BBCProfessional chef Daron Anderson always tells people that he was “born in the kitchen”—quite literally.
The 45-year-old was born at home at 295 West Las Flores Drive, where he lived with his mother until this week.
On Thursday, he stepped over charred debris where his kitchen once stood in Altadena, a tight-knit neighborhood in Northeast Los Angeles.
He searched for his cast iron pots in the hope they might have survived the fire, one of several historic fires burning in the area that have killed at least 16 people and decimated several communities and left thousands homeless.
Across the street – at number 296 – his friend Rachel’s house is also in ashes. The house next door – 281 – where he had enjoyed family parties is gone.
About three blocks away, on Devirian Place, where his girlfriend lived, some neighbors tried to fend off the roaring flames that would consume their home with garden hoses.
Now they are also looking for precious objects in the rubble, after fire wiped out this entire community located in the shadow of the San Gabriel Mountains.
It all started on Tuesday night.
The Santa Ana wind had been strong most of the day.
Daron was in his front yard just after 1 p.m. 18:00 local time and tried to secure objects from flying away.
Across the street at 296 West Las Flores Drive, Rachel Gillespie was taking down Christmas decorations, worried about her plastic doilies and patio furniture.
They exchanged worried glances. “This doesn’t look good, does it?” she remarked.
Back then, only wind worried them.
They had no idea that one of the two worst wildfires in LA history had just ignited a few miles away, part of a days-long nightmare that at its peak would see six fires at the same time threatens America’s second largest city
The Eaton fire that tore through Altadena has now ravaged more than 14,000 acres, destroyed thousands of homes and businesses and left 11 dead. At the weekend, Eaton remained only 15% contained.
In West LA, the Palisades Fire that had started that morning would continue to burn through more than 23,000 acres, reducing much of a living community to ash and kill at least five people.
Daron’s neighbor in house 281, Dillon Akers, was at work at a donut stand in the Topanga mall — about 40 miles away — when smoke began filling their neighborhood.
The 20-year-old rushed back when he heard the news, only to find his corner of northwest Altadena pitch black and members of his family frantically evacuating their homes.
His uncle jumped over their white picket fence to save precious seconds as he stuffed items into the back of his car.
For the next two hours, Dillon did the same, gathering food, medicine, clothing and toiletries. In his haste, he misplaced his keys and lost 30 minutes searching the smoky darkness with torches until he found them blown against a fence.
During the desperate search, he kept telling himself that local authorities would be able to handle the fire roaring down the mountain toward the home he shared with his mother, grandmother, aunt and two younger cousins.
Dillon had encountered wind storms before and had seen smoke in the mountains, but this time it felt different. This time the orange glow in the sky was directly overhead.
“I was a full 10 on the scared scale,” he said.
At 12:30 a.m. Wednesday, Dillon said he and his mother were the last to leave West Las Flores Drive. They may have been the last to get out alive.
The following day, authorities would announce that the remains of a neighbor down the road had been discovered.
Rachel and Daron had left the neighborhood about two hours before Dillon. Rachel was forced out by a friend who drove over to demand, “You’ve got to go now.”
Rachel – with her wife, toddler, five cats and two days’ worth of clothes – said goodbye to the home they had bought just a year earlier.
Daron also grabbed what he could: a guitar he bought when he was 14 with money he earned working as an extra in a karate film and a painting of his family crossing Abbey Road in London, made to look like the cover on the iconic Beatles album.
As those on Las Flores Drive evacuated, Daron’s neighbors a few blocks away tried to fight the flames.
At 417 Devirian Place, Hipolito Cisneros and his close friend and neighbor Larry Villescas, who lived across the street at home number 416, grabbed garden hoses.
The scene outside looked hellish.
The garage of one house was in flames. Also one car in front of another.
They extended hoses from several homes and doused the structures with water – including the house of Daron’s girlfriend, Sachi.
“The water was just repelling. It wasn’t even penetrating or anything,” Hipolito said, referring to the bare ground and brush around the homes.
In time they made progress, washing off embers and spotting fires. Larry thought they could win.
Then their hoses ran dry – all because of problems with water pressure they would later learn that they had hampered firefighting efforts throughout Los Angeles County during intense demand.
An explosion rang out nearby, another home burst into flames. By 1:00 am both their families were packing to leave.
“We tried. We really tried,” Hipolito said.
At 2:30 a.m. Wednesday morning, police cars rolled down their street with a loudspeaker, telling everyone to leave immediately.
As he turned the corner of his street, Larry saw in his truck’s rearview mirror as his garage caught fire.
At 03:00 the street was empty.
Much of the Los Angeles region is made up of neighborhoods and small communities like Altadena.
On any given morning, people would walk through the houses to get a cup of coffee at The Little Red Hen Coffee Shop, stopping to catch up as they left for work in the morning.
Many have described decades of close community here, where they saw neighbors start families and the children who once played in the street grow up.
But driving through the area for the first time since his world was changed, Daron barely recognizes his neighborhood.
The big blue house that marked a familiar bend is gone. All the landmarks that once guided him have disappeared. He points to each neighbor’s property and gasps when he realizes no one is standing.
He takes pictures of his and Rachel’s home and the street he shares with Dillon. Outside his girlfriend’s home – which Larry and Hipolito tried to save – he takes videos and chats with their families before calling Sachi to describe the condition of her home.
“God, everything’s gone,” he says, his voice cracking.
But a few things remain amid the ruins.
At his sister’s home on West Las Flores Drive, he finds multicolored plastic lawn ornaments stuck to her lawn, somehow untouched by fire.
He plucks each pole from the ground, knowing that while these floral decorations may feel insignificant amid the destruction, they can also make her smile.
Across the street at what was once his house, a red brick chimney is all that remains. Around it lies a pile of pottery.
With his hands dark black from the soot, he gathers what he can, but many pieces disintegrate at his touch.
A burnt lemon tree sits on the lawn, some fruit still warm to the touch.
“If I can get a seed, we can replant one,” he says, grabbing a handful.
“It’s like a way you can start over.”