A few hours east of the storied beaches of Southern California, east along famous boulevards

and endless crowded freeways and outpassed the ranks of desert hugging suburbs, is a winding

road up and up into the San Jacinto Mountains.

To a town called Idle Wild, a small, unhurried place, rustic by intent, planted among

ancient rock formations and lofty pines.

And just outside that little town, perched like a postcard among the trees, is Bonita

Vista Ranch, the home of 65-year-old Lydia Abrams, or Dia, as everyone called her.

Bonita Vista was Diaz, Eden.

In its 116 acres was everything she loved, nature, peace, and most of all, as her friend

Julie Stanford, her animals.

So, A number one little animal is Ruby, that's her baby, that cute little doggy.

She had miniature doggies, she had a miniature pony named Fonzie, and that's what she was

out there doing every day, being with her animals.

They could sure they were okay.

Diaz's son, Clinton Abrams, said there was absolutely nothing that could make her leave

that ranch of hers, not even the thread of wildfires.

My mother wouldn't leave the property when there was a large fire surrounding three sides

of her land.

She refused to leave.

She refused to leave because she felt that if she left, the fire department would let

the structures burn because she wouldn't want that to happen.

She did not want that to happen, so that's how much she loved the ranch and the animals.

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