Date palm love

Some trees where clothes. Date palms, in particular, look pretty in hand-me-down dresses. I enjoy peeking beneath their skirts. Provocative, no?

This weekend I explored the stunning and unlikely China Ranch Date Farm. Nestled near the SE corner of Death Valley, this is about as unlikely a place to farm as any on earth. It's actually in the rain shadow of Death Valley, for cryin' out loud. Is that even possible? The drive to this place from Las Vegas is 80+ miles of sheer sun-blasted waste. You feel like you are driving on the surface of the moon, alone in the magnificent desolation, except there is a road cut through it ramrod straight.

Turning off that highway takes a bit of nerve. The side road that extends off to the far horizon of brown blandness has no definable sides because the sand is trying to reclaim the land. Scrub occasionally sprouts up, but even that is brown and begging for death. Eventually my wife and I drove down into a bizarre gulch with ugly conglomerate-stone walls. We dropped some 80 vertical feet and the narrow road snaked through the canyon dominated by towering, ugly walls that threatened to topple at every turn. Some places they had, as the loosely conglomerated rock just dissolved and poured over the road.

Then suddenly we came to an old sign with rusted barbed wire welcoming us to China Ranch. It was so-called because in the Old West days a Chinese man farmed here. When he became prosperous the local white dudes got jealous. Then one day the Chinese guy disappeared and the whites moved in. Once you look past the sign, though, you can see why this place was worth dying for.

China Ranch is a desert oasis. Ground water seeps out of the blasted rock and forms a sliver of a channel through the valley, complete with crayfish. Here is a surprising garden of Eden, complete with lush grasses, shady trees, and cool breezes. It's a salad bowl set in the most forbidding desert landscape in North America. And it is loaded with date palms.

The Brown family has owned and operated this date farm since 1970, and welcomes any and all to freely wander among their amazing palms. The fall and early winter is an excellent time to visit because they are loaded with ripened or nearly ripened fruit. Each tree has up to half a dozen old dresses, nightgowns, or dress shirts wrapping huge clusters of dates. This offers protection from wind and birds, and slows the bees down a little. Peeking from the bottom of these skirts are heavy clumps of dates, some ready for eating. It's fascinating to lift an old Hawaiian shirt to see if the treats below are fiery red, soft yellow, or nutty brown.

The grove itself is labeled so you can see the difference between Barhi date palms and Honey date palms. You can try them all in the gift shop, which we did. Gotta try em' all or you're missing out. I was amused at the ancient, huge brass spittoon near the samples, labeled 'Pitoon' for the pits. We chose three different batches to buy a pound or two of, and they were so fresh and juicy I just wanted to stare at them in wonder all day. But the best part of the gift shop, really, were the date shakes. Divine hardly describes it.

My wife and I managed to spend all afternoon here, but are eager to return. The stream wiggles its way right into Death Valley, which is just out back. There are half a dozen trails and miles and miles of desert solitude and beauty. The greenery marches deep into the valley, providing a hamlet for fox, bobcats, coyotes and all the jackrabbits you can imagine. And birds? They love it here. So do I.