• The Publisher’s Notebook •

An Improvised Malibu Christmas

BY ANNE SOBLE

It was the night before Christmas, and all of the weather forecasts were the same. Santa Claus and Santa Ana winds were being mentioned so often in the same context that the words began to slur. Three Malibu wildfires in a year were fueled by these powerful winds. The winds in October had howled demonically through my property, causing extensive damage in their own right. When it rained soon after the November fire, travel could be considered as concern about leaving during high fire danger abated. Although I have been abroad when natural disasters struck Malibu—a minor brushfire when I was in Scandinavia, wave damage and flooding while I was in South America—I have never left when a natural threat was imminent. When this week’s high wind alerts started, I wrestled with the seriousness of the danger. Holiday plans would be upended and plane tickets unrefunded. Priorities of home and profession conflicted. The decision not to leave Malibu on Monday wasn’t easy, but it ultimately made itself. The winds started late on Christmas Eve and didn’t stop. Sleep was impossible. Screaming wind blasts clocked at more than 75 mph roared down Malibu’s western flank to Leo Carrillo Beach between 3 and 4 a.m. Large branches and other debris were tossed about like twigs. Tarps on llama stalls were shredded. Part of a hay shed was pulled apart. As a child, I would have spent these darkened hours watching for Grandfather Frost, now I was wishing away a firestorm.
Every Christmas produces a rush of memories, including ones we haven’t experienced firsthand, such as when the corrals, barns and house on the land that I would acquire several decades later burned on Christmas Day in the devastating Malibu wildfire of 1956. However, this Dec. 25 would not end in ashes. The predawn hurricane-force winds turned out to be the worst, but gusts to 50 mph continued throughout the day. As the wind danger subsided, there was disappointment at missed plans, but no second-guessing. Christmas Day wound down to its last hours. The wind watch had been exhausting. Still, the brightly decorated house couldn’t be ignored. And through nothing short of legerdemain and the kindness of a stranger, a precooked holiday goose with port and current sauce and sour cherry stuffing had materialized. Wind debris cleanup was put on hold for a dinner that, while haphazardly improvised and limited to a few guests, was no less special. Someone asked whether it was frightening when the winds were at their fiercest. The answer is that the powerful winds were less about fear than awe and humility. That’s a Christmas message too.