Hounded by wildfires, Californians rethink their willingness to rebuild

The day Paradise burned, Aaron Singer was a sceptic. Then he saw the flames in his rearview mirror.

This was November 2018, and the Camp Fire, the most destructive wildfire in California history, was making swift and smoky headway through the Sierra Nevada foothills. It took less than four hours to rip through this town of 26,000 residents, reducing schools, businesses and 11,000 homes into piles of smoldering ash.

When Singer got the evacuation order, he thought it was another false alarm. But he peeled out of his driveway as flames licked his yard, making it out of town with minutes to spare.

Paradise was lost. Eighty-five people died, and more than 90% of its population was driven out. Two years later, about 4,000 residents have returned to its scorched earth to lay new foundations and test fate once again. Singer is among them.

Now he is having second thoughts.

For decades in this chaparral-covered ecosystem, it has been a ritual: After the burn comes the rebuild. But as the nation’s most populous state stares down a seething climate crisis, one that cranked temperatures into triple digits last fall and set off a series of infernos that exploded into bone-dry air, the rebuilding process is beginning to look different.

California has battled dual crises, with the largest wildfire season on record breaking out in the midst of the pandemic. At the close of 2020, as millions of Californians were put under a second lockdown in a bid to quell a massive second surge in COVID-19 cases, more than 4.2 million acres of the state had been scorched by nearly 10,000 fires. But in many ways, the crises have split the state into two: Northern California continues to reel from multiple megafires, including the August Complex Fire and the SCU Lightning Complex Fire that exploded in late summer. And in Southern California, Los Angeles is now the epicentre of the pandemic, leading the nation both in confirmed cases and number of deaths.

In the midst of this, a historic housing shortage and low interest rates have pushed California’s home prices to record highs. In August, the median cost of a single-family home in the state crossed $700,000; in September it climbed further.

And while the cost of new homes is on the rise, many homeowners are finding the cost of rebuilding after a fire is even higher.

Home rebuilds are on the decline across the entire state, triggered by a combination of contractor shortages, pressures on the rental market and an ever-escalating climate crisis that has become impossible to ignore.

California, which remains mired in an affordable-housing crisis, has seen new construction permits dwindle for the past two years after more than a decade of rebounding steadily after the 2008 recession. New home construction permits reached 120,000 in 2018, then dipped to 110,000 in 2019.

A home destroyed in a wildfire in Malibu, Cali, Dec 30, 2020. As the nation’s most populous state stares down a seething climate crisis, one that cranked temperatures into triple digits last fall and set off a series of infernos that exploded, into bone dry air, the rebuilding process is beginning to look different. Beth Coller/The New York Times

The California Industry Research Board, which monitors construction and permit activity statewide, will publish its 2020 numbers in February but estimates that only 103,670 total housing units were issued last year.

The board doesn’t track when permits are issued for fire-related losses. And “analysing the effect of California’s wildfires on homebuilding has historically been difficult, as wildfires typically do not enclose themselves in one municipality alone,” Marissa Saldivar, the board’s data journalist intern, wrote in a recent report.

But the statewide decline in rebuilds, coupled with the increase and intensity in fires, points to a clear trend: Faced with the choice of rebuilding or starting afresh, more homeowners than ever before are choosing to cut their losses.

A critical piece of the puzzle? The state is also short on contractors, which means homeowners looking to rebuild can find themselves in limbo for four or even five years.

“Even after the Camp Fire, you’d think we would have seen a spike in the number of permits, and yet we haven’t,” said Dan Dunmoyer, president and chief executive of the California Building Industry Association. “Most big insurance companies will just cut you a big check, and you can be sitting there looking at a check for $900,000. And you talk to contractors and they say: ‘Sure, I can build you a home, but I’m backed up for a year and a half.’ So we’re seeing a lot people just cut and run.”

There is one exception: Rebuilds are holding steady where the land is particularly valuable, as it was in 2018 when the devastating Woolsey Fire tore through Malibu, one of the Los Angeles area's most exclusive cliffside hideaways. Three people were killed. The entire city was evacuated, and 650 of its multimillion-dollar homes, including those belonging to Miley Cyrus, Gerard Butler and Robin Thicke, were vanquished, but today more than one-third of those homes have rebuild permits (in Paradise, the number stands at just over 10%).

“Rebuilding after a fire is sort of like someone who gets a shark bite and still goes back and surfs,” said Michael Nourmand, president of the Los Angeles real estate brokerage Nourmand & Associates. “But people in LA have a short memory. Most people are planning to rebuild.”

It’s always easier to indulge an urge to rebuild, however, if you have deep pockets. California in 2008 enforced strict fire-safe building codes, which require reinforced roofs made of brick, masonry or concrete; walls that can withstand high temperatures; and landscaping that is free of highly flammable flora. In 2011, the state also required all single-family homes to be equipped with sprinkler systems. These codes can increase costs by $20,000 or more for homeowners looking to rebuild a pre-2008 home.

Homeowners who do choose to rebuild must enter the rental market while waiting it out, putting pressure on a housing system where prices are already inflated and demand far outstrips supply. And the state’s most vulnerable residents inevitably suffer the domino effects. California’s homelessness numbers rose 16% in 2019 and have now swelled to more than 150,000 of its residents. Because of COVID-19, those numbers are expected to rise.

“When thousands of homes burn down, those people are pushed elsewhere, which pushes rental prices up. That means affordable housing also goes up and housing insecurity goes by the wayside,” said James Ryan, president of Time for Homes, a nonprofit dedicated to eliminating chronic homelessness.

Gov. Gavin Newsom’s eviction moratorium, meant to protect tenants from losing their homes because of hardships during the COVID-19 pandemic, expires Feb 1. But some reports point to evictions rising during the pandemic, despite the moratorium.

“There are always people who get lost in the shuffle,” Ryan said. “There are forced evictions, and those people will be looking for other housing, just as people who have lost homes from fire will be looking for temporary housing too. You have more and more people looking for fewer and fewer homes.”

The crunch is causing a population shift to California’s more rural enclaves. In tiny El Dorado County, east of Sacramento, sales in 2020 were up 28% (compared with a small decline in Sacramento).

But it’s the Inland Empire, the swath of Riverside and San Bernardino counties that sits inland and adjacent to Los Angeles, that is the fastest-growing sector of the state, and it has largely been spared the megafires that have raged through many of the state’s major metropolitan areas, including San Diego, Los Angeles and the San Francisco Bay Area, over the last two decades. COVID-19, which has prompted an upsizing, exurban surge, has only increased this trend.

The median home price in Riverside County in November was $490,000; in San Bernardino County it was $380,250. That’s a fraction of Orange County’s median, which was $930,000; Los Angeles County, meanwhile, saw a median of $664,160. And in the Inland Empire, job growth is strong — for fire-stricken families staring at insurance checks and weighing their options, Dunmoyer said, heading east presents an appealing option.

But it’s also impossible to pinpoint cause and effect.

“We’ve been seeing a lot of movement toward areas like the Inland Empire, and also out in Joshua Tree and Palm Springs. It’s difficult to say how much is flight away from fire risk and how much is just movement toward affordability. It’s been happening since about 2010,” Dunmoyer said.

But moving away from fire risk isn’t a viable option for everyone, especially not in a state already facing an extreme housing shortfall.

Since the Camp Fire, Singer and his wife, Shannon, have been renting an apartment in Chico, about 20 miles away, while navigating the various headaches — insurance, zoning, construction, planning — to rebuild their home. They have also started a nonprofit, Paradise Stronger, which utilizes their background in fitness coaching to bring mental health care to residents coping with trauma from the disaster.

At first, they were committed to being part of Paradise’s ambitious recovery plan to rebuild the entire city from scratch, which includes more parks and green space, fire-safe landscaping, and improved evacuation routes and warning systems.

But then came the 2020 fire season, which pushed new hellish vocabulary into the lexicon — “megafires,” “hot drought.” Fire-whipping winds, which force preventive power shut-offs, are now standard practice. In October, the Singers found themselves once again evacuating their land, except this time, the fire was both on its way and had already had its feast.

“This time around, the area that got evacuated first was exactly where our home would have been,” Singer, 43, said. “All you could see was smoke. The PTSD was rampant.”

His wife decided she had had enough.

“She turned to me and said, ‘I’m not sure I want to rebuild. I’m not sure this is where I want to be anymore,’” Singer said. For his part, he says, he would be willing to stick it out — but not at the expense of his relationship.

“I see the vision of this town, and I want to be a part of that, but not if it means my marriage,” Singer said.

For now, the couple have hit the pause button on their rebuild plans. If they do move forward, they’re also looking at spending $100,000 out of pocket. Their rebuild plans are for a smaller but more fire-safe home on the same property, and the estimated cost is $250,000. They received $145,000 for the structure that burned; like nearly 60% of American households, they learned after the fact that they were vastly underinsured.

Many insurers have also abandoned policies altogether in areas deemed too high a risk: The California Department of Insurance in October reported that refusals from home insurers to renew policies rose by 31% statewide in 2019, and that percentage jumped to 61% in ZIP codes with an elevated fire risk.

A handful of new developments have responded by incorporating new resilience protocols into their building strategies in areas well acquainted with wildfire. In Southern California, Rancho Mission Viejo, which is in the southern part of Orange County and is the largest new community in the state, has been in development since 2001 on 23,000 acres of open space. When completed, it will provide 14,000 homes (including 6,000 homes for 55-plus residents), and its development plans stipulate that 75% of that open space be preserved.

Fire resilience is a tenet of the construction, and the community implemented many wildfire resistance tactics long before they became state and local requirements. The community was recently highlighted in a report by the Urban Land Institute (as was the entire town of Paradise, whose rebuild, the report said, could serve as a template for other wildfire-affected communities).

Each neighbourhood in Rancho Mission Viejo is surrounded by a 110-foot-wide fuel modification zone — a strip of land where combustible vegetation has been replaced with fire-resistant plants. Certain plant species are prohibited. Construction materials are noncombustible; automatic fire sprinklers were mandatory in every home well before the California law changed in 2011. And the added cost is now negligible; when construction began, those fire-safe modifications were adding between $4,000 and $10,000 to the bottom line of each home, compared with a comparable-size new home in the area, but have since dipped to as low as $1,000.

Jay Bullock, Rancho Mission Viejo’s vice president for planning and entitlement, said that is because fire-safe methods, once considered radical, have become more commonplace.

“The market has caught up,” he said.

And in a state where livable space is at a premium, building safely in high fire hazard zones is the key to a sustainable future, said Mike Balsamo, Rancho Mission Viejo’s senior vice president for governmental relations.

“There is a playbook,” he said. “We can create the most fire-safe community possible.”

© 2020 New York Times News Service