I woke up early on January 8th, roused by the lingering smell of smoke filling my room. Quickly assessing my small apartment, I realized I had just enough time to grab my essentials: my laptop, passport, notebooks, treasured artwork, and the hard drives packed with footage from films I’ve created. Hastily, I gathered these items into paper Trader Joe’s bags, loaded them into my car, and set off.
Even though I wasn’t in an official evacuation zone, living in the foothills of Elysian Park taught me better than to underestimate nature, especially after my family’s brush with danger during the 2020 Creek Fire in the Sierra. I noticed a layer of black soot covered my white car, while white ash gently settled onto my windshield as I reversed out of my driveway.
I ended up staying with friends for several days; they were from a mandatory evacuation zone too, so we found refuge together in a pet-friendly hotel about 90 minutes to the south. Each morning, I’d work in the lobby, observing families arriving with their pets and, like me, carrying paper bags filled with their most important belongings.
The hotel staff showed immense kindness to those of us seeking refuge. One afternoon, I saw two young girls splashing in the small pool, their father nearby, juggling phone calls between friends and his insurance company. A hotel employee kindly warned them that ash was falling even here, floating like black snowflakes on the chlorinated water’s blue surface. The reflection of a palm tree rippled in the water, a stark contrast to the unexpectedly brilliant and clear sky overhead. Very SoCal, indeed.
What’s been truly exasperating is observing the response to these fires. Not the firefighters, who work valiantly against incredible odds, nor Los Angeles’ government, currently under heavy scrutiny, but the reactions of friends and acquaintances. The lack of understanding and the flood of oversimplified social media posts, blaming just the mayor or just climate change, leave me dizzy.
As Californians, whether native or newcomers, we owe it to ourselves to learn about fire. Since the Creek Fire, both through personal research and discussions with firefighters and cultural fire practitioners, I’ve discovered California’s long-standing fire suppression policies have significantly fueled these disasters. Climate change worsens fire dangers, and lack of preparation is certainly a factor, but simply pointing fingers misses the broader issue.
We’re not caring for our land the way we should.
When I checked out of the hotel, I found myself waiting behind two evacuated families. One had a cat meowing in its crate, and the other held their designer dogs close on leashes, with scant belongings between them. Our priorities aren’t far off—we value lives over possessions.
If only we could expand this care to the land itself, the home we call California.
Abby Royce Neuschatz, once an executive at Netflix, is currently working on a documentary about an Indigenous woman who serves as a cultural fire practitioner with Cal Fire and her tribe.
