Sinatra-styled swimming pool fabulous setting, where presidents and soap opera stars come to lounge in the sun, is considered the Colorado Desert (named for the river, not the state). Despite more summer monsoon humidity and storms, its changing climate gets hotter and drier every year. And the fossil-fueled sprawl continues to bulldoze the mesquite and creosote bush scrub in favor of non-native tropically-palmed boulevards and mountain-view condos with no end in sight.

When surveying the burgeoning synthetic-oasis spreading across the Coachella Valley and into the Imperial Valley, I always ask myself: how long can all this suburban plenitude last?

To understand how we might better adapt to this harsh desert, we turn to Cahuilla Chief Francisco Patencio’s origin story for the hot spring at the palms. He told of a headman, growing old and infirm, who stuck his power-staff into the ground, causing water from this spring to flow. He named it Séc-he, meaning the sound of boiling water, which was the original name of the settlement that would become Palm Springs. In Spanish, it translated to Agua Caliente when the reservation was established in 1876. Séc-he bubbled from an earth-portal seen as the underworld where the nukatem, ancient sacred beings, lived. The Agua Caliente Spring at the Palms would flow forever and always be a source of health and wellness for the people.

The flowering, fruit-bearing native Desert Fan Palm, known as Washingtonia filfera, sprouted from permanent springs, and can grow to 66 feet tall. It is fire-adapted, requiring burns to keep the bugs away and allow the fruits to grow and species to prosper. The story from Francisco Patencio is that the first Cahuilla man, Ma-ul, was growing old and wanted to leave something good behind. So, he stood firm at a spring and his feet turned into roots, bark formed around his legs, and his hair grew into palm fronds. He transformed into the first palm tree.

In the rush to imitate, and I dare say mock this phenomenon, resort and condo developers have proliferated what art critic Shana Nys Dambrot called Problematic Palms, the title of a 2023 art exhibition featuring Osceola Refetoff’s work at College of the Desert:

Our way toward a better desert adaptation is embodied in the ancient Cahuilla concept of ?kiva?a (pronounced with a double glottal stop). It is the generative force or power from which all things were created. I learned this from anthropologist Lowell J. Bean’s book, "Mukat’s People", regarding the beliefs of the forebears to the Agua Caliente Indians of today.

Okay, stay with me, as this gets a little esoteric. ?kiva?a —what we might call the living forces of the universe: like sun, wind, fire, and of course water— is seen as interacting and cooperating as part of a system. This system can work against us when we get out of line, like us burning too much fossil fuels has caused the climate to go haywire. This is today what we call an ecological ethic.

Humans are an integral part of this reciprocal natural system, meaning we have an obligation to give back to the natural forces when we take. So how do we give back to the desert? Let’s think about how we use our ?kiva?a generative power in building these mega-retirement suburbs in an inherently unstable and unforgiving desert based on water which may not always be as plentiful as it is today.

The Coachella Valley lives off the wonder of this ready-to-drink 39 million acre-feet capacity aquifer, replenished in drought years from the Colorado River Aqueduct and, as a last resort, the California Water Project from NorCal. Groundwater depletion is a serious threat to survival in one of our hottest and driest regions like the Colorado Desert.

Some of the roughly 120 Coachella Valley golf courses consume up to one million gallons a day. A percentage of those courses use recycled non-potable water. Conservation measures like replacing turf with native vegetation and reducing the dangerous chemical burden can make a difference. To build in resilience toward an uncertain future, we need all Coachella Valley golf courses to use their generative power to reduce their water usage.

The Thermal Beach Club, with a 22-acre surfing lagoon, is envisioned for just north of the drying Salton Sea. We discussed the issue of Salton Sea water scarcity in an earlier dispatch. This project would violate every tenant of its path to restoration. Gnarly wave machines in the desert — you heard that right — would prompt annual evaporation of 5 million gallons of potable water amid all those sunscreen-slathered boogie-boarders.

To get us further in trouble, Crystal Lagoon, planned as a Disney project for Rancho Mirage, includes a 34-acre swimming lagoon filled with 62 million gallons of water, pumped directly out of the aquifer. They do promise to pay for groundwater replenishment with Colorado River water, a "living being" already consumed by sun-drenched tract-homes, agricultural bonanzas, and putting greens in six states and Baja California.

Water experts have advised an urgent need to cut water use on the Colorado, particularly groundwater pumping, to avert a deepening crisis. Maybe we could use a re-think of how we consume our power here too. How about less wave machines, less water-thirsty alfalfa and cattle, and more emphasis on how to rehydrate desiccated landscapes through restoration of willow wetlands and creosote bush in historic watercourses and slopes? With an ethic based on reciprocity, we can learn how to give back to our desert, in exchange for the healing and recreation it provides us.

I finally found my way on foot to the wild flowing spring heralded by desert fan palms in Tahquitz Canyon (pronounced tah-kwitz). Tahquitz is one of the primary nukatam or ancient sacred beings who the traditional stories say went awry from the basic premise of ?kiva?a. He lives in a cave high on Mount San Jacinto that looms over Palm Springs.

The only way us humans can visit the dangerous realm of this malevolent being who causes environmental disaster, is to protect ourselves when we venture into his realm with a bottle of water, a sun hat, good boots, and maybe a coat during winter. The spring is magical, with a waterfall, rock art, and an ancient irrigation system that still flows water down to the valley floor.

The ancient Cahuilla understood to respect the power of Tahquitz, who wanted nothing more than to kill them all. In order to avert the disaster-drought-earthquake-fire trap, we better show some respect, take precautions, and plan actions to mitigate the scientific reality about our heating climate and dwindling water supplies. Let’s collect our rainwater in a barrel next to the house, and switch to water-efficient practices and appliances in home and gardens. Over time, those grapefruit trees, spitting fountains, and problematic palms could be replaced with pollinator plants and native cottonwoods.

It’s not too late to recognize our folly and make amends to Tahquitz and other nukatem spirit beings like the overseer of the springs, hooved animals, firewinds, and controllers of the weather. Yes, we are all dancing with dangerous forces, and the art shows, tequila parties, and rounds of golf can be good medicine too. Nevertheless, the time is now for every one of us to participate in generating positive power, ?kiva?a, for the betterment of our palms, our springs, our world.

NOTE: Multispectral Exposures combine infrared and visual spectrum light in-camera. Originally developed for aerial espionage, this new, experimental take on the process creates vivid color combinations at the moment of exposure, using archaic filters in front of the lens to control the wavelengths and colors recorded. Images from the modernist house series Chromatopia appears courtesy of Von Lintel Gallery in Los Angeles. This work will be on view at the Intersect Palm Springs art fair, February 12-16, 2026.

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