What happens when you lose the pillow where you place your head every night… your favorite coffee mug … the souvenir ticket stub from that Eagles concert at the Forum?
What happens when the home of your dreams – your refuge, your sanctuary — is there one moment, gone the next?
For so many of our neighbors and friends, the kids’ school clothes are gone, their merit badges, the Elsa hair ties, the Barbie collection, all those Legos.
Gone.
This week’s horrendous fire messed up far more than our homes. It messed up our sense of well-being, perhaps the most-valuable asset we have in these skittish times.
Right now, our hearts are breaking for our friends who lost their cherished homes … the hand-written recipes … their favorite tools. They are mourning a million little things … the Halloween decorations … the chili bowls … the trophy someone won for finishing fifth.
Did you see the strange and ominous clouds roll across the horizon early Tuesday, before this fiery hurricane even started? They came in gray like battleships, left a tiny dusting of snow across the San Gabriels. It was as if they were marking targets.
Hours later, they were replaced by flames.
The winds swirled in super dry, like some version of poison gas. They found tinder, they found victims. They left behind a sense of dread that will live on with us for decades.
If you are safe and warm in your home right now, count your blessings. And say a little prayer for those who aren’t.
I have a half-dozen friends whom I know lost houses in the Altadena fire, though there are undoubtedly more. Scott and Kelsey, who were already dealing with some scary health concerns; and Kevin and Laura, who are expecting their second child in March.
Also, Bill, my wry and funny old hiking buddy and Colleen, my ebullient former book publisher. Ed, who like me, has a son up at the University of Oregon, lost the home where he’d raised his terrific kids.
And they all have this in common. They all wonder “What now?”
“My house. My loss. But it’s a new beginning too. That’s what I’ll embrace,” posted my buddy Langley, with a photo of his smoldering house.
In the coming weeks, you will read devastating projections on what this all means to home insurance. Will the companies remain solvent enough to pay off these enormous claims?
What about the wisdom and feasibility of rebuilding in areas that have been previously hit? After all, there is only so much land. We need to live somewhere.
At some point, we have to come to terms with imperious assumptions that we can play God with our surroundings and survive.
If this rash of SoCal wildfires proves one thing: No place is exempt, not with lethal winds hot enough to melt concrete.
Other things to ponder: When the time comes, how will victims find a contractor? Finding a builder in Los Angeles was already more difficult than finding a spouse.
How will city and county building departments handle the logjam of permit requests? How can they expedite the cleanup and recovery? Can they waive debris permits? Will they demand fire retardant in new homes? Should the city and county anoint a recovery czar?
No matter what you read, this won’t be the end of California. There is too much opportunity, too much beautiful land, too much sunshine, which ironically is one of the problems as well.
Can a place be done in by too much honey? Will it ever rain?
At least the birds are back, the flames seem to be easing (for now) and there is the sense that this could’ve been so much worse. Except, of course, for those who were in the bull’s-eye of this tragic event.
For them, the world is upside down. For them, this is the Great Chicago Fire.
What can the rest of us do?
We can dig a little, show some heart, by contributing to the recovery funds that are sprouting up online. GoFundMe already has a special category for L.A. County fire victims.
You can also put out buckets of water for the wild animals and stray pets that will be wandering our foothill communities, their snouts – their radar systems – caked in dust and grit.
They are scared, exhausted and have lost their homes too.
Finally, we feel at the mercy of too many things right now: politicians, city managers, building codes, insurance adjusters, FEMA, and those merciless devil winds.
One day at a time, right?
Because I do know this: Holding out hope in the face of ridiculous misfortune is the most-admirable human trait I can think of.
That itself is a form of prayer.
And prayer is a pillow too.
You people are amazing. Thank you for the warm thoughts this past week. Everyone safe for now. As for helping others, many deserving families out there. Here are a couple worth considering: https://gofund.me/a79174b0 and https://gofund.me/8a42dfe3
Can’t sleep. Can’t think. Can’t write.
We know we can turn to Chris for tapping into our hearts at 5 am. 🙏🏼
So sad to see the devastation and feeling for all of you there. Glad you and your crew are safe. Stay well.
I met with a group that lost their homes in the Thomas fire. As hard as it is to believe, this was something that brought them together & helped shape a community. All of those mementos were gone, but a chance to start over without the clutter that sometime consumes our lives was erased. These residents were broken but stronger. As a group, they were able to negotiate the system and rebuild their lives. My heart goes out to those that are in limbo now w/o any inclination of where they will go next. It’s important to get help & ride the officials that may or may not have your best interests in mind. I pray that LA is as responsive as Ventura County was in helping with the cleanup and the streamlining of regulations.
Don’t get me wrong, I am terrified of fires & the first one to pack up when a warning arises. I give talks on landscaping for fire, & while none of this could have prevented what we are now facing, the response as of lately has been less than stellar. For those that are safe, please harden your homes & follow CalFire’s recommendations for zone clearance. UC ANR also has great information. We are in unprecedented times & with climate change, things are not going to get better.
My heart & prayers go out to those who have lost everything, who grieve their dead, who can’t imagine the future. Prayers for the rest of us to be generous with our time & resources to aid those in need.
Thank you, Chris, for your words.
Beautifully said. I grew up in Milwaukee shoveling snow every New Year’s day and dreaming of being in technicolor California for the Rose Bowl parade. Now I live a mile and a half from the Rose Bowl and every day I am amazed at my good fortune. Waking from another anxious sleep I wandered through the house while the coffee brewed, taking in the pictures, the paintings, the view from our patio and said another silent prayer of gratitude for another day in this miraculously untouched neighborhood. There’s no place on earth that isn’t vulnerable to some catastrophe or another, and this was as inevitable as it is heartbreaking. One more wakeup call to the challenges of climate change. They keep getting louder, and at some point we’re going to all have to listen.
There is no silver bullet nor magic wand, no political or religious creed that will solve all of our problems. We all need each other, especially now. Let’s do this…
I have no words so thank you for yours.
Word of caution:
I do want to mention do not allow your pets to drink water left out from bowls fountains ponds whatever as water+ash=lye.
So glad to hear that you, your kids and Suzanne are safe. Heartbreaking to see the images of such massive destruction. And you are correct about hope. It’s a protective factor in the face of adversity. Quite powerful. Prayers to the City of Angels and all those affected by these devastating fires. 🙏
Thank you for your soothing words. My heart is breaking for the city of my birth. God bless us all. Nancy
I do feel fortunate and my heart breaks for your friends and every human and creature affected. As usual, you face the facts head on and yet manage to find believable hope that gives our spirits something to cling to and help us rise above the current reality. Hope lies in your words and in our infinite capacity to be kind and supportive to others in their time of greatest need.
This has been surreal! Thanks so much for your very comforting words. We have felt better hearing your thoughts and keeping hope alive for all those affected.
Sending you & yours a big hug from snowy Chicago.
I’m in the midst of survivor guilt. Why was my old dry Pasadena Craftsman home spared? Still safe & sound when so many of my friends & neighbors lost their theirs. So random. So vicious. Why God? Why not me?
OK it’s not about me. I must be grateful for my blessings and comfort and help those innocents so less fortunate than me.
If you can, note any other entities to donate for our neighbors. Here in Palm Springs all the local hotels are dropping rates to help those displaced. There are also many, many places for animals large and small, to help. We have assisted families and their animals consistently over the years. Hope and help is out here-though it is miles away.
Amazing column!
Wonderful words. So sad!
So heartbreaking! We realize how vulnerable we are to nature, which with it comes both beauty and catastrophe.
Thoughtful words, Chris, Thank you. I suppose it’s too much to expect that people stop trying to make political hay with this tragedy, so those who have to decide on an actual course of action can deal with that rather than the vitriol of blather. This is a situation that probably could only have been avoided if 80+ years ago agencies had taken more time to consider what developers were proposing. Sure, there are things that current powers that be might have done differently, but almost any one of us who have lived through those winds know that whatever could have been done should have been done years ago. Once those winds start — and they happen every single year — it’s mostly a case of just batten down the hatches and ride it out. One thing I hope they take into consideration is the kinds of plants that are still outlining the debris of burned-out homes, and that seem to have survived unscathed.
Chris,
This is truly one of your best articles.
Seconded. And it deserves an independent journalism award. Erskine is the writer I turn to for the heart and soul of things. Secondary victims are spared the worst of the loss but they are emotionally, psychically, sometimes spiritually injured. Where was God when the little ones, the furry friends and elderly, were being run over? For me, I know he was uniting his own suffering on the cross with ours and sending his Holy Spirit to comfort, to console, and to inspire us all to become the best stewards of his creation. Pax.
God is in the angels, first-responders and others, giving it their all. More on that on Saturday.
Thanks for the words of comfort Chris. Times like these turning to a playlist of songs of comfort seems to soothe the soul. Try these two as starters, Rhiannon Giddens is the first and The Cowboy Junkies is the second:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1Z4PAZX9Bs
No mention of Suzanne’s house in the Palisades??
Well, it seems my post only listed Cowboy Junkies. It’s a start. 🙂
Maybe this works for Giddens
Speechless, praying…
Los Angeles
*the angels *
enfold us now
within Thy Wings ~
of mercy
compassion
healing
Love ~ ~ ~
-kr 1/25
Altadena. So many beautiful places there, browed and nestled and niched on the sunny flanks of the San Gabriels…In a previous life I once had a knotty pine aerie with a long double-walled aviary as its back porch, the double-screened walls alive with more than 100 birds.. it was very near the head of.Sierra Madre Canyon , and I once stood on my front porch and watched a small plane wheel on a dime at the mountain flank and drop Borate in a drifting pink cloud where a fire was merrily racing along, eating everything in its broad path and breathing out clouds of particulate smoke in the process. The pilot was so close I could see the expression on his face. If you lived there you lived with fire—and you knew it. But this…and then there is The Palisades, and Suzanne’s aerie by the sea…There are no words.
I’ve been thinking about you and your family and friends. Hard to wrap your head around it all. Keeping you and your community in my thoughts. Holly
Thank you Chris, no poetry to quote this time, no words at all, just tears.
My sister and brother in law lost their home this week for the second time never imagining after the last big Malibu fire 30 years ago that they would find themselves homeless again. What a gut punch to the psyche. I am going to forward your column and hope that your soothing words can have the same effect that they have had on all your followers. Thank you.
One of your finest, Chris. So heartfult full of empathy and hope. Thanks. (PS – My favorite was when Jackson was born. That one lingers with me big time.)
Been through it in 1975
Hard to go to work when you have nothing to wear, kids same
It took big faith to start again
The biggest lift. Everyone pay attention!
Was getting invited to a home cooked meal, smiling faces and knowing someone knew you were in a bad place.
Lots of praying too
Chris, thank you—you truly are the voice of the people—bless you for your gift of seeing the beauty and the sadness intertwined.
My husband asked a good question last night – he asked if CalFire will be involved in the rebuilding planning and will they ask about alternative exit routes for these communities. Only one way out seems to have been a devastating factor in many of the fires, including the Paradise fire up north.