The town itself is young. Prospectors came for gold and silver in the late 1800s — the Lost Horse Mine was the richest — and cattle ranchers like Bill Keys built homesteads at the desert springs. In 1938 the Small Tract Act handed out five-acre parcels, and “jackrabbit homestead” cabins scattered across the flats. Meanwhile a Pasadena conservationist, Minerva Hoyt, had spent years lobbying to protect the desert’s plants; her campaign won Joshua Tree National Monument in 1936, and in 1994 it became a full national park. The town grew up as the gateway at its door.
What’s with the two deserts? Joshua Tree sits on a seam. The town and its national park straddle the line where two great deserts meet: the higher, cooler Mojave to the west — above about 3,000 feet, where the rain is a little more generous and the Joshua trees grow — and the lower, hotter Colorado Desert to the east, all creosote, ocotillo, and cholla cactus. Cross the park from one side to the other and the whole world changes: spiky Joshua-tree forests and piled boulders give way to open cactus flats and palm-shaded oases fed by water forced up along the San Andreas fault. Two deserts, one town at the gateway — which is a lot of strangeness for one stretch of California.
Why People Visit Joshua Tree
People come for the strangeness: trees out of a storybook, boulders made for scrambling, and a night sky so dark the Milky Way throws shadows. Pair the park with the town’s desert-arts scene and you have a high-desert getaway unlike anywhere else in California.
