Column: Stay in Altadena? ‘We’re torn, because we love this neighborhood and we love all these people.’

They gathered in the streets until the fire broke through Altadena, forcing them to flee and destroy everyone except everyone.

Usually follow the dog nearby cats.

Children play in the front yard and on the street before growing up and moving on.

Horse clip clip sound.

The actress wandering down the streets, walking downwards remembers her next show.

Robert’s homemade instruments music, Julio’s hissing from the backyard grill, and Sunday party at Steve and Lily’s yellow farmhouse.

We measure Losses from Palisade and Eaton Fires Quantity – Thousands of structures were destroyed, billions of dollars in losses and life losses. But casualties include something we often think of: the daily filled rhythms and routines, the reproduction and behavior of neighbors, the history of the place we call home.

Anthony Ruffin and his wife Jonni Miller, Homeless social workersbecame homeless on January 8. Shortly after evacuating their two-bedroom home on West Palm Street, their neighborhood was incinerated.

A long-time friend, Rufen, told me that about a week or so after hell, he and his displaced neighbors on West Palm Street built a chain of words early in their shock and grief. Although they are now scattered, their accommodation is temporarily and future uncertain, they want to keep the community together in a way that speaks.

A dozen of these neighbors (mixed with race, age, and income) returned to their neighborhood on February 15 to talk about life before the fire and whether they intend to rebuild. Whether it is possible to reproduce the community they cherish.

“It all happened, and I was like, ‘Where is our next Altadena?’” Monica Koskey said. “Maybe we should all go and make a new Altadena if it takes so long. I don’t know where that is.”

West Palm Street extends to the east and west above Altadena Drive, not far from where the metropolis faces the mountains. The slopes of St. Gabriels rose sharply, were fired at lower elevations, but majestic, contrasting with the flat wasteland below.

The palm extension between North Olive and Glen Avenue, all except some houses disappeared, replaced by a row of rectangular ashtrays. The burnt trees were dead or dead, some were black with black fruits, and some were charcoal in the sky.

We gathered in the backyard of the Koskey property and sat on patio furniture next to a noticeable lush green lawn and still intact garage, as if the fire was a rumor. But a few feet away, the house looked like it was taken out by a missile, and the chimney rose like a tombstone, crossing the debris of a century of structure.

“It’s a Janes,” Koskey refers to the architect Elisha P. Janes, who was in Altadena between 1924 and 1926. Dozens of British-style cottages with gable roofs were built as well as some Spanish-style houses.

Speech pathologists Koskey and Janes’ homeowners Koskey said their burned homes are now sharing notes on the feasibility of rebuilding in the same style.

The street across the street from Koskey’s house ruins is the house owned by Lily Knight, a house owned by movies, television and stage actresses who firmly believe that the script will be remembered when walking, Her husband Steve Hofvendahl is easier to remember the script. He is also an actor, a gardener and chief caretaker of backyard paradise, with dozens of fruit trees.

When they moved 25 years ago, the soil was abundant and the trees flourished, so Hofvendahl planted more, more, and then more, and then turned his yard into an orchard. He went from standard citrus, apricots and avocados to a more exotic series, adding finger limes, lovers pummelos, Jaboticaba, Cherimoya and Pawpaw.

This is more fruit than the two of them can eat, so they start making baskets for friends and neighbors, and at the time of harvest they host a porch market with homemade jams and scones, as well as all the produce. Miller describes it as a “neighborhood hub.”

Robert Hilton, a retired art teacher interested in African and Indian music, would wander with string instruments of class or his other homemade instruments to provide entertainment.

“He can cast spells, which really defines the space,” Knight said.

When Rufen and Miller got married, Knight and Hofvantal strung lights in their yard and presided over the reception. “People from the neighborhood come and celebrate with us,” Rufen said.

During the Lunar New Year, Knights and Hofvendahl will bring a basket of fruit to their next outdoor neighbors, Aimin Li and Shigang Xiong, who have been with decades I met at the Chinese Medical College and am now engaged in medical research. In half an hour, Li will return to your favor and provide homemade dumplings.

“They had a dumpling party,” Korsky recalls, and Lee and Xiong hosted the event in their backyard. Li wanted to pass on his skills to his friends. Throw the flour, roll up the dough, stuff the flour with meat and shrimp. And vegetables.

“They all mastered it,” Lee said.

A big fire? Your property can be “a second” and added: “We all share these connections – that’s what’s really about.”

Maxwell May and his wife Lauren Ward moved to the block after taking a walk to check the atmosphere about two and a half years ago. They were walking distance from May’s favorite coffee shop to Janes’ house, near which reminded him of Mount Washington, where he grew up.

“Everyone is walking around, saying hello, stopping and chatting for five to 10 minutes, and I think that’s the real conversation with us,” May explained. He’s the technology in the self-driving car industry, and Ward is TV and movie costume designer. “We want to come here to be a part of it.”

Hilton, who lived on West Palm Street for 50 years, said the community was mostly black when he moved in. Rufen and his family came in at about the same time, choosing West Altardner, as black families were excluded from many other neighborhoods in the Los Angeles area.

West Altadena has changed as property values ​​grow, Hilton said. “We have people from all races and backgrounds.”

Despite all the fanaticism and behavior, Rufen said he still knew residents were up and down the street, like he suddenly entered a neighbor’s house when he was a kid, or wandered to someone’s backyard to grab a piece of fruit from a tree. Ruffin said familiarity made him feel safe, “and protect it.”

It’s not that every morning residents gather in the street to sing “Kumbaya”. Some tend to simply wave or nod but keep their privacy. Koskey said Altadena is not without its problems.

“You still hear gunfire, right? So, it’s not the safest place you can live in.” Feeling that Altadena isn’t racially nervous. You look into other people’s eyes, you don’t [it]. I think it’s really rare and… it’s really important to raise my son in a place like this. ”

The Knight responded to this view.

“I think this is the world needs more things right now,” she said. “A feeling of being together and we’re going to attract each other.”

On the evening of January 7, when the fire was still a few miles east, Lee and Xiong checked in with Knight and Hofvendahl and told them they should collect valuables. They hugged each other and the Chinese couple went home to pack their passports, diplomas and photos.

At midnight, Knight called some of her neighbors to tell them that the fire was closing.

“I’m very angry,” Miller said, with many other people having a lot of problems.

Why so many County firefighters heading for Palisade? Why do you want it Too long To get the evacuation warning to reach the low-income neighborhoods in West Altadena, where did all 17 people in the Eaton fires occur? Why do the fires’ march westwards get up early soon, and why are so many houses burning without firefighters?

It can take years to get an answer, and it can take years to clear waste and rebuild. Most residents I meet say they want to return, but paperwork, planning, financial considerations and uncertain schedules are all tiring. Will they be safe given the reality of climate change fueling this fire?

“It’s a trade-off because we love the mountains, but it’s a very extreme fire risk area,” said real estate agent Bryan Martinez, who is at Knight and Hofwand (Hofvendahl) lives on one side, and Miller and Ruffin on the other.

The houses of Knight and Hofvendahl are a big part of the neighbor’s vista, but are uncertain. Knight said they are approaching their 70s, which will take years to plant another orchard. The farmhouse they worshiped was built before World War II and was made of wood, which Hofvantal suspected could be prohibited by new building regulations.

“I think we’ve already torn apart because we love this community, we love all these people,” Knight said.

Rufen has no doubt. He was determined to recreate the appearance and layout of the house he liked, and then began his time in the front yard again, listening to the birds and gazing at the hills. There were already green growing twigs in that yard.

May said he and Ward lived nearby near their parents’ home, but he visited West Palm every day, “just driving there and it felt like I was back home again.”

I asked Julio Partida, who works in the construction industry, lives next door to Ruffin and Miller, what he misses the most.

He answered in one word:

“everything.”

steve.lopez@latimes.com