The vegetation work began in January, when crews could enter the hillside without adding to the danger of a dry summer day. They cut and removed selected dead brush along the boundary, cleared access points, and coordinated with the county over areas the association did not own. It was not a campaign to strip the hills bare. A qualified crew marked what should be removed, what should remain for erosion control, and where vegetation management would need to continue each year.
I walked the lane with Henry Ostrander one morning while the crew was working. He had replaced the shed with a smaller one farther from the fence and had planted a few hardy shrubs where the old oleanders stood. He said he finally understood why I had asked him to leave during the fire instead of trying to save everything with a garden hose. I told him that no building or shed was worth making emergency access harder for a crew already under pressure.
"I was angry when you said it," he admitted.
"I would have been angry too," I said.
He stopped beside the blackened ground, now showing patches of green through the ash. "You know what was hardest?" he asked. "Watching them work and not being able to help."
I looked toward the new fence posts. "Sometimes helping means getting out of the way. I learned that the slow way on job sites."
There were still disagreements. The proposed community reserve near the north curve divided homeowners over cost, location, and whether the land available for a tank was adequate. Some worried about maintenance and water turnover, while others wanted the largest possible capacity without knowing how it would be filled or accessed. I attended the planning sessions when invited and tried to answer only the questions I knew.
I told them that a large tank in the wrong place could be less useful than a smaller reserve a crew could reach quickly. I encouraged them to ask the fire district what equipment it would use and to consider ongoing inspection, water quality, and access obligations. I also reminded them that the community reserve would be one piece of a broader response plan, not an excuse to postpone vegetation management or the utility study. People asked more questions after that, which I considered progress.
In November, Chief Beckett stopped by my house off duty, wearing a flannel shirt and driving a pickup instead of a district vehicle. He had been to see another homeowner and said he was passing through. We stood beside the tank drinking coffee while the oaks dropped their last dry leaves. He asked whether I had heard that somebody wanted to mount a plaque on the steel shell.
Apparently a few neighbors had proposed brushed-aluminum lettering that read Cedar Hollow Emergency Water Reserve. They thought it would show appreciation for the role the installation had played during the fire. Beckett had not endorsed the idea, and he wanted to know what I thought before the suggestion reached a meeting agenda. I looked at the gray-green tank, with its plain labels and working valves, and shook my head.