
BEAUTIFUL ALTADENA
I moved to Altadena about thirty-seven years ago. My son was just a toddler. It was there that I raised him and struggled to provide him with a suburban lifestyle as a single mother. I refused to believe that my circumstances would dictate how and where we would live. I bought my first home in Altadena before my son was two years old. It was a small two-bedroom, one-bath California bungalow with a small front porch, a large backyard, and a detached garage. I remember being unable to sleep the first night in my home as I stared at the ceiling, wondering what I had done and how I would ever pay for it. I would go on to sell that house and move a little further up the hill to a larger one. During the housing crash, I sold that home and bought three houses, two in Altadena and one in Pasadena. Years later, after my own financial crisis, I ended up with only one house in Altadena—my beloved home on Marathon Road and my house in Victorville, California. My son and his family were living at our Altadena home. His sons were slated to follow in his footsteps by going to the same schools, hanging out at the Altadena Library, and hiking the same mountain trails. My oldest grandson did get to go on a moonlight hike in Eaton Canyon once, but now I wonder if the youngest one ever will. In the summers, my son would bike on the many mountain trails close to our house on Olive and Poppyfield. He would be gone for hours with his friends (without a cellphone) on his bike, having what he called “an adventure.” How I could let my son roam the hillsides of Altadena with his friends for hours without worrying about him is unimaginable today. But, back then, Altadena had a small-town feel, and maybe I felt that way because it was such a beautiful place that looked nothing like South Central Los Angeles.
On January 7, 2025, the lush greenery of Altadena would be consumed in a burning inferno. My son and his family would leave their home with the clothes on their backs and a few other items. The next time I saw Altadena, the word devastation would be its most accurate descriptor. So great was the destruction that it looked as if Altadena was a war-torn country depicted on the nightly news. As my son drove down once-familiar streets, he would stop the car to look for some landmarks to orient us. We would stop in front of a pile of rubble; all that was left of the homes of friends or houses we once lived in. Brick fireplaces stood sentry over the charred remains of so many dreams. We fell silent as we passed a cadaver dog walking the incinerated lot of someone’s home.
When I saw what was left of my house, everything I had worked for lay destroyed in the ruin. At least, that was my initial thought. A few days later, after the shock of all I had seen wore off, I could see something new and beautiful rising out of the ashes. Although Altadena will never be what it was, it will be beautiful again.