As fire closes in their homes, neighbors turn to God and each other for support
To get home Tuesday afternoon, Rebecca and Adrian Pop had to show a stern police officer their driver’s licenses as proof they live in Orange Park Acres — a charred, hilly equestrian community near Peters Canyon, where fires still smolder.
The Pops’ neighborhood in Orange had been evacuated a day earlier, forcing the couple to load their five kids, ages 11 months to 11 years, into their RV. Along with two huskies, the family headed to stay with the grandparents in Fullerton.
“I know the evacuation is still in place, but we just had to check,” Rebecca Pop, 35, said, as her husband steered the SUV past the orange cones authorities had placed to block Santiago Canyon Road — a key route leading to the hills. “Like everyone, we need to know what’s going on and we need to share our thanks.”
Two boxes stuffed with ham and cheese croissants sat next to her, ready for distribution to thank firefighters for their around-the-clock work. But first, the Pops stopped by their 2-acre home in the Reserve to check on the property. A creek bed lies below their backyard, and above it, oak, pine and eucalyptus trees overflowed, dotting the landscape. Nearby, chafing dishes, party tables and chairs, the remnants of an 80th birthday gathering for Adrian Pop’s father, remained.
With the Canyon 2 fire spreading wildly, fueled by wind, the caterer hadn’t been able come by to clean up. The fire burned more than 20 structures as well as 7,500 acres. It was 25% contained.
“We were so worried” that foliage would burst into flames, Adrian Pop, 47, recalled. “We have a lot of neighbors who refused to leave, but we had to get the kids out. This air is absolutely not healthy.”
The optometrist and his wife then jumped into their golf cart, making rounds in the neighborhood. They wanted to ask about other people’s safety. “We are like a big family here. We care for each other. When one of us is hurt, we’re all hurt,” Rebecca Pop said.
“When you see pictures on television of everything burning, you can feel fear. For me, it makes me feel I have a great God,” she added, “and I can trust him, come to him in prayer no matter what happens.”
The cart rolled past an Urban Search and Rescue truck and she jumped out to offer the croissants. “Wow, these look delicious,” said a driver, climbing down from the vehicle. Pop continued hiking down the trail, past the fire engines from Hemet and San Diego, shaking hands with more crew members from Corona, Tustin and Newport Beach.
“Seriously, you guys bless us so much with all you do. We have a lot of respect for the hours and the energy you put in,” she said, snapping the men’s photos to share with her children to tell them “that the people God ordained to do these jobs need their prayer. I want my kids to understand the world around them and to be grateful for it.”
Hopping back onto the cart, her husband drove down Windes Drive, near Lewis Drive, where a handful of residents clustered in shock, pointing to the sprawling ruins of a neighbor’s home. The nameplate showed it had been the “Deacon home,” comfortable, complete with stables, gazebo and a beloved tree swing.
“I have always wanted to go on that swing,” said Lisa Duquette, who works in the healthcare insurance industry. “Everybody knows this house. It was an adorable house. And it’s tragic because for a lot of us who live here, we hike here. We recognize all the spots in the area and it becomes a part of us.”
Firefighters at the scene said that a wood pile stacked outside the house drew the blaze toward the house. The current homeowner had grown up on the property, built by her family, the Pops said. “It was so green just a week ago — everything was green around us,” Adrian Pop said, a wistful note in his voice. “It’s unbelievable what disappeared and what survived.”
“Fires happen every couple of years here, but this one — this one is definitely the worst,” says homeowner Phil Roberts, who just bought his house two weeks ago. He also evacuated Monday, after helping his parents, who live across from him, lead their horses to safety at the Mara Brandman Arena.
“Just because you leave doesn’t mean you can leave your animals, who also are family,” Roberts said.
Back on the 11-year-old golf cart, Adrian Pop accelerated past blackened fields where embers still burned, past a house with a roller hockey rink that escaped annihilation. He kept going, coming upon trampolines and stable after stable, the idyllic pace of the neighborhood at every corner interrupted by the sight of hulking rescue trucks or news vans.
“It can all be gone. Just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers for effect.
“Disasters can happen anywhere,” his wife added. “We pray that God will keep us in peace, in the palm of his hands.”
Twitter: @newsterrier
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