When cleaning out ashes from our wood stove, I found a piece of curved wire fence as large as a loaf of bread. Apparently a tree had grown around it, engulfing it. It wasn’t exposed again until the wood was burned away. I thought . . . hmm . . . this has to be lucky. So I hung it from the coat hook in my hall. An hour later, we had a chimney fire.

My husband said he had it under control. When smoke started puffing from beneath the stove and curling out from the pipe connection in our bedroom utility closet, he said he had it under control. When the roar sounded like a tornado, he said he had it under control. I said, for the tenth time, “Maybe we should call the fire department.” He said, “Okay.” THEN I got scared.

By the time they arrived, fire was shooting six feet above the chimney stack. Our attic was full of smoke, as was our bedroom and Den. The bird was screeching, the dogs were howling and the sirens and smoke alarms were adding to the chaos.

As well as my mind was working at the time, I never went for our safe box with our wedding, birth and baptismal certificates. I never thought about grabbing our financial records, our photo albums or my jewelry. But I did put my zip drive with all my novels on a strap around my neck. If I had to leave, I had the important stuff right there.

A week later, and all is well. My drapes and bedspread needed dry cleaning anyway. I needed the exercise of washing down my walls. My carpets will get shampooed tonight. The aroma of wood smoke is comforting—like the smell of our cabin in the Catskills. Good thing, as it looks like, in spite of my measures, it will be around for a while. Yes, I know there are companies out there who specialize in cleaning up after something like this. But I’m a do-it-yourself kind of girl.

BTW, I tossed the fence piece in the trash post haste. I posted a couple of pictures. The day was pretty-our first snowfall of the year, and most-likely our last.