Leen and I were home and taking an easy evening, and Leen said she thought she heard a helicopter outside. Helicopters are rarely heard overhead around here, but this one wasn't going away, so finally Leen put on the news, and she caught it just before it went to a commercial. "Mill fire in New Hampshire," it said, and we thought, huh, where's a mill around here? The next town over has a mill. We lived right nextdoor to it when we first got married. Was it that?

So she switched channels, and we saw the name of not that town but the town we live in *now* printed out at the bottom of the screen as some raging fires roared on a video feed. We switched channels again, and it was there, too. I don't think the news coverage was *that* wide, but it at least made news in Boston, which is quite something. Our town is never in the news. Not much happens here. It's part of its charm.

We remembered the abandoned mill building downtown, sort of across the street and down a bit from the municipal area. It was first built in 1852. Being an old brick building, it was tough to get water in there to control the fire. It was contained, much to the relief, I'm sure, of the people whose houses were immediately next door, but the fire wasn't expected to be out until midday today.

We live about a mile away. My brother lives even closer, probably less than a half mile away. I called him, and he had already walked down to see and filled me in on the details. 15 fire departments, from various towns in New Hampshire and Maine, were involved in fighting the fire, and hoses were pumping water from hydrants from blocks away.

So Leen and I decided to take a walk. When we got down there, things had clearly settled somewhat, but it was remarkable to see how efficient and coordinated everything was. Traffic was all nicely rerouted, hoses were run up ladders and spraying into the smoke, and tables were set up to dispense drinking water to the firefighters.

The building itself looked like a casualty of the allied bombing of Berlin in World War II. There was more smoke than fire at that point, but the building had collapsed, and all that was standing was the ragged-edged brick wall perforated with window frames. The smell was not thick but not pleasant, either, and we tried not to breathe too deeply.

I don't suppose the city-dwellers among you are going to be able to identify with this part, but it was a jolt seeing our town in the news, and reporters on TV standing at intersections we drive through regularly.

Anyway, we're not dead.