Carrie Meyers’ home burned to the ground last week when the Eaton fire erupted. So did the North Lake Avenue pet shop she bought from her uncle more than 20 years ago.
The twin loss of her house and Steve’s Pets left her mourning the two poles of the community she has been part of her entire life.
“This is the thing: There’s no one there,” Meyers, 56, said. “If my pet store survived, I couldn’t stay in business, because no one is living there. Everyone’s gone.”
The Eaton fire has destroyed more than 14,000 acres. Entire neighborhood blocks in Altadena have been wiped away. And while the number of structures that have been destroyed continues to climb by the thousands, the totality of damage is still unknown.
More than 42,000 people live in the unincorporated town above Pasadena. Unlike other parts of Los Angeles County where it’s not uncommon for residents to commute for miles between house and job, many Altadenans live and work in the rustic foothill community.
The fire left a multitude of residents to contend with questions of how to rebuild when home, income and community had been upended.
Janet Lee’s parents’ house was destroyed in the fire. Nearby, the street where their beloved restaurant has served the community since the 1980s went up in flames. As neighborhood institutions crumbled to the ground, Fair Oaks Burger — the Lees’ “American Dream” since they emigrated from South Korea — somehow survived.
It’s one of only a few area eateries left standing.
But by Lee’s count, 80% of the restaurant’s customers have lost their homes in the fire that devastated Altadena. It even took the lives of longtime regulars.
If the restaurant is able to reopen, she wonders who will return to keep the business going.
“How do you rebuild when your whole community is shattered?” said Lee, 52, who started working at the restaurant when she was a teenager.
“I really hope that people stay.”
Altadena Hardware was a staple in the community for more than 80 years, owned by the Orlandini family for the last 15. The homes of the parents and the brothers, who now co-own the space, were spared from the fire. But their store was gone — a loss that also affected employees.
Rob Orlandini, 38, said the future for the store is clear — they will rebuild. How, and when, continues to remain uncertain.
“It’s my livelihood, it’s my brother’s livelihood,” he said. “You pour every part of yourself into your business, and then for it to just disappear one morning is just crazy.”
Multiple businesses and schools that burned down were owned or staffed by locals whose homes were also destroyed. Residents who operated landscaping and day-care businesses; owners of the longtime dive bar the Rancho; staffers at Pizza of Venice, where loyal customers were regulars.
Fundraisers were launched asking for help. But a week after the fire, many who had deep ties to the community were stuck in a state of suspension, magnified by the inability to return to the scene to survey the aftermath and map out their next steps.
Angel Bonca, 45, called it a “dream” to move to Altadena, where she and her husband have raised their daughter since 2018. In the community nestled against the foothills of the mountains, Bonca’s morning routine included walks to her daughter’s elementary school, where she also worked.
Her house on Raymond Avenue was an unofficial annex for the historic Pasadena Waldorf School community, she said. Her family’s doors were regularly open to host.
Now, both places are gone.
“My daughter lost her school campus, she lost her home,” Bonca said, adding that the destruction is “just so far and wide and so close to home at the same time.”
Bonca said that she and her husband, who is retired, filed an insurance claim for the house and that the school is assessing how to remain open without the K-8 campus, where at least a dozen staffers have lost their homes. The high school and preschool campus, not far away, survived thanks to teachers and families who staved off flames.
For now, the family is living at an extended stay hotel, unsure of what will come next.
Tiffany Hockenhull, 38, made a harrowing escape from her Altadena home, which once belonged to her grandparents in the 1960s. Hours before, as the fire grew, her brother had evacuated to the house on Callecita Drive — it had seemed safer than where he lived farther east. Then the fire jumped west and “basketball-sized embers” rained down on her street, destroying nearly every home — including hers.
“I’ve never ever ran for my life like that,” she said in disbelief. “It’s something I would never wish on my worst enemy.”
The loss of the home came three weeks after her mother died.
Nearby, the elementary school where she taught as a leadership coach burned too. The school has been closed, leaving her without that income. She doesn’t know when, or if, she’ll be able to go back to Eliot Arts Magnet Academy, which was heavily damaged by flames. For now, she’s taking time to process things, hopeful that her community will be restored.
“A rebuild is on the way after this healing process begins and finishes,” she said. “You know, we might even be rebuilding while we’re healing.”
People stop to take in the scene of businesses that burned along North Lake Avenue in Altadena.
(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)
Bruce Steele loved his bees. They had distinct personalities, he said, like one might say about a beloved pet. For decades, the beekeeper of 40 years cared for them and talked to them as he worked.
Last week, the fire destroyed 185 of his hives throughout the Altadena area, including those at his home. The modest ranch house stood in the middle of an oak tree grove where he and his wife have lived for more than 25 years, running their bee pollinating and honey-making service.
Steele, 75, is heartbroken over the dual loss of his place of solace and his beekeeping business. He’s in the early stages of assessing how to regroup, but he can’t imagine his life without his bees — his lifelong passion that has served as his main source of income for years.
“I’m resolved at this point to keep it going. I can’t really see myself not doing it,” he said.
“It’s a mountain to climb.”
