On Sunday night, October 8, my parents’ house in Napa burned to the ground in the wildfire.

My wife and I were married there 23 years ago, in the hillside living room looking out over a vine-carpeted valley.

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The fraction of our media heritage that survives is the small portion that I managed, over the years, to scan or digitize.

As a result, we still have audio files of me at seven playing the theme from the TV show “The Man From U.N.C.L.E.” on piano, and movies of my grandfather teaching me to ride a bike.

But we don’t have the photos of my father from his military service in Korea, or the Leica camera he brought home.

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