Station Fire: Update From the Frontlines
Posted by in Journalism & Media | Los Angeles - (2 Comments)I find it bittersweet and strange that I have lived in this area of Los Angeles practically my whole life and haven’t really had the chance to get to know my neighbors or talk to them – unless a disaster strikes. The past few days, I have taken every opportunity to document the relentless fire that’s practically burning down my humble neighborhood, and in my outings, I’ve developed a rapport with a few of people who I share this street with.
One man spoke to me about how difficult it was to get fire insurance on his house. Another told me he was visiting his sister who was all but terrified of the fires. As I stood there, with ash and smoke all around, he told me that tile roofing was the safest in this type of situation, having to reach unthinkable temperatures before being affected by fire. I wish interactions like this didn’t occur only in a time of emergency.
The Station Fire has currently reached more than 122,000 acres with what seems like no end in sight. Helicopters are buzzing above, and we’ve woken up to more ash and smoke than ever before. I find it pretty unnerving that surrounding streets on both sides have been evacuated, yet we haven’t been told to move. I’m not too frightened of the fire, it’s when I start to think about the items in my house that could go up in flames that I get panicky.
Last night, I took a trip around the neighborhood again, running into a dozen closed off streets and citizen journalists taking photos and setting up their video cameras of the fire all along Foothill Blvd. in La Crescenta. The Station Fire it seems, has its own set of paparazzi.
I made a stop and bought pet food to take to the Pasadena Humane Society, where animals whose homes were threatened by the Station Fire have been brought. As I pulled up into my driveway, there were fire trucks galore. I soon heard the fire chief trying to explain to a couple why the enormous amounts of water drops do not produce immediate results.
“When it rains, does your bedroom get wet? Is your living room soaked?” he said.
I asked if they needed water or food. They thanked me and said they were all taken care of, but something tells me they would have appreciated my mom’s Armenian cooking.
By the time I went to sleep, it looked like the fire might have calmed down. By morning, it was a different story. Smoke yielding cloud bombs descended around my house, making me feel like I was either on Mordor or Mars. The yellow tint outside made it seem like I had stepped into a photograph from 1976.
It wasn’t long before it started to get bad enough that fire trucks showed up and the helicopters became more prominent, along with the firechasers who came up to my street to capture it all.
As helicopters swarm and make the houses underneath them shake, and the people in them shake with fear of an impending fire, the citizens of this small town are hoping for the best.
