A letter from Willow Geer, Theatricum Botanicum
As I sit here, miraculously back home, surrounded by suitcases I am reticent to unpack, I try to wrap my mind around the past two weeks. A fever dream of evacuating with my stir-crazy children, sleeping on floor mattresses, my eyes phone-glazed from whipping between thirteen different WhatsApp chats, TCEP, Watch Duty, texts from loved ones, emails, air and water quality forums and fire maps. My brain grinding over distracting kids’ activities, Mom’s cats in the bathroom, the underwear I neglected to bring, the GoFundMe’s I need to donate to, how I can help, and the deep contemplation of all the ways I somehow could have brought the fish tank.
I know there is an entire swath of fellow humans who have lived this same reality. Our hearts are torn and tottering between gratitude and devastation, heavy with the loss of life and home and livelihood, and also thankful so many homes and lives were spared. The wildfires are a harsh reminder of the unpredictable power of nature and the fragility of the place we all hold so dear. And yet, while navigating and negotiating within my little bubble of chaos, amidst the flames and uncertainty, I feel like I witnessed something even more overwhelming and powerful: the unyielding spirit of this extraordinary community.
For over forty years, I have called this canyon my home. My mother Ellen has lived here for almost seventy! I was born here, literally, my mom gave birth to my sister and me at home on Entrada Road. For those of us blessed to be raised here the toyons, ceanothus, sage, and sour grass were our playgrounds and sustenance. We would close our eyes for the car rides home from the “big shopping” in the city and picture where we were on the s-curves, glancing up now and again, to double check we were right. “Yes! Owl Falls! I knew it!” The canopy of live oaks and sycamores have always felt like great big guardians of this sacred land.
On January 7, when smoke darkened our skies, and the evacuation orders came, us old timers knew the drill. Since we were kids, we knew what stuffies to tell Mom and Dad to pack. But this time it felt different, that wind.
While steeped in shock and dismay, desperately scrolling on the phone, feeling so disconnected, we heard it. There in the chats, me and my family listened as the heartbeat of the canyon started to thump harder. It was there where we found ourselves floored by the leadership, compassion, initiative, organization and care that spread and took flight in our community. Neighbors turned off each other’s propane tanks, strangers got crazy instructions to sneak into houses and rescue cats, people who stayed behind sent pictures to quell our evacuated monkey-minds and give us updates, and most importantly the incredible firefighters and first responders who risked their lives to protect this canyon. To all who offered a place to stay, shared supplies, coordinated efforts, or simply lent a listening ear, we are deeply grateful.
I stand here utterly humbled by and in awe of the glorious interweaving of this community made up of newcomers and the old-timers alike. I am so excited to rediscover that the soul of Topanga Canyon lies not just in its breathtaking vistas but in the people who inhabit it—neighbors who are more like family, bound by a shared love for this unique haven.
I am heartbroken to see the damage done to this place we all treasure—the charred earth and the loss of flora, animals, homes, and businesses and for the communities of Malibu, Brentwood, Santa Monica, Altadena, Los Angeles…all of it, which have been devastated. We mourn the loss of a sister theater, Theater Palisades, which was a cherished theatrical home for the Pacific Palisades community and where so many of us performed musicals in our youth.
I am profoundly relieved that Theatricum Botanicum, a cornerstone of our community, remained unscathed, and that our staff members who were not directly affected have been working tirelessly in their neighborhoods to support those in need. Still, I know that just as the canyon will heal and bloom again, so will we, stronger and more united than ever.
In partnership with the Topanga Farmers Market we will be co-hosting a Welcome Back Topanga: Community Gathering on February 15 from 11 AM to 4 PM at Will Geer Theatricum Botanicum (1419 Topanga Canyon Blvd., Topanga, CA), a day to heal, connect, and celebrate our community’s resilience. Enjoy a tree-planting ceremony, free theatre activities for all ages, local shopping with Topanga Farmers Market vendors, and join us in honoring Fire Station 69, the LA County Sheriff, and Emergency Responders. This event benefits families and businesses impacted by the Palisades Fire. Free entry—no reservations required. Bring your friends and let’s keep this canyon thriving!
To my fellow Topangans: you are what makes this place extraordinary. Your resilience, compassion, and unwavering commitment to each other and to this land are nothing short of inspiring. My family thanks you for all you have done, for your bravery and generosity, and for reminding us once again why Topanga Canyon is not just a place—it is a way of life, a family, and a legacy of love.
I look forward to meeting and hugging all of you!
Get Involved with Your Local Town Council
The Town Council is your link to the community and the government representatives that serve you.
The Topanga Town Council (TTC), a 501(c)(4) non-profit, all-volunteer organization, has been proudly serving the local community for 45 years. Through regular monthly meetings, events and forums, the Council provides opportunities for discussion, education, and connections.
The Council works for Topanga residents and businesses on a host of topics and concerns; from Topanga Access Cards and OneTopanga, to traffic and trash, to emergency preparedness and safety, to preserving the natural habitat and scenic beauty, to addressing issues related to crime, homelessness, and zoning.
Click here to learn more about what the Council does.
We invite you to volunteer so that, together, we can make Topanga a better place to call home.
Thank you!
If you would like to donate your time, please contact us at: 310-455-3001, or email us how you would like to help at: contact@topangatowncouncil.org
Saving Endangered Species
Due to Palisades fire damage to the lower Topanga Creek watershed, the Resource Conservation District of the Santa Monica Mountains (RCDSMM) assisted California Department of Fish and Wildlife (CDFW) with the rescue of endangered southern steelhead trout from Topanga Creek.
On January 23, 2025, CDFW, CA State Parks, United States Geological Survey, Cachuma Operation and Maintenance Board, and RCDSMM, coordinated by Principal Conservation Biologist, Rosi Dagit, rescued over 250 endangered southern steelhead trout and transported them to the CDFW Fillmore Hatchery in Santa Paula. “Rescuing this genetically unique population of trout needs to happen now,” said Dagit. Degrading water conditions in Topanga Creekm endanger this vulnerable population. Rain, although necessary for fire control, will further negatively impact the water quality of the creek.
The next step is to find a suitable watershed where the fish can acclimate to a new home. RCDSMM will be working with CDFW and National Marine Fisheries Service to return the fish to the wild as soon as possible. It is unlikely that Topanga Creek will be a suitable habitat for some time, maybe years.
For more information on RCDSMM’s futures plans and exciting projects, visit their website at rcdsmm.org.
Personal Musings, Andrea Ehrgott
Only a couple of miles away from Topanga, Pacific Palisades burned down. The fire didn’t reach us, but there are images I will never forget from my 13 days of evacuation.
The dozens of police cars and fire trucks weaving in and out of lanes on the 101 freeway, flashing lights and sirens as smoke from a new fire in West Hills blew across the freeway towards smoke from the Palisades fire on the other side.
The long To-Do list of the couple who had lost their home and were staying at my friend’s home in Westwood with me. Every day they updated the list, checked off some things, added new ones and methodically made phone call after phone call.
The homeless from Pacific Palisades waiting at a post office in West LA for their names to be called out to collect their redirected mail. They looked so lost. They looked like they were waiting for more than just mail, for something beyond their grasp or understanding.
The pickleball courts in Santa Monica where many of the players were evacuees. There was a box of donated paddles for the displaced to play with. We were glad to do something normal, hug each other, enjoy a game of pickleball. But mentally we were all scattered. Nobody could keep track of the score. One woman found a pair of underwear buried deep in her leggings and we laughed because someone else had just left to buy underwear.
My cell phone buzzing with inquiries from friends and family, with incessant alerts and announcements related to evacuation zones, fire movement, power cuts, roadblocks, with warnings about air and water quality, with video and photos of horrendous scenes.
The lady waiting for a haircut with her kids in Mission Viejo who let me jump ahead of her in the line and get my hair trimmed first when she heard I was evacuated. She said it was no problem; they could wait. Her teenage son disagreed and muttered under his breath.
The volunteers at the Mormon temple in Westwood who gave me a bottle of water when I sat in their gardens to eat my lunch in peaceful surroundings. They said they’d pray for me. I said thank you as I looked at their neat shirts and ties, a contrast to my clothing and state.
My freezer emptied of its spoiled contents, unknown juices in the bottom that thawed and then refrozen into browny purple ice, truly one of the dirtiest things in the world.
The plants in my garden, already parched two weeks ago, now fully desiccated from the Santa Ana winds that must have sucked every last trace of moisture far far away. And not at all related to the fire, the unlikely wave that distracted my fire-obsessed thoughts when my one year-old granddaughter entered the aquarium at the Santa Barbara pier. Happy to see a large model of a shark protruding from the wall, its mouth wide open, sharp, menacing teeth on display, she gave it a joyful, enthusiastic wave. Although it represented another scary and dangerous monster, the wave was a welcome distraction and for a second we all laughed.
