Support Carol and Rich After the Devastating Altadena Fire

Carol wrote this about the terrifying night she and Rich were forced to flee their home since 2007 in the Altadena Eaton Fire.

A loud crash is all my husband Rich, heard.

It was 4AM, and he went outside to our driveway to investigate. The wind had been raging, banshee howling for over 24 hours with blasts 70 to 90 miles an hour that sounded and vibrated like incoming 747s. Standing at our gate were two figures that could barely be made out in the deep, darkness. Our power had been off since early the day before. The visitors wobbily shouted out “you need to leave NOW”. Rich had no idea who they were. They might have been angels.

Rich ran inside and woke me. I jumped out of bed, dazy and confused. I grabbed a candle, lit it, and began pulling files out of our cabinet: insurance papers, check; tax stuff, check; receipts for the extensive renovations we had done on the house and property over the span of fifteen years, check, a couple pairs of yoga pants, socks and warm jacket. Receipts that told the story of the transformation of what had been basically a glorified shed into our dream home. We woke up every morning to birds, lizards, deer, foxes, and other critters and nature all around us. We did a great deal of the work ourselves, also acting as our own contractors. Our skilled

handyman helped on dozens of projects from installing gutters to landscaping with native plants. Little did we know that it would be snatched in the space of twelve hours.

Next came our newest family member, Bolivar, a 130 lb Great Pyrenees with an ever bigger heart. He jumped into Rich’s KIA, willingly, adventure all over his face. Our other pup, Jemma, a golden retriever we rescued from an abusive home in Texas, was next in line for her Uber ride to -- ?? Thankfully she was extremely perceptive and hunkered down in the front floor of my car without a complaint. Jemma’s a survivor. Next, our 3 cats, Treena, Joey and Janie, all rescues who have never known life outside the protective walls of our house. As any cat servant knows well, carriers just ain’t their thing. Rich was bitten several times on his hands.

As we drove away at 4:30AM a huge wall of flame crested the hill above our house. Embers rained down like snowflakes from hell. Rich’s hair briefly caught on fire as he raced against time to grab a couple favorite guitars from his studio. Most, unfortunately were lost, as was his computer and the original compositions stored within. We slowly drove down our winding road, feeling our way out. We saw another neighbor putting their last scavenged belongings into their vehicle. No time to visit. It suddenly occurred to us that other than the visiting angels, we had not received a single notice or warning from officials about what was to become an

imminent danger. No police or sheriff cruiser with a loudspeaker, or firetruck, no texts for which I had signed up. Only punishing winds, darkness and smoke all around. With sickness rising in our stomachs, it slowly dawned on us that we were only a few minutes from being burned to death, in what we believed to be our safe nest. Our home.

We are now physically safe, as are our pets. Our home, not so much. An empty plot of scorched earth and blackened oak trees remains. Forty years of art by friends, photographs –I am a professional photographer—quirky silver folk jewelry collected on trips abroad, thrift store treasures, like the mid-sixties nightstands I bought for $3.50 apiece at the local thrift store and refinished, the collection of Beatles books, records and memorabilia my friend of 50 years gifted me before she passed away in 2021. Tip of the iceberg. Vanished. Were they ever there? It feels like it. I’m not sure right now.

The aftermath has been a swirling cauldron of emotions: gratitude, nausea, racing thoughts in the middle of night about that recipe for chicken thighs, black beans and rice that was loved by everyone, jotted on a sheet of paper that has joined a collection of ashes in our yard. Ashes of lives lived, memories lost. Ashes of the remnants of the collective lives of our neighbors and friends who wove the gorgeous tapestry that was Altadena, California.

Whether you're able to contribute or simply share their story, it means the world to us. Every little bit helps as they begin to figure out the next steps. Thank you!