What the Fires Taught Us About Neighbors

Cedar Valley News – January 13, 2026
What the Fires Taught Us About Neighbors
By: George Khan
From the fictional town of Cedar Valley, where characters from Quiet Echo continue to respond to real-world events.

Last week marked one year since wildfires swept through Los Angeles, killing thirty-one people and destroying more than 16,000 homes. I didn’t lose a house in those fires. I live in Cedar Valley, a long way from Altadena and Pacific Palisades. But what happened there keeps coming back to me.

When the winds hit on January 7, 2025, neighbors scrambled to help each other before firefighters could arrive. They knocked on doors. They helped elderly residents evacuate. They grabbed garden hoses and put out spot fires burning on lawns while embers rained from the sky. In those first chaotic hours, it wasn’t government that saved people. It was the person next door.

Michael Tuccillo, a fire survivor in Altadena, told NPR his home was one of the few left standing on his street. His neighborhood is quiet now—”extra dark” at night, he said. But instead of feeling relieved and moving on, he feels responsible. “I feel like I have to double my efforts to help my community get back home,” he said.

That stopped me cold.

Here’s a man who could have counted his blessings and focused on his own family. Instead, he’s organizing. He’s connecting neighbors. He and others are buying rebuilding services in bulk to bring costs down for everyone—hiring contractors together, pooling resources, sharing the burden. Pauline Ching, an Altadena homeowner, persuaded nearly half the residents in her gated community to hire the same builder. They secured bulk discounts and faster permits. They’re rebuilding together.

I keep thinking about that phrase: rebuilding together.

We’ve gotten very good at being alone in America. We order groceries from our phones. We work from home. We wave at the neighbor but rarely sit on the porch with them. The loneliness statistics are brutal—two in ten adults say they have no close friends outside their immediate family. We’re more connected than ever and more isolated than at any time in history.

Then a disaster comes, and suddenly we remember what neighbors are for.

A year after those fires, academics are writing papers about “neighborliness”—the idea that caring for the people around you, making choices on your own property to help keep others safe, is as important as building codes and insurance policies. One researcher called it “recognizing the connectedness of life and addressing the common good.”

But we didn’t need researchers to tell us this. Our grandparents knew it. They called it being a good neighbor.

When I was growing up, my father ran a small shop. The man who owned the hardware store two doors down wasn’t just a fellow merchant—he was the one who watched our register if we needed to step out, the one who loaned us a ladder, the one who showed up at my mother’s funeral. We didn’t have a word for it. We just did it.

Somewhere along the way, we decided that independence was the highest virtue. We confused self-reliance with isolation. We built fences and closed garage doors and assumed someone else—the government, the insurance company, the experts—would handle things when trouble came.

The fires reminded us otherwise. When the winds blow and the sky turns orange, the first responder is often the person across the street.

I’m not suggesting we all move to fire country or that tragedy is somehow good for us. What I’m saying is simpler: the capacity for neighborliness is still there. It didn’t burn. It was just waiting to be called on.

One year later, Los Angeles is still recovering. Many families haven’t begun to rebuild. Insurance disputes drag on. The frustration is real. But so are the block parties that bring scattered neighbors back together. So are the shared contractors and bulk purchases and the quiet acts of checking in on each other.

Michael Tuccillo said his street is extra quiet and extra dark these days. Most of his neighbors are gone. But he’s still there, working to bring them back.

That’s what neighbors do. They stay. They help. They rebuild together.

Maybe the question for the rest of us—those of us who didn’t lose homes last January—is simpler: Do we know our neighbors’ names? Would we help them evacuate if the time came? Would they help us?

The fires are a year behind Los Angeles now. But the lesson they taught is timeless. Community isn’t a government program. It’s not a policy initiative. It’s the person next door, and what you choose to do when they need you.

This editorial is part of the fictional Cedar Valley News series. While the people and town are fictional, the national events they reflect on are real.

Want to know the full story behind Cedar Valley? Teresa, Caleb, Dan, and the community you’ve come to know in these editorials first came together in Quiet Echo: When Loud Voices Divide, Quiet Ones Bring Together. Discover how a small town found its way from fear to fellowship—one quiet act of courage at a time. Available on Amazon: https://bit.ly/3ME4nSs

It’s free, live, and fresh! Quiet Echo—A Cedar Valley News Podcast is live on Apple Podcasts: https://bit.ly/4nV8XsE, Spotify: https://bit.ly/4hdNHfX, YouTube: https://bit.ly/48Zfu1g , and Podcastle: https://bit.ly/4pYRstE. Every day, you can hear Cedar Valley’s editorials read aloud by the voices you’ve come to know—warm, steady, and rooted in the values we share. Step into the rhythm of our town, one short reflection at a time. Wherever you listen, you’ll feel right at home. Presented by the Publication Consultants:  https://publicationconsultants.com/

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