Greetings from Los Angeles on Fire

Not my usual fare

On Tuesday night, after an especially blustery day in LA, the Eaton Fire broke out in the canyon foothills three miles north of my apartment. All day I had been following stories about the ultra-destructive Palisades Fire on the west side, watching Tiktoks of bulldozers pushing abandoned cars on Sunset Boulevard out of the way, and wondering if the Eames House would survive the blaze from the safety of my sofa while I kept one eye on the winds out my window. But suddenly, all the way over on the other side of town, we had our own disaster to navigate.

I’ve lived in Southern California all my life and have experienced my fair share of wildfires, so this wasn’t a total shock after many, many months without any rain. But still, no number of evacuations or fire drills makes the experience any less traumatizing. I was supposed to have dinner at Bernee in Altadena that night, and coffee with

Leonora Epstein

around the corner at Amara Kitchen the next morning. This is my neighborhood, a part of Los Angeles I love with my entire heart, so even as I watched the evacuation orders creep closer and closer to me, the darkness getting darker and the wind getting windier, I didn’t want to leave unless I absolutely had to.

Around midnight I started packing a bag. I had a list in my phone of practical things to grab in case of emergency: backup batteries, a flashlight, toiletries, my computer, my meds, a change of clothes, bottled water… But despite having done this a hundred times, I caught myself blankly staring at objects around my house, trying to assess their value against whether I could carry them on my own or even fit them in my car. I was frozen with indecision, stuck between sentimentality and practicality. My grandma’s chrome end tables have come with me to every apartment I’ve ever lived in, but they’re heavy and bulky; Do I leave those behind? My grandpa’s paintings are a non-negotiable, but what about other pieces of art I’ve collected? I completely forgot about the box of high school mementos on the top shelf of my closet, but I was very focused on a small vintage rug my sister bought me for Christmas years ago. Should I bring that? Should I pack the suede trench coat I saved up for for months? What about my dining table? Can that fit in my tiny car???

I lost more and more clarity as the evacuation order list grew longer. I don’t know what time it was when I went out in the 70 mph winds to remove the giant tree branches blocking my driveway and therefore trapping my car into its spot behind the building one by one. At one point I heard the loudest crack I’ve ever heard in my life—I’d later find out it was a massive oak tree down the street that fell and crushed a Honda. I called my sister, mom, and dad on rotation, discussing the pros and cons of every potential move I could make. The thought of leaving my home and all the things in it made me sick to my stomach, but at 4:30 AM, I decided I couldn’t wait any longer and reluctantly made my way elsewhere.

I’ll skip to the end: my house is fine, I am safe, my family is safe, and I’ve received a massive outpouring of support and check-ins and well wishes in the last 24 hours that have made me so proud to be a part of this community. But so, so many people have lost so much since Tuesday morning, and I have a pit in my stomach that sinks a little deeper each time I see a “We lost everything” post on Instagram. Two of my friends from high school separately lost each of their homes—they’re completely gone. Plant Material’s Altadena location is gone, and so is the owner’s home. So many small business owners, including those of Interior Hair, Perle, and BellJar, lost homes too. Side Pie is gone. Miya is gone. The entire block housing Minik Market, Amara Kitchen, and Café de Leche is gone. (Somehow, Bernee survived.) And this is just the damage of one of the fires burning in this city right now. There are hundreds of stories like this, probably thousands.

I can’t stop thinking about Molly Baz and the dream house she and her husband meticulously designed, or the 91 year old man I saw on the news who vowed he could “still start over”, or the video going around of the guy frantically coaxing a bunny out from the flames and into the safety of his arms. I am never going to forget walking into Sarah’s house and sobbing as I sat in her vintage armchair, the twin to the one in my own living room I left behind. (They are a set that we split—like BFF necklaces, but chairs.) I’ll always remember the overwhelming display of community that erupted in every neighborhood in the city, the taco stands that set up outside evacuation centers to pass out free food, the people offering to trailer horses and goats and whatever other animals people might own to safety, the “Are you safe?” texts and the offers for a place to stay and the preemptive “I’m canceling this meeting until things settle down” emails from clients. I’m grateful, antsy to help, devastated for so many, sad for my neighborhood, relieved for my safety, and overwhelmingly filled with love for this city and the people in it who have come together to help each other through this.

My street earlier today.

Anyway, I just wanted to give an update, say thank you for the messages, and let you know why you won’t be getting a carefully-curated issue of À La Carte in your inbox this week. I’m writing this from my apartment—I stopped in to assess the situation, run the air purifier for a bit, and clean up so I can hopefully return home for good tomorrow. Fingers crossed.

In case you’re looking for a way to help, Rachel Davies put together a list of GoFundMe links for people who have lost their homes, including many I know personally, so if you have a few dollars to donate or someone whose fundraiser you’d like to add yourself, click here:

Where to donate to people who've lost their homes in the LA fires

And, my friend and neighbor

Cat Chen

made a list of her own:

Neighbors in Need

I’m doing everything I can to funnel money to my friends in need, and in addition I’ll be distributing whatever money I make this week from this newsletter to people on those lists. If you need help navigating how to help, drop any questions in the comments, and feel free to share resources, too.

Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you.

x

Ali