Whitney Sterten-Hall shares her memories about the Altadena home she grew up in that was recently devastated by wildfires in Los Angeles.
Ash. It’s what became of the house I grew up in and the homes of many others. Ten days after the Eaton Fire swept through Altadena, Cal Fire posted the photo of the charred, lifeless lot that remains after their damage assessment. It was a house and a yard, so why does it feel like I am grieving a person?
Growing up in Altadena, it was a woodland oasis. A winding cobblestone path weaved through a grassy lawn framed by orange trees and pomegranates. A glass greenhouse sat across from a big grapefruit tree I loved to climb, and an avocado tree connected to a hammock. When the Santa Ana winds came each year, I was terrified of how they bent these trees back and forth and shook the walls of the house.
The house was where I learned how to grow. I learned to ride a bike in our driveway; I learned to bake in our kitchen. The house had much more than we have to offer our daughter now at our small, simpler townhouse in the Bay Area, and part of me wishes I could offer her that same wildness I had of endless backyard mud pies.
No childhood is perfect, and our family faced huge challenges that we still carry with us. When my parents sold it when I was in college, I felt a sense of relief that we were starting over somewhere new — I could let go of the painful memories too. But memories don’t work like that. The fire destroyed the comfort I felt knowing the house was still standing in some semblance to what it was — with the good memories intact.