The Franklin Fire in Malibu threatens my community. It also brings us together.
The campus was closed for the second consecutive “fire day.” Instead of heading to morning classes, my high school freshman would watch younger classmates whose parents had to work. This family usually pays her to babysit, and now there is no charge. We form a village.
I recently moved to Los Angeles after three decades of living apart — now, with one teenager at home and another in college. Our little house is in the hills near the Franklin Fire that swept through Malibu this week, a remote valley. So far, it has consumed about 4,000 acres, and is close to the land of my daughter’s school.
Why did we write this?
Story focused on
Natural disasters are often thought-provoking events. Our writer reflects on setting priorities as wildfire looms—and building local relationships along the way.
I realize I don’t have a suitcase. We keep important papers in a fireproof box for this particular occasion, but I’ve neglected to pack the other essentials. All I really need is my girls and our baby girl, Rocky.
It is impossible to ignore the mounting feeling of disaster. In the last few weeks, we had a small earthquake, which was too small to trigger the warning system; My oldest daughter, who lives in Northern California, was affected by a tsunami warning; And now we have this final fire.
But now I have a plan. And my village is growing.
The campus was closed for the second consecutive “fire day.” Instead of heading to morning classes, my high school freshman would watch younger classmates whose parents had to work. This family usually pays her to babysit, and now there is no charge. We form a village.
I looked around our house with great gratitude: the nutcrackers we had collected; My grandparents’ furniture. A white dresser served as a changing table for my daughter, who is now in college; Artworks – lots of art – collected abroad, passed down through generations, and made by little hands when my daughters were younger.
I recently moved to Los Angeles after three decades of living apart — now, with one teenager at home and another in college. Our little house is located in the hills near Franklin Fire It’s sweeping across Malibu this week, a remote valley. The fire has so far burned about 4,000 acres, and is approaching my daughter’s wooded school grounds.
Why did we write this?
Story focused on
Natural disasters are often thought-provoking events. Our writer reflects on setting priorities as wildfire looms—and building local relationships along the way.
We saw Cal Fire Live evacuation map We grow through the night – ready to run to campus to save whatever we can. As of the fourth day, the school was under an evacuation warning, but its small cabins in the hills were still standing.
Los Angeles is a city of mountains, valleys, coasts and canyons that connect them. It’s this topography that creates Los Angeles’ microclimates—a draw for locals who have strong opinions about which neighborhood has the best weather—and its well-equipped fire lanes.
The air feels heavy. Cold humidity brings the slightest hope of moisture. Natural haze mixed in with any smoke that might indicate flames making their way up the Pacific side of the Santa Monica Mountains. We are surrounded by trees: sycamore, lemon, pomegranate, orange, cypress, elm, maple and oak. In the middle of the city, we are connected to nature. This duality is as integral to the Los Angeles makeup as sunshine and the creative spirit.
I grew up here, in the San Fernando Valley, where drought and earthquakes are part of the atmosphere. But the actual threat of fire always floated as a low cloud of possibility that never descended. yet.
These moments are transformative. They awaken latent emotions – fear, gratitude, and love. Purpose. What means more to me? Who means more? I realize I don’t have a suitcase. We always kept important papers in a fireproof box for this particular occasion, but I neglected to pack the other essentials. I mean, who has an extra set of essentials lying around that they put in a box just for emergency use?
It’s easy to fill up laundry baskets and throw them in the back of the car. Family photos and some jewelry – things that are easy to get – are on hand. High value, low voltage. My work-from-home wardrobe in California lends itself to a quick getaway. The dog’s leash and harness are in my bag.
If I have to, I’m willing to walk away from it all. All I really need is my daughter and our baby girl, Rocky.
This realization hits deeply. It’s a relief, but the possibility of starting over feels like a free fall. The house is different now. Much of my childhood village was gone or dead, and I was looking for connections to put down roots.
Natural disasters don’t tend to bother me. I’ve chased tornadoes in the South, tornadoes in the East, and white-out blizzards in the Midwest. I know all the safety drills. But fire strikes differently, it pays no attention and strikes randomly. In the game of rock, paper, scissors, fire wins. Maybe that’s why it’s not rock, paper, scissors, fire.
My daughters grew up with snowy winters and snowy days. in Champaign, Illinois; Omaha, Nebraska; And Johnstown, Pennsylvania, the lightest snowfall or single-digit temperatures will send us to the morning news to check for an indication of school closures. And the closures meant joy: in their snow gear, then out on the lawn with shovels and sleds until the cold caught up with the excitement and they remembered the hot chocolate in our pantry. All of this would happen before 8 a.m., and the rest of the day would be spent with Legos, drawing, or Oobleck, capped off by a movie watched from under a pile of blankets that may or may not be a fort. Snow days had all the fun of playing hockey without any of the risks.
Now we have fire days and preventative power outage days; Five in six weeks, including the evacuation of one school. My younger son doesn’t realize the relative risk. She is happy with the disruption.
The first day of the fire brought the students an exciting break from the routine. There were no online classes, so my daughter and her friends conspired to spend the afternoon at the mall. One mother agreed to transport the group during the day. Another mother hosted them in the late afternoon. One of the parents brought them home. I couldn’t send enough heart emojis to say thank you to the families who got my baby out of the house for the day so she could have some fun — and I could get some work done. Any parent who works during those free “bonus” days knows this gratitude.
My neighbor, an engineer with the city, has a wealth of useful information. When I moved in, he showed me how to remove piles of trash. Tell me who to call when power lines go down. As the fire spread, he sent me a link to Cal Fire’s live map and assured me that he would take care of my baby if she was left alone for any reason, as if it were two – a map and a promise to take care of a loved one. – They must have the same weight. I exhaled for the first time that day.
My daughter’s response on day two was to ask if we could form a group for Distance Learning – Lessons Learned from the COVID-19 Pandemic. If lockdown has taught us anything, it’s how to pivot. And how important friends are.
It is impossible to ignore the mounting feeling of disaster. In the last few weeks, we had a small earthquake, which was too small to trigger the warning system; My oldest daughter, who lives in Northern California, was affected by a tsunami warning when a large earthquake struck off the coast; And now we have this final fire.
But now I have a plan. And my village is growing.