“The sky is red, and the mountain is on fire!”

The sky was red, very red, and that was not a good sign at all. I knew as soon as I uttered that phrase. That the life I knew, and more importantly, my home, Altadena, would forever be changed. It was late in the evening last week, January 7th, an already rough day as the winds were monstrous. Our house had gotten us through so much horrible weather and earthquakes. But these winds felt weird and ominous, shaking and swaying the house quite strongly.

My East Altadena neighborhood was settling in for a long, arduous, night without power or internet. We were used to PSPS aka Public Safety Power Shutoff they did that to protect us and prevent fires. Tonight felt different though as the winds worsened minute by minute. The thought of having no power, no TV, and no internet, only cell service and a landline became a bit worrying. I ended up deciding to prep and pack a bag or two. It was a little voice in my head that popped out of nowhere. I felt like something about this wind and PSPS just wasn’t right. Thinking back I’m not exactly sure if it was a PSPS at all. We seemed to be the ones in the area out of power at the time, at the worst time.

But as the evening stretched with the PSPS still going (it had the potential to go on until Thursday of that week) and the winds picking up hour by hour, howling and just downright scary. Who knows what the worst thing was that could happen? That’s what I usually think but never say out loud. That was until around 6:30 ish that evening when a helicopter was super low causing my ears and my Mom’s to perk up enough. I told I would check it out taking a flashlight and going into a dark kitchen towards the back door. I look out and exclaim those words that would not only change my life, but the lives of everyone around me, everyone in my neighborhood, and my home Altadena.

Living in the foothills all my life, adapting to the idea that a wildfire might happen stays in the back of one’s mind. The possibility was always there because the hills were always there. We had many close calls. There was 2020’s Bobcat Fire, or 2009’s Station Fire. Yet, the earliest fire I can recall was the 1993 Kinneloa Fire. It was roughly in the same area and came pretty close to us burning some homes in the Loma Alta area. The hurricane-force-like winds (or what I later learned were straight-line winds) were blowing fast and fierce. I ran to the rest of my family and told them we got to go now as the fire was moving fast downhill but across the hill. I tried calling 911 so they could switch me over to the fire department, but they were getting hounded. I heard a busy signal for all of ten seconds. I realized the cell service was gone. The call dropped out again.

We were now completely cut off. My Aunt and I went to get the car out of the garage to find and use the manual function to open the garage door. That started to take too long, and we could not fix it. We went with the second car, not our main one. It was rough getting back into our house. It seemed like impossible winds to get through, plus we had to pack as quickly as possible and in the dark.

The sky got redder and the fire could now be seen from the front. I knew at some point we had to make a judgment call, my Grandma had trouble walking, and our small family of four was running high with anxiety. Then the first of two calls came through on our landline, we were now on evacuation warning so we just started putting things in another car and saw a neighbor come back driving a bit crazy. He must have seen how horrible the blaze was.

In less than an hour, it was already in our foothills. The sky surrounding us was emblazoned red and orange, the fire covering the ranges. The winds had also picked up higher. We went back inside to see that we didn’t miss anything and see if it was best to leave, as we would have to drive in massive winds. I tried to text family out of the area, but alas, cell service was still not working. I was anxious and scared now and felt it was time to go. That’s when the final official evacuation call came through, and we left our beautiful home.

We weren’t the only ones evacuating, the shock palpable in the air as we drove out from our quiet street. Many evacuees seemed to park on the side or wonder about and stare in awe at the size of the fire now. There were others on the phone just trying to figure it all out. We made it onto Lake (a street that ended up decimated and a Hallmark of our community). You could see how bad it was already engulfing the mountains and canyons, eventually our foothills. The shock was brutal, and the whole ordeal felt surreal as we drove around aimlessly in Altadena and Pasadena for a while. We didn’t know what to do or where to go, and the fire was getting bigger. The smoke and ash hanging thick. All I knew was that we needed to get as far from Altadena proper as soon as possible.

We did try to go back up to our house twice. The first time was to try to recover a cell phone I thought I’d left. I didn’t. The second time, I don’t recall why, but we couldn’t even go past Mendocino as the police had it blocked off now. The sky above us was a horrific ombre of blood red and orange, going into shadow gray into black. It was smoky and ashy. The atmosphere was murky and amorphous as if a volcano had erupted. I feel this is when some of it began to sink in. The evacuation order, the wildfire, and the fact we probably weren’t returning home for some time. I took another look back at home, the mountains I loved now aflame, and prayed.

After finally getting to safety, we utilized every resource we could to book a place to stay that was close by. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until the early morning hours we finally secured a place to stay. It was miles out and in Los Angeles near the airport. Tired, loopy, and shell-shocked but grateful we were safe, the tears were plentiful that night. It was harrowing and not over yet. My family and I watched in horror over the next few days following, as the only place I’ve ever called home, Altadena, ended up ravaged by the Eaton fire. We also learned how close the fire was as it was only a mile away. The extreme winds caused the embers to fly and fall everywhere. The next thing I knew, the news and media from all over had descended upon our community, covering every angle of our beautiful streets and burning everything once familiar now turned into rubble and dust, ashes everywhere, and a headline.

Seeing the aftermath of the Eaton Fire so far has been a constant swirling mix of the worst feelings ever. The videos were and are horrifying of Altadena, the air filled with soot and smoke, and seeing all these places and homes now burning. Then, watching landmarks like the Bunny Museum, our main street, Lake Ave, and local stores, Rite Aid, and Aldi’s all went up in flames so fast. It was all too much, too fast, too awful. The two banks on Lake Ave suffered fire damage, and the BofA didn’t make it. Some of our small businesses, popular hangout spots like The Rancho, or fave local restaurants like Fox’s, Everest’s, even the local hardware store Altadena Hardware, and even Christmas Tree weren’t untouched. They all suffered some damage or were just completely ruined. West Altadena was hurt super hard, perhaps the hardest. There were whole neighborhoods flattened by fire here. Hearing this and knowing the area is known for its historically Black neighborhood and businesses made it all the more painful. For anyone unaware of Altadena’s history of redlining in home ownership and districting, it predates the civil rights era of the 1960s. During The Great Migration, African Americans fled the South to find opportunities elsewhere. Altadena became a beacon of opportunity, cheaper houses, new careers, and just starting over. Where the discrimination came in any predominately Black neighborhoods deemed a problem or lesser than and thus redline.

Many have built so much generational wealth to overcome hardships like the practice I mentioned. A practice that to this day shows how clear the divide is between West and East Altadena despite the community’s unique diversity. I have always lived in East Altadena. That’s where the where started where the fire started over by the Eation Cayon area. Yet, a thought that continues to bother me is how the East fares better. I’m not saying much. A staple of the community, The Altadena Town and Country Club had been reduced to rubble and ashes.

It felt more like bittersweet relief and gratitude and guilt. The four houses running parallel to ours were demolished and still on fire. One of the houses wound up burning down and into a part of our retaining wall. That same neighbor was also out trying to do what he could to help out his house, but I could tell he was shell-shocked. Suddenly, two firefighters appeared out of nowhere. They were walking around looking for buildings to try and save. I called out to them to see if they would help us out. There wasn’t any water in the tap or house, but we had a pool in the backyard, so we got water there.

We managed to find a small window of time to go back and see how our neighborhood was and if our house was still standing. It was, and it was one of few on our block. The drive back was overwhelming. We were crying all the way. The damage was immense and intense, and I am putting it lightly. Altadena is small, with the population hovering somewhere around 42K. It’s also an unincorporated community, something that brings a unique set of highlights and challenges. We are also very tight-knit.

Seeing our main artery, Lake Ave, unrecognizable, then Mendocino obliterated, and at the time, The Altadena Town and Country Club barely hanging on when we went then and still on fire, so many structures were, honestly, what stood out most for me was the lack of firefighters, police, news media, and any first responders. My neighborhood in East Altadena was a literal ghost town with so many structures still on fire and the smell of gas heavy in the air. When we finally turned onto our street, we encountered more damage, things on fire, and whole blocks of houses gone (including a childhood friend’s home). While we were relieved and grateful to see ours still standing, I wouldn’t necessarily say we were happy overall, as the realization that there would be only a new Altadena had fully sunk in.

We knew we had to leave the neighborhood after grabbing whatever belongings from our now smoke-damaged house that we could and talking to a few others who were doing the same. We took a risk, and I’m now sick on top of my Asthma and Allergies. My Dad mentioned that the house next to us had an open gas line that was aflame. The four houses adjacent to ours got flattened by the Eaton Fire and still had small spot fires. One of the houses burned through so badly that it burned down part of our retaining wall. We happen to catch two firefighters walking down the block back and looking for buildings to try and save. I called them over for help, and they helped as much as possible. But there wasn’t any running water. So, we had to gather buckets of pool water from our backyard. Hopefully, that helped.

Now stationed outside all of the streets/intersections back into Altadena are the CHP, LAPD, Sheriffs, and even the National Guard in Altadena. We headed into day nine soon, and they had gone into the grim stage of search and rescue, bringing in search teams and cadaver dogs. It is quite honestly the saddest part of it all. I know people didn’t have time to get out, and there are still people unaccounted for. I only recently learned that our evacuation zone got downgraded during the crisis and chaos. The inconsistent emails and texts contradicted the earlier order. I now realize had been rescinded.

We first got an order to leave around 7:25 PM following an evacuation warning to monitor the fire at 6:58 PM. A phone call with an alert came through on our house landline, and my Grandma answered it. She said the message on the phone was confusing for her as well. We didn’t wait around trying to understand the confusion or to wait to see what happens. We just left.

The updated order went out at 9:02 PM. This time, I believe, felt too late for our area as it swept through so fast. It seemed like to me many just decided they could ride it out or that it was farther away. Some may have gone with the second order. I’ve read (and heard) so much chatter in our neighborhood groups about the differentiating alerts, timings, and evac orders confusing people, and all of this saddens me. Where I live in Altadena, it seems like the fire’s ignition point wasn’t far away. I was either 2 miles away or at least a half mile away. Either way, adding the extreme winds that were gusting up to 100 MPH that night. You get a recipe for disaster or a perfect storm. The Eaton fire was down the canyon hill and over 100 acres within minutes. That was all I needed to know.

Not only am I thinking about the what-ifs every day, but the realization that there are only a few houses left on my block. Now, the flames are seemingly gone (45 percent containment at the time of finishing this), and the toxins, debris, rubble, dust, and ash were coming in thick. There’s so much sadness, burdened hearts, and sorrow hanging heavy as the soot and smoke permeating the air. But there was also so much positivity, joy, strength, community, helpfulness, and hope.

My community of Altadena got hit so hard structurally we have nothing left. I hope so many will have the chance and stay to rebuild. We lost thousands of homes and other structures, not counting those with minimal or medium damage. It’s been hard to put everything into words, but words like grief, shock, community, tired, surrealism, strength, perseverance, and hope quickly come to mind. I also realize that my family and I are one of the lucky ones, as we have a home to go back to. In through all this it’s easy to notice how strong you are, your loved ones are, and your community. You also realize how fast things can change in the blink of an eye or a flicker of a spark.