In Altadena, fight is on to save trees that survived the fire

The oak trees saved the blue house on East Calaveras Street. Seriina Covarrubias was sure of it. When she had returned after the Eaton fire, much of the Altadena neighborhood was in ruins. Homes and the nearby shops on North Fair Oaks had been destroyed. Her garage and her prized garden were demolished. Her house had been filled with smoke — but it survived, and so did the two massive oaks that sheltered it. She considered it a small miracle. Weeks later, the Army Corps of Engineers had tagged the trees for removal, but certified arborists had inspected them as a second opinion and deemed them healthy. The oaks, believed to be at least 60 years old, didn’t appear to obstruct any entrance points or pose a danger and sported green leaves. It didn’t matter. Last weekend, nearly two months since the fire, they were cut down. “When I found this out, it was just as bad as thinking that I had lost the house,” said Covarrubias, 43. “I could have been there when they cut them down. I could have thanked them for the job that they did to protect my house.”

By arborist Rebecca Latta’s estimate, thousands of trees in Altadena have been tagged for removal: oaks, pines, sycamores, deodar cedars — trees that have canopied the town for decades. Now, she and other arborists, landscape professionals and residents have banded together in an effort to save the trees believed to have survived the fire and preserve the leafy grandeur that once shaped the devastated town. Officials have not released the number and types of trees that have been cut down. The Army Corps employs certified arborists to assess tree branches and root damage, and the likelihood of death within five years, according to the Coordinated Joint Information Center, a clearinghouse for agencies involved in the cleanup.

Latta and an independent group of tree care professionals who have canvassed Altadena for weeks believe that many of the trees are wrongly tagged for removal. Some have experienced smoke damage and may have looked dead in their bare winter appearance, but a scratch beneath the bark’s surface shows that many of the trees will regrow. And after the rains, some have already begun to leaf — welcome tufts of green to the charred landscape. Latta, who co-founded Altadena Green in the days after the fire to gather volunteers, grew up in the unincorporated town above Pasadena; she knows these trees. She has been chasing the sound of chainsaws throughout Altadena to inspect trees tagged for removal and had checked Covarrubias’ oaks just before they were chopped down. Above the blue dots and red ribbon tied around the trees to signal removal, her team added a green ribbon labeled “Keep,” confident that the trees would not fall and that with time, water and pruning, they would continue to grow.

Covarrubias had contacted Los Angeles County and the Corps, informing them that they did not have her permission to cut down the trees. She said she never did a walk-through of the property nor did she give verbal or written consent — which the Coordinated Joint Information Center says are requirements before tree removal. She had previously signed a Right of Entry form, which grants permission for debris cleanup and authorizes hazardous tree removal — a subjective assessment — but had tried to rescind it. Covarrubias’ next door neighbor who lost her home said she had been told that keeping the trees could slow down the debris removal process. She didn’t want that to happen, but she said that Covarrubias, who shared ownership of the trees on the property line, needed to be consulted. Covarubbias said that in the end, her pleas were overlooked. She has since spoken with the Army Corps about her experience, and hopes that processes will change. County Supervisor Kathryn Barger recently addressed concerns about tree removals during a community meeting.

“I strongly oppose the cutting down of trees in Altadena if the homeowner wants to keep them,” she said. “I was assured that property owners would be given at least five days’ advance notice before debris removal begins, along with the opportunity to understand whether a tree on their property has been deemed unsafe or needs removal.” Altadena Green — whose other cofounders are Stephanie Landregan, director of the UCLA Extension Landscape Architecture and Horticulture Programs, arborist Drew Ready, landscape architect Maggie Lobl and landscape designer Wynne Wilson — has raised concerns with the Army Corps over premature removals of the trees. Wilson hopes that the process will slow as she fears more trees will be unnecessarily torn down. She said that several trees have been misidentified, which would impact the overall assessment of tree health. Wilson, who lost her home in the fire, has made it her mission since to do what she can to protect Altadena’s natural and historic beauty. For years, visitors would flock to her garden to learn about the native plants and varietals she tended.

“It’s really heartbreaking because the trees can’t speak for themselves — they need us to take care of them,” she said. The trees are beloved in Altadena, emblematic of the community’s ties to nature. For some, their losses hurt deeply, especially so soon after disaster. On a recent hot afternoon, she spotted several trees that she believed had been erroneously tagged for removal. Among them — a redwood and two sycamores. A resident had taped signs to the trees on the sidewalk, not far from the remnants of her home.

“DO NOT REMOVE TREE,” the messages warned. “Sycamores must be saved!” Brandon Perez’s family home on Rubio Street burned down in the fire. Then, shortly after, the power company advised them to remove their giant Italian stone pine. “It was so disheartening to see it go,” Perez, 27, said. “It was definitely a second dagger.” The tree had survived the heavy winds during the Eaton fire and was only slightly damaged. TreeCareLA arborist Nickolas Araya, who worked with the family, questioned the suggestion that the tree could have posed a risk to the power lines.

“There was no reason for it to be cut down,” he said. “All — and I don’t use that word lightly — all of the arborists in Los Angeles have come together and we’re trying to figure out how to stop this from happening.” On Calaveras Street, Covarrubias had returned home for the first time since the trees were cut down. One of the trees had shaded her meditation garden, which was gone; the other sheltered her backyard from the scorching sun, often as her dogs ran beneath it. Squirrels and hawks would find respite in the branches.

All that was left now were two stumps. To her disappointment, the cuts were jagged, not clean, leaving her with little hope that they could ever grow back. While other trees on her property remained, like the massive elm that frames her home, the loss of the oaks was heavy. Covarrubias, who has a health condition that has been aggravated by the smoke toxins, doesn’t know when or if she’ll be able to move back home. The earliest would be next January, she said, if the air is safe for her. The fresh loss of the trees would make that more difficult. Taking in what was lost, she dusted the tops of the stumps. She knelt before them, one at at a time, and silently paid her gratitude. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”