Even as the Los Angeles wildfires continue to burn, the real, material toll is already apparent. Homes and businesses are gone. So are schools, supermarkets and houses of worship.

These fires have also robbed some Californians of something more intangible: a sense of community. What defines a community? Though often a physical space, it’s also more vibes-based and amorphous — the networks of feeling among its members and their environment, built and natural.

Already, online and in conversation, Angelenos are memorializing what they lost in the blazes that incinerated the Pacific Palisades, on the coast, and Altadena, an East Side enclave with a thriving Black middle class. The fish tacos at the Reel Inn. The pancakes at Fox’s. A synagogue. The Bunny Museum. Hiking trails. A pet supply store that did a brisk trade in backyard chickens. The accounting is early and incomplete. These fires will likely smolder for weeks. New ones kindle every day.

The eulogies show how loss is both personal and collective. JJ Redick, the Lakers’ coach who had moved to the Palisades recently, captured this in an interview over the weekend. His rented home had burned along with all of his family’s possessions. But he was struggling most, he said, with the loss of the community. “All the churches, the schools, the library, it’s all gone,” he said. He put his head in his hand when he spoke of the recreation center where his children had played sports. “It just hurts to lose that,” he said. What is the Palisades without these spaces?

What comes after

First settled by Indigenous peoples, then a property of Spain, then of Mexico, Los Angeles incorporated in 1850, the same year that California became a state. Rangy urban sprawl and frequent natural disasters make it feel less fixed than most major American cities. It is always growing, changing, renovating, reforming.