On Tuesday, as a series of aggressive wildfires began ripping through Southern California, I found myself having an unlikely reaction: the desire to be there. I mean this not as a thrill seeker or fire follower but rather as someone who wanted to go home.

I have lived in Los Angeles since 1991, when I moved from New York. My wife and I raised our family in Los Angeles, and in June my father entered an assisted-living facility in Pasadena, not far from what is now the Eaton fire evacuation zone. On Tuesday evening, I spoke with him by phone from Manhattan, where I have been this week. He was frightened and uncertain.

This is my father’s first go-round as a California resident, and he is right to be afraid. The state has a long history of wildfires, but the speed, size and cost of such fires have grown exponentially in recent years in large part because of climate change, with especially devastating results in the areas where undeveloped land meets homes and other structures.

January is an unusual time for wildfires in California. But last year’s wet winter led to an increase in plant growth, followed by a record hot summer, a fall and winter dry spell likely linked to warmer oceans and now an extreme wind event with gusts peaking at 80 to 100 miles per hour in some areas on Wednesday.

And so dry brush and grass have combusted in Altadena and Pacific Palisades, as well as along the Pacific Coast Highway, where several Malibu landmarks, including the Reel Inn, a popular seafood restaurant, have reportedly been destroyed.

Dangerous wildfires and other kinds of disasters have long been part of the vernacular in Southern California. It is impossible to live there without being aware of the vast forces, incendiary and otherwise, that continue to shape the landscape; in every way that matters, they make the place what it is.