Medcalf: L.A. wildfires remind us to cherish what we have before it’s gone

The other day, I sent my homegirl in Los Angeles a message to see if she was safe amid the wildfires that have destroyed thousands of properties, caused millions of dollars in damage and killed 16 people thus far.

“Thank you so much,” she said.

She and her dog had already evacuated twice to flee the most destructive wildfires in the history of Los Angeles, and she’d just received another message that it was time to move again. Another friend tweeted about a 4 a.m. evacuation notice. She did not know if it was real or not. Her life, in recent days, has demanded preparation for survival amid unpredictable circumstances.

While a politicized conversation has unfolded about who lost what and how much money they had when they lost it and who is to blame, anyone who is familiar with Los Angeles knows a destructive force of this magnitude threatens every community, class and creed.

The ongoing tragedy is also a reminder of the sweeping impact of widespread disaster that disregards our sense of security. The fires continue to rage. It’s not clear when this will all end.

Los Angeles County’s website has definitions for the terminology local officials have used recently. “Evacuation Order: Immediate threat to life. This is a lawful order to LEAVE NOW. The area is lawfully closed to public access,” the website says. “Evacuation Warning: Potential threat to life and/or property. Those who require additional time to evacuate, and those with pets and livestock should leave now. Shelter In Place: Go indoors. Shut and lock doors and windows. Prepare to self-sustain until further notice and/or contacted by emergency personnel for additional direction.”

But the most ominous message sits near the top of the page: “If you are looking for someone impacted by the January 2025 fires in Los Angeles County, or you want to inform your family of your safety wellness. Please, contact the Red Cross at (800) 675-5799 or click here.”

I’ve always loved Los Angeles. I’ve visited that city more times than I can remember.

Whenever I’m in L.A., I go to the beach and record the sound of the ocean and play it whenever the winter gets so deep here that it seems as if the sun may never rise again. The food trucks in Los Angeles are a delicacy. And the music scene is incredible, too. I once talked my way into an exclusive salsa club, when I was younger, and quickly realized that the Los Angeles salsa dancing culture exceeded my skill level.

I’ve been to picnics in Inglewood and basketball courts in Watts. But my main goal on each visit is to drive down Pacific Coast Highway, one of the unique sites in America. The beachfront freeway is unlike any in this country. On a trip to Disneyland this summer with my three daughters, we crawled down that stretch and took pictures.

Last week, one of my daughters asked if all of the special moments and places that became memories for us were still standing. “I’m not sure,” I said.

The greatest thing the pandemic seemed to steal from society is its collective empathy. We’ve traded concern for dismissive and scathing chatter on social media. There are folks with unfounded theories about fires that have baffled experts. There is anger and finger-pointing. There are public officials who’ve been asked to answer urgent questions. All of this has ignored this truth: There are local residents awaiting the next time they’re asked to run.

The fires in Los Angeles are no different than the floods that erased communities in the Appalachian Mountains over the summer or the tornadoes that have swept through cities in the Midwest this year or even Hurricane Katrina, which uprooted the city of New Orleans 20 years ago. Disaster has no soul, no heart.

In every instance, those who’ve endured this latest tragedy have lamented the collective loss of their homes and the memories they carried. Whether they lived in a multimillion-dollar estate or a studio apartment, they’ve wrestled with the reality that seems unnecessary to repeat: Our things are temporary.

Someone recently wrote to me and told me that those philosophical perspectives I sometimes bake into my columns make it appear as if I think I’m better than others. But I often write to remember these things, too, because I’m guilty of taking so many moments, people and places in my life for granted. And the wildfires in Los Angeles, a place I love, has provided another, albeit unfortunate reminder, that the good days with good people are the best things we have.

A wildfire tearing through one of America’s largest cities is proof of the suddenness of disruption.

And that’s the only conversation that matters right now. A 24/7 news cycle about political responsibility, environmental issues and resources won’t help those who are still scrambling to hold onto one another — and anything tangible this disaster has spared.