It’s the Saturday after Thanksgiving 2024, and the families of Minerva Road are beginning to pull their holiday decorations from storage. Garage doors roll open. Plastic bins fill driveways. Neighbors come and go, unboxing inflatables, tugging power cords into place, and occasionally helping one another with setup.
Crouched inside his converted garage, Sam Defeo assembles a model train, part of the elf-size version of Santa’s Workshop he’s built out annually for almost a decade. Across the way, Ron Van Dijk balances near the top of a ladder, affixing a star-shaped paper lantern to the gable overhang; soon, his family will gather to build the cocoa stand the Van Dijk home has become known for. Next door, José and Teresa Quintero shake out a length of flocked garland and drape it across stanchions fronting their section of the sidewalk; then, José lends a hand with the cocoa stand.
This is Candy Cane Lane, a desert tradition for almost four decades.
At the home of Sam Defeo and Joyce Arnold, the couple’s adult children return over Thanksgiving weekend to help set up the illuminated trees on the front lawn.
Teri and Bob Hargreaves, among the neighborhood’s most veteran decorators, hang reindeer that Bob sawed from plywood.
José and Teresa Quintero stretch a length of flocked garland across their yard.
Many strings of lights ago, the people of Minerva Road in Cathedral City began turning their yards into elaborate Christmas displays. The tradition began in 1987, when the subdivision was newly built. Five neighbors made fast friends and tried to outdo each other with their installations. The next year, 16 homes joined in the fun. By the third, about 40 were participating, and the quiet street had become a regional attraction, drawing tens of thousands from across the Coachella Valley and beyond.
Today, most houses participate. Spectators who remember visiting as kids now bring their own children to see the lights. There is no rule requiring residents to decorate, no homeowners association to mandate it. They do it for the old-fashioned sense of neighborliness and holiday cheer — and they don’t seem to mind the traffic.
In fact, many have moved to Minerva Road to take part in the winter pageant.
Joyce Arnold and Sam Defeo discovered it — their dream retirement community — in 2015. “Joyce has always said it’s like when you go to Disneyland; you leave your cares behind,” Sam says. “It’s just a happy place. When you start walking the street, it’s that same kind of feeling, that there’s no problems.”
Inside his garage, converted by previous owners into Santa’s Workshop, Defeo arranges a family of elves.
Ron Van Dijk untangles a string of lights.
Herb Lienau considers where to place a candy cane statue.
Rather than negotiating the asking price, they negotiated keeping the custom garage display and all its fixings: Santa’s Workshop, complete with model train, Christmas tree, and a busy fleet of elves. Designed by previous owners Jane and John Dodd — one of the original Candy Cane Lane families — the display won first prize for Best Animation in a 1991 citywide competition.
“The first time [we set it up], it took two months,” Joyce recalls. “Some of the neighbors came over and helped, like we weren’t getting it quick enough.” These days, the setup takes about a month. Sam tries not to work more than three hours a day. Their adult sons usually visit at Thanksgiving to help.
While the “kids” plant a forest of twinkling trees on the Defeo-Arnold lawn, three generations of the Elliott family work amid a cast of Bluey inflatables. John Elliott and his wife, Cathy, wrangle 150 feet of purple LED rope light and a curtain of meteor lights as their daughter, Krystal, tends to the canine cartoon characters. Krystal’s daughter, Zoe, is old enough to help now; dressed for the occasion, she sports a Bluey shirt, Bluey Velcro shoes, and Bluey’s pointy ears — with reindeer antlers — as a headband.
A sign in the yard reads: “Candy Cane Lane Founding Family.”
The Elliotts bought in 1987. In 1989, they installed a Santa tumbling off their roof, with reindeer looking on in laughter. The display made the front page of The Desert Sun, and suddenly, cars were lining up to see the Minerva Road spectacle.
John Elliott, pictured with granddaughter Zoe Benabidez, creates a kid-friendly theme each year — this one starring Bluey and friends.
Newcomers Eduardo Machuca Alvarado and Eduardo Alvarado Perez joined the street in 2024 and have already filled their garage with decorations, including this towering snowman.
At the Quintero home, an illuminated sign keeps the neighborhood on schedule for Santa’s arrival.
Back then, decorations were built from scratch. The towering candy canes that dot many driveways today came from that era. “We had a lot of contractors on the street,” John says. “We took a collection and bought the PVC [pipes]. They heated it up and rolled it around a tractor tire. Another group wrapped them with duct tape. Another group spray-painted them. We set up an assembly line with the neighborhood, and every house got one.” A later modification added strings of lights swirled around the PVC.
These days, the Elliotts favor themed inflatables. Before Bluey, it was Barbie. (A Barbie photo booth survived as a holdover.) “We had Frozen when the movie came out,” John says. “We had cutouts of the characters. We had a live bird, a live Olaf. The kids went crazy over that. One year, we had a Disney theme with a live Mickey Mouse and Minnie Mouse.”
Each display is an investment. “To change over to Bluey, we’ve probably put about $1,000 into it,” John says.
Over the years, commitment has been tested. In the ’90s, a few stuffed animals disappeared from the Elliotts’ Pink Panther train, and neighbors’ displays were damaged. In a letter to The Desert Sun, John called the miscreants’ work “a heinous crime of malicious vandalism” and demanded vigilance. “There is a growing attitude on Minerva Road — no protection, no lights.” He urged readers to write the mayor, concluding, “Don’t let the Grinch get away with this one.”
Home for the holidays, Ben Van Dijk serves freshly made cocoa from his family’s front-yard stand.
Cathedral City Police increased patrols, and residents took shifts to conduct their own. City officials set up a fund at Palm Springs Savings Bank to help restore the decorations and pay part of that year’s lighting bill.
“This is special to the city because it’s a symbol of the city being a positive place for a family to live,” Cathedral City Police Chief Ron Johnson told the paper at that time.
In 2014, a city proclamation saluted the pioneers who began the tradition and officially declared December as Candy Cane Lane Month in Cathedral City.
Despite the challenges, and participation levels that wax and wane, the collective memory of this subdivision is one of multigenerational joy, laughter, and community spirit. “It was a lot of fun growing up on this street,” Krystal says.
Eduardo Alvarado Perez was raised a few blocks away and always dreamed of living on Minerva Road. In 2024, he and his partner, Eduardo Machuca Alvarado, made that a reality when they bought their first home together.
“At first, it was a little intense,” Alvarado Perez says, laughing. “When we put up just a few lights, one of the neighbors was like, ‘Do you need to borrow some decorations?’ They really get into this thing. So we actually bought some more.”
And their garage, like most on Minerva, is already full. Among their decorations is a vintage Christmas mailbox inherited from the previous owners.
“Everybody in the Coachella Valley knows about the street,” he says, and they’re happy to be there. “It’s very exciting to see the young families and the little kids, who get you into the Christmas spirit.”
José adjusts a bright red cardinal atop a vintage snowman.
Families admire the Bluey display at the Elliott home.
Sam Defeo suits up as Santa, posing for free photos with visitors.
Ron, Cara, Gracie, and Ben Van Dijk welcome the steady stream of holiday visitors.
As Christmas draws near, dusk transforms Minerva Road into a luminous wonderland.
Cars idle in a slow queue. Kids lean out of windows wearing antlers that blink. Somewhere, “Feliz Navidad” drifts from a speaker, and every few houses a Santa waves mechanically to the passing crowd.
Cathy Elliott climbs into a full Bluey Heeler costume to pose for photos, while John circulates with a practiced mix of camaraderie and crowd management.
“Please leave the candy cane alone. Thank you.”
“No food or drink near Bluey.”
“Slow, slow, slow.”
Pedestrians express gratitude for the effort. Parents point out houses to their kids that they remember seeing on their childhood visits.
A vintage figure from the original Santa’s Village in Lake Arrowhead waves to visitors.
A few doors down, José and Teresa Quintero and their three adult children offer cinnamon tea and pan dulce from a folding table. José drives a garbage truck and often works long days, but he always looks forward to decorating with family and coming home to the joyful atmosphere. “It’s worth it when you see happy people, a happy face,” he says.
The Quinteros purchased their home a decade ago. “Every single year we’ve decorated,” says their son, José “Leo” Quintero Jr., now in his early 20s. “It’s kind of like a competition, seeing who can get stuff up the quickest.”
They budget for one new item per year.
Next door, the Van Dijk family ladles cocoa from their hand-painted stand, modeled after Lucy’s psychiatry booth in Peanuts. (They’re on their third version since moving here in 2001.) Originally from Winlock, Washington, Ron and Cara Van Dijk were excited to raise a family in a community like Candy Cane Lane that reminded them of their home.
Although no one complains about utility bills, technological advances have led to displays that are cheaper, lighter, and far more energy-efficient — starting with Christmas lights.
Edward Hibberd Johnson invented the first string in 1882 after noting the danger of lighted candles in dry conifer trees. Over the decades, companies developed mini lights for the sake of lower power consumption, but the real breakthrough arrived with LEDs in the late 1990s. They come in almost any color, use only a few watts, and last thousands of hours. Even better, they are not wired in series, so one light going out doesn’t take down the whole strand.
Jack Skellington keeps watch over a house with a Nightmare on Elm Street twist.
Children pause to marvel at the animated scene inside Santa’s Workshop.
Crowds gather curbside for free cocoa and conversation.
Walkers stop to snap photos of their favorite displays.
The next leap came with the introduction of fan-powered inflatables. When the Elliotts installed their tumbling Santa and laughing reindeer years ago, they had to inflate the figures by mouth or with a bicycle pump. Gemmy Industries in Texas had a better idea. Riding the 1990s success of its animatronic Big Mouth Billy Bass — which looked at you and sang “Take Me to the River” — Gemmy began producing seasonal inflatables. Today, they come in all sorts of shapes: Minions, Snoopy as a World War I flying ace, Santa firing a penguin from a cannon, even a 14-foot Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. The list price for Bluey in a Santa cap is about $45 to $60 online.
Lighted inflatables induce awe and elation, but some prefer the nostalgia. Monica Camargo of Palm Desert has been visiting Candy Cane Lane for more than 20 years. One of her favorite displays is Santa’s Workshop, in the Defeo garage.
“It’s so old-school looking, like something straight out of the ’50s,” she says.
By New Year’s Day, the street grows quiet again. The inflatables collapse. The cocoa stand is disassembled. The candy canes return to storage. Somewhere, Minerva — Greek goddess of the arts and handicrafts — must be smiling.
“Living on Minerva made Christmas especially magical for our kids,” Cara says. “It was a very special place for us to raise a family.” So too for the thousands who visit Candy Cane Lane each year, drawn by the joy and feeling of belonging.
“That’s what it’s all about,” José emphasizes. “It’s Christmas. The best time of the year.”
