Goodbye, Altadena

Gone with the Winds: A Photo Essay

The other night, I drove up into the heart of the Altadena fire zone, north of Altadena Drive, west of Lake Avenue. I have a lot of friends in that neighborhood. I passed one of their homes and saw the massive 120-year old tree that had crashed through their house, killing two of their cats. Then the whole thing burned down.

I have posted already about how I live at the southern edge of Altadena, and although we had to evacuate for several nights, our street fortunately survived intact; the fire was finally halted just a few blocks north of it.

Going up into the red zone feels like visiting a vast cemetery, or battle field. It is hushed, almost reverent. The air still has an acrid smell of burning house in it.

And it’s almost totally deserted. Here and there, small crews work on sawing giant tree trunks or fixing electrical lines, but mostly it’s like a post-apocalyptic movie set after the bomb goes off. There are few cars, no pedestrians. No one is home. There is nothing to go home to…