Jonni Miller and Anthony Ruffin expect to be home for Thanksgiving.
“We can’t wait to get back,” said Miller.
Their good friends Lily Knight and Steve Hofvendahl, who lived two doors away for a quarter of a century, are beginning a new chapter of their own. They’ve sold their property and will be moving to the Pacific Northwest, a decision made with heavy hearts but a sense of reinvention.
“This is going to sound really woo-woo,” Knight said, but in the aftermath of the fire, she saw a “network of lights” that represented, for her, the hearts of the people in her life. “That’s where I live,” she said, rather than in a structure. “And so that makes leaving easier, because I feel like the bonds that are true bonds will hold.”
This is the Altadena story at the moment — some people are returning, some are leaving, some haven’t yet decided. A place that had a distinctive and cherished identity before the fire, mixed race and mixed income, still doesn’t know what its new identity will be.
“I think we’ll have a clearer picture at the end of year three, and we have not even come upon the second anniversary of the fire,” said Victoria Knapp, an Eaton fire survivor and former chair of the town council.
To date, 233 new homes have been completed, 3,851 building permits have been issued and 2,396 residences are under construction. It’s not clear what will come of 2,000 or so properties, Knapp said. So far, 515 lots have been sold, with 44% going to developers, foreign interests and private equity investors.
Almost all the homes on West Palm Street between Olive and Glen were wiped out in January 2025. I met many of the residents within weeks of the disaster, and most were committed to rebuilding. Ruffin and Miller, whom I’ve known for years through their work helping and housing homeless people, will likely be the first to return to West Palm.
Lily Knight and her husband Steve Hofvendahl sold their lot to a nonprofit and bought a place in Washington.
(Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)
Knight and her husband, who couldn’t join us Wednesday, just closed the sale of their property to a nonprofit housing developer whose mission is to address the racial wealth gap. As much as they loved their life on West Palm, selling made sense in more ways than one. They’re both actors, and given their ages and Hollywood‘s transformation, opportunities for work were limited.
They had turned their double lot into a robust orchard, with more than 100 fruit trees, and the front porch of their yellow farm house was a neighborhood gathering place. There was no way to replace what had been lost, and having been underinsured stacked the odds against a return. For its climate, natural beauty and less outrageous real estate prices, the Pacific Northwest appealed.
“We would be building a tiny house on a big piece of property, which, for resale, whenever that needed to happen, wasn’t a good choice,” Knight said.
As we spoke, a symphony of power tools could be heard.
“Some of it had to do with not wanting to be in the crucible of rebuilding,” Knight said of the decision to sell.
Miller and Ruffin never considered moving, except when it appeared they might not be able to afford to rebuild. The house they lost was Ruffin’s home from the time he was a young boy. His father had purchased it in 1972, when Altadena was one of the few suburban areas where Black buyers were welcomed, and Ruffin bought the house from them about 25 years ago.
Anthony Ruffin and wife Jonni Miller walk into their house that is close to being finished in Altadena.
(Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)
The new house has a modern contemporary design, and in the living room, those big windows show off the mountains. In the kitchen, large accordion windows open to a patio, giving the back of the house an airy, indoor-outdoor feel. The building materials are fire resistant, as are the windows, and the eaves are fire-hardened as well.
As thrilled as Miller and Ruffin are about moving back, they’re wiped out physically and emotionally. Miller still struggles with the loss of family heirlooms. The letter her grandmother wrote her on the day she was born. The silverware that had been in the family for generations.
“I’m ready to be home,” Miller said. “I can’t even explain how tough this is. People keep trying to say, you know, at least you’re getting this beautiful new home. And it’s just kind of like, yeah but … we didn’t make this choice. Yes, I’m happy. Yes, I’m grateful. But it was a huge cost.”
“We’re grateful because there’s people with kids, and working,” whose lives are still unsettled, said Ruffin, who had told me immediately after the fire that for all his woes, he felt fortunate compared with his clients on skid row.
“And people are still living in their cars,”Miller said Wednesday in reference to fire victims who are still a long way from home.
Miller and Ruffin have made frequent trips to West Palm to check on the rebuild.
In February 2025, Anthony Ruffin, second from left, celebrates the news that his next door neighbor Julio Partida, left, is planning to rebuild his home. Ruffin’s wife, Jonni Miller, right, and their neighbor Robert S. Hilton look on along West Palm Street in Altadena.
(Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)
“It’s been really hard, working on skid row, seeing what’s going on there, and coming here to see this devastation, too,” Ruffin said. “You’re trying to navigate a natural disaster and you’re trying to navigate a man-made disaster. You’re always in a disaster, and there’s no break.”
Before the fire, Ruffin enjoyed a morning meditation. He’d sit in his front yard and take in the mountains as the sun rose and the birds greeted the day.
“There are rabbits again,” Miller said. “We saw a bobcat in our backyard. The ravens are amazing.”
“We saw some deer one time,” Ruffin said.
A neighbor’s flowers are blooming, and on Knight’s property, survivor trees include pomegranate, sapote, finger lime, orange and banana. Miller is going to take some of those banana pups for her yard, and out front, she’ll plant a pollinator garden.
As we began our goodbyes, Miller conceded that her friend’s planned departure has been a blow.
Jonni Miller gets emotional talking with neighbor Lily Knight, left, about how she and her husband might be able to celebrate Thanksgiving.
(Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)
“It was hard for me to talk to Lily for a little bit there, because she was leaving and it’s such a big loss, because you are like a part of my heart,” Miller said.
“I’m sorry,” Knight said as they embraced.
“Don’t be sorry,” Miller said. “I’m so happy for you.”
Knight reminded Miller that she’ll be returning often to visit an uncle.
Through loss, displacement, uncertainty and the sometimes unbearable weight of impermanence, people have endured.
“All of us,” Knight said, “have found our own resilience in one way or another.”
She had told me last December at a block reunion that despite their loss, as she and her husband approached their 70s, “it’s really kind of exciting to think of a whole new life.”
We walked over to King’s yard, where she and Hofvendahl hosted a reception years ago when Miller and Ruffin got married.
Hofvendahl’s garden was his pride and joy, even though the work was never-ending. In some ways, Knight said, the decision to leave might have been harder for him. But maybe that was akin to the way people hesitate before jumping into cool water, Knight said. You resist at first, but when you let go of your fear, it feels pretty good.
“Change is kind of like that,” she said.
A truck backed into a dirt driveway with a load of lumber.
A fence has gone up around the property owned by Aimin Li and Shigang Xiong, signaling the start of their rebuild.
Monica Koskey’s house is nearing completion. Not long ago, she and Peter Koskey got married, with the unfinished house as their wedding chapel.
Some are returning, some are leaving.
Change will be constant.
But West Palm, and Altadena, are coming back.
steve.lopez@latimes.com