There is a particular kind of American confidence required to look at the hottest, driest, least forgiving stretch of ground in California and think: palm trees.

Not the palm trees that already grow wild in a handful of shaded canyons nearby, mind you, where springs seep up through granite and the Cahuilla people had the good sense to settle centuries before anyone else showed up with opinions.

No. Imported palms.

Palms from Iraq, Algeria and Egypt. Palms that had spent their entire evolutionary history perfecting themselves along the banks of the Euphrates, now expected to make a go of it in a valley where summer temperatures can reach 120 degrees and the annual rainfall might not fill a shot glass twice.