“Is it time to go?”

That’s the question my husband and I have been asking ourselves with traumatic regularity over the past seven days. As we watched the Eaton Fire erupt in nearby Altadena, we wondered. When we received the evacuation warning, we responded: We packed up the car, took a few more minutes to collect a few photo albums, and drove off.

After the warning and nearby evacuation orders were lifted in our area on Saturday, we returned home. Our power went out on Sunday, and when the neighbors got texts saying the power would be out until Wednesday, we asked the question again: We hadn’t bothered to unpack the cars. Then the lights came on and we thought we would stay. On Monday we woke up again to strong winds and a “particularly hazardous situation” warning from the National Weather Service.

Compared to the thousands of people who live in the Los Angeles area, we are incredibly lucky. And we feel that. But we are also exhausted and nervous because the wind is blowing hard as I write. Now the question has become bigger and more challenging.

Is it time to go…forever? If not California, then leave the foothills of the mountains we have called home for 21 years?

A year or two after I moved to LA, the Old Topanga Fire of 1993 swept through Malibu, creating scenes of desperate flight and destruction similar to, albeit more limited, those we had seen in Altadena and the Palisades. I remember people back then joking darkly that “Malibu” was a Native American term for “don’t live here.”

Altadena also burned this year, once in a brush fire that killed two firefighters and again in a wildfire that destroyed or damaged 40 homes. But after Old Topanga, revered California writer, activist and historian Mike Davis wrote his famous essay “The Case for Letting Malibu Burn,” in which he argued, among other things, that Los Angeles had already paid too high a price for rich people’s seclusion , seeking beauty and exclusivity, is enabled to build in places that have historically been prone to fire.

Now I look at the mountains that rise around my community of La Crescenta, beautiful hills that, depending on the season and the amount of rainfall, can make you feel like you are in Ireland or Scotland. And I wonder: Should we live here?

Just two years ago they were covered in snow; A few weeks ago, fog rolled in, as it often does. On Sunday, as the Eaton fires were still raging, they stood calm and seemingly untouchable against a bright blue sky, the air so clear you would never know that just miles away a terrible fire continued to burn.

But I know it’s a mirage. The wind can change that in an hour; an arsonist or an accidental spark in less than a minute. During the 2009 station fire, flames were visible on the hills as we evacuated. Covering more than 160,000 acres, it remains the largest wildfire in Los Angeles County history, killing two firefighters and destroying 89 homes.

The January 2025 fires will be remembered for the far greater destruction of property. With at least 24 people dead and more than 12,000 buildings destroyed, the Eaton and Palisades fires are among the worst in modern history — and they’re still burning.

Angelenos pride themselves on their resilience. For many, fires (like floods or earthquakes) are the price one pays for living in paradise.

But as climate change forces Southern California into an insane cycle of floods and droughts, people are beginning to question the wisdom of building or rebuilding communities that approximate the wilder reaches of Los Angeles’ varied topography. Davis’ essay is again quoted directly and in subtext as officials, pundits, historians and randos on Reddit debate the sustainability of Southern Californians living so close to hills and mountains where fires occur regularly.

Davis wasn’t talking about Altadena or the foothills, where fires are much less common than in Topanga and Malibu. However, when I step out of my house, I can see hills covered in dry brush and the roofs of power plants. And I wonder.

Not that we live in an urban wilderness. We live in a so-called developed neighborhood, dominated by wide streets and side-by-side mid-century homes designed by Webster Wiley. There are streetlights and sidewalks; A park and half a dozen schools are within walking distance.

We also didn’t come looking for privacy, exclusivity, or beauty, at least not the wild kind. We bought here for the nice school district, easy access to the Times, which was downtown at the time, and overall affordability. Down the hill in Montrose, Honolulu Boulevard is such a lively and classic small-town main street that it appears in countless television shows and films.

Yes, as we drive up the roads leading to our house, we duck under canopies of California oak trees, see deer, bobcats and the occasional bear, but like Altadena, there is nothing exclusive about this part of the world and we still felt part of it of which the metropolis; On a clear day you can see most of downtown.

My husband and I love our home, where we have spent most of our marriage and raised our three children. Seeing people, including friends and colleagues, posting pictures of the smoldering ruins of equally beloved homes breaks our hearts. But they are also full of fear. It could so easily be us. Next time, or even this time.

A house is just a house compared to human lives. But our house is the only thing that has real value and that we own. (Mostly; there’s still a mortgage.) This allowed my husband to (finally) retire at 72, and, barring a windfall, is the only inheritance our children will have. We do have fire insurance for now, however given the recent history of this industry our premiums may be raised to unsustainable levels or our coverage may be eliminated altogether. And then what?

If we’re lucky and the house continues to survive this endless fire season, we might take solace in the uniqueness of these terrible circumstances – the “mountain wave” winds of more than 85 miles per hour, the heavy rains in early spring followed by unusual drought. This isn’t Malibu, after all. How often could such a terrible confluence of events occur?

Too often in recent years and certainly more often in the future. Climate change is real and it is flooding, burning, devastating and drying California, the country and the world every day. And not just in places at risk of disasters.

Scientists warn: Too many politicians ignore it, and the rest of us are forced to evacuate the country, mourn friends and family, and marvel at the ruins of our former lives.

I have railed against and will continue to rail against those who refuse to quickly and decisively address the environmental problems that threaten all life on this planet. But right now, as I watch the Times’ excellent fire coverage and regularly tap Watch Duty to see if the Eaton Fire is back on, my husband and I look up at the hills and wonder, “It is.” the? Time to go?”

Are the mountains that have thrilled and inspired us for so many years a threat? Will the eucalyptus in the corner of our garden be our undoing? Or the pine trees that surround our neighborhood?

We’ve already cleaned up our lawn, planted gravel and succulents, and cut down two trees that were growing uncomfortably close to our house. But we still have roses and lavender, jasmine and ivy. We felt we needed to plant two smaller trees to replace the trees we had killed. Now they have grown and their drying leaves rattle in the wind. Was that a mistake? Is it even a misjudgment to be here?

We are exhausted, we are anxious, and the Santa Anas are blowing, which can destroy rational thought even without extreme fire danger. With so many in real crisis, it is hardly the time for the existential option. There are thousands in dire need; Thinking about what might happen is a luxury when so many have to deal with what has already happened.

Still, the city, county and state will have to face difficult questions and make difficult decisions once the fires are extinguished. How can we prevent such a catastrophe from happening again? Can we?

Homes, businesses and lives are being rebuilt, but how and where?

Our car remains packed as we look out at the hills. For now all we can do is pray and wait for further instructions.