When we moved in 2013 so I could take a job at UC Berkeley, I wanted to write a children’s story of our time in Altadena. I thought every child should know a place like Altadena existed, a sheltering, community-centered and easily navigable town.
For us, Altadena was magical. From our front door, we could see the San Gabriel Mountains standing tall and majestic. We lived four blocks from the greatest bakery-cafe, Patticakes.
Mira and Sam were 3 years old and 5 months old, respectively, when we moved from a Pasadena townhouse to La Paz Road in Altadena. The street stretched one long block, high up in the foothills; few cars passed through, allowing kids to play ball in the street and neighbors to gather. On the 4th of July, when the Altadena Country Club hosted its fireworks display, all our neighbors set up chairs and blankets in their front yards and driveways to watch.
La Paz was a microcosm of the diversity of Altadena — its artistic creativity, its haven for Black families, its religious communities. We had artists, actors and musicians, nurses and educators, and at least one engineer (my husband). We lived five minutes from the Pasadena Jewish Temple and Center and the Weizmann Day School. Our Catholic neighbors lived close to Saint Elizabeth of Hungary Catholic Church and St. Elizabeth Parish School. The neighbors two doors down sent their kids to Saint Mark’s School. Both PJTC and St. Mark’s burned down in the Eaton Fire in January. The Saint Elizabeth church and school miraculously survived.
Our neighbors had a high-school daughter who frequently babysat our kids. The mom two doors down coached her daughter’s t-ball team that Sam joined. When another neighbor took her morning walk, she brought our newspaper to the front door. She and her husband, a legendary jazz drummer, bonded with us over politics, especially when we put an Obama sign in our yard before the 2008 election. Yet another neighbor hosted an annual Halloween party, gathering the neighborhood kids to trick or treat together down our street. One neighbor was the kids’ favorite nurse at their pediatrician’s office; her politics could not have been more opposite to ours.
The most remarkable example of community came when I received a phone call from a neighbor as I was driving home from work. He saw bees swarming above our chimney. Before I got home, he and his friend rescued our caregiver Desiree and our children, barefoot, from the house, then vacuumed and sealed up the fireplace. Hours later, after the bee swarm was removed from our chimney by fumigators, we were allowed to return. Unfortunately, Mira stepped on a remaining bee with her bare foot, but that one sting made me think how much worse it could have been if our neighbor hadn’t rescued our kids.
Beyond La Paz, I loved walking the four blocks to Patticakes. It wasn’t just that it had the best croissants, muffins and cakes. It was the neighborhood regulars — the retirees, the families with young children and folks on their way to and from work. Patticakes captured a slice of everyday Altadena, including its political, social and economic diversity. When we moved away, I bought a black-and-white photo of San Francisco’s Fort Point from a hobby photographer and retired regular at Patticakes. It hangs on our wall, alongside Ansel Adams photos of Yosemite.
It is so hard for me to write about the destruction of the Pasadena Jewish Temple and Center. It holds so many memories, and so many people dear to us are congregants. My kids grew up at PJTC, and we met our closest friends there, the kind who stick with you after you move. Mira and Sam attended B’nai Simcha Pre-School before it relocated to the grounds of PJTC. Its facilities burned down alongside the sanctuary. B’nai Simcha’s founding director, Judy Callahan, is an incredible Jewish educator, knowledgeable about early childhood education, Jewish education, creating learning through play and instilling love for Judaism. She was our hook.
After their preschool years, Mira and Sam attended Weizmann Day School, housed on the grounds of PJTC, which became their home away from home. They knew every nook and cranny. The playground was redesigned while we were there, spearheaded by a group of parents. It’s hard to believe all of that is gone.
During my first parent-teacher conference at Weizmann, I looked out the window to see a peacock peering down at us from atop a picnic table. The peacocks ran wild in Eaton Canyon and were known to stop traffic on Altadena Drive. I wonder whether the peacocks survived.
I was a board member of PJTC for my last four years in Altadena. As vice president of membership, I worked to bring in young families. In the warm summers, when Kabbalat Shabbat services took place on the synagogue’s patio, we lured families with an ice cream social and picnics on the grass. By the time we moved away, I knew so many congregants, spanning several generations.
Our kids have thrived in the Bay Area, but we all left a piece of our heart in Altadena.
I know places don’t stay the same. Patticakes closed its doors following the pandemic. Weizmann closed too. Some friends moved away. But Altadena has remained familiar. When I really ask myself why the fires broke my heart, I think of the people on La Paz Road, at PJTC and in the community at large who made me feel more at home than I have ever felt before or since.