LA Wildfires: Scenes of Destruction
- Ava Lipsky
- Jun 1, 2025
- 2 min read
There’s a trail I used to hike in the foothills above Altadena—quiet, a little dusty, shaded in parts by old oaks and cedars. I went back after one of last year’s fires, and what struck me wasn’t just the blackened trunks or the ash underfoot. It was the silence. No birds. No rustle of leaves overhead. Just stillness, and this unsettling sense that something permanent had been lost.
We all know wildfires are part of life in LA. In theory, fire clears out the old and makes space for the new. Some trees even depend on it—seeds that only crack open with heat, ecosystems that get reset and refreshed. But recent fires have been different. Bigger. Hotter. More relentless. And trees, especially the older ones, aren’t bouncing back.
Tree mortality in California is off the charts. It's not soley due to the fire itself—it’s drought, stressed root systems, bark beetles, and a century of fire suppression that let too much dry fuel build up. In places where fire used to stay low to the ground, it now climbs up into the canopy and wipes everything out.
Some species are hanging in there. The San Gabriel oaks are able to sprout back from their crowns. Cedars with thick bark can sometimes tough it out. But even they have limits. After certain fires, the soil is so scorched that seeds can’t germinate. And before native plants have a chance, fields of invasive mustard take over.
What’s scary is how quickly a forest can become something else—something shrubbier, drier, more flammable. A feedback loop. The more trees we lose, the more exposed the land becomes. And the less likely it is to ever recover into what it once was.
There’s no easy fix. Planting trees is helpful, but if we don’t change how we manage the land—clearing underbrush, bringing back low-intensity burns, prioritizing native species—it’s just a band-aid. Small community groups have been helping by hauling mulch and hand-watering saplings in the dry heat.
We don’t know if the forest will ever return to the way it was, but maybe it can become something new—if we let it, and if we help.
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