Homes were destroyed, but sense of community remains

The tight bonds that Highland Avenue bred are a driving force behind the rebuilding efforts.

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GILIEN SILSBY, at top left standing at her property that was destroyed by the Eaton fire, points to her house number on a quilt that a neighbor made that includes all the house numbers on the block.

It was a street lined with Spanish, Craftsman and ranch-style homes, set back behind wide lawns and shaded by stately trees.

Now many lots are empty, scraped bare of the fire debris. Moving and storage pods sit in front of homes still standing. The tree cover has thinned so much that residents who'd never had a city view can see downtown Los Angeles.

Gilien Silsby grew up in Altadena a few blocks away, and moved into a home on Highland Avenue 25 years ago. She had a Spanish-style house with bright morning glory vines where she hosted a neighborhood screening of “To Catch a Thief” on her front lawn. It is gone now. So is her childhood home, where her mom was still living. The violins her great-grandfather made in the 1800s, family portraits painted by a relative, photo albums, souvenirs from travels and personal treasures were all lost inside the homes that kept her family’s legacy.

"My history is wiped out," she said. "It’s like our whole life is gone."

Silsby’s family remains displaced. And as the months have dragged on, reality has gotten harder to bear.

She misses the rhythms of her neighborhood — the friendly waves while out for walks, the sound of one neighbor's trumpet through the windows at night, the jogger who sings on his runs. Her neighbors’ commitment to going back has buoyed her. A neighborhood WhatsApp chat that used to be filled with observations about coyotes, the occasional bear sighting and Girl Scout cookie sale announcements is dominated by the efforts to return.

During Zoom calls and gatherings, neighbors counsel one another, sharing names of contractors and builders and updates on their design plans and permit statuses.