October 17, 2025.
Wouldn’t you know it? I left out the part that makes this story interesting.
Our daughter filled in the blanks, which you’ll find here:
One of our daughters and her husband run a milling company on the homestead where my mother grew up.
Nothing about running a small business is, I suspect, “routine”, but some days are less routine than other.
Take, for example, the fire that didn’t get out of control earlier this summer.
There’s an old Red River Valley joke where a newcomer asks “does it always blow this way?” and the local replies, “no: sometimes it blows the other way”.
This particular day was windier than usual. A strong south wind, filled with bits and pieces of dry stalks and leaves, was blowing over the waste pile. And over everything else, of course. Then a fire started in the waste pile.
That’s the bad news.
The good news is that my son-in-law had dug a holding pond, kept if full of water, had pumps and hoses on hand: and everyone there knows how to react.
That’s why, when our granddaughter came into the house and said “fire”, our daughter was out the door. Promptly.
Meanwhile, our son-in-law had called the nearest town’s fire department. It would be some time before they could get there, but I doubt that they’d have dawdled.
As he tells it, son-in-law had the phone in one hand, a water hose in the other, and was trying to make himself heard over the sounds of wind and rushing water. At the other end, it probably sounded like the desperate distress call in a corny action thriller.
(Not) Waiting Until Help Arrives
A problem with outdoor fires on windy days is that they’re not well-behaved. Instead of considerately staying in one place, they’ll scatter flaming invitations to join the party.
The waste pile, along with the mill and the rest of the homestead’s buildings, is on the south side of what we call the timber claim: about 10 acres of woodland my mother’s people planted.
Ideally, there’d be no waste from the mill. Or the waste would be stored in a fireproof container until someone recycled it. But as I keep saying, we don’t live in an ideal world.
By the time Hillsboro authorities arrived, in the person of an older police officer who was — as our daughter put it, dressed for writing traffic tickets, not fighting fires — our son-in-law was hosing down the waste pile while our daughter handled smaller fires elsewhere.
Help Offered, Accepted, and Declined
Our daughter was dressed more informally and carrying a sturdy hoe over her shoulder.
Hmm. I’d better describe, briefly, our second-oldest daughter. She’s the same height as her mother, five-foot-nothing, with shoulders she inherited from both of us. She’s not by any reasonable standard overweight: but slender and delicate she is not.
Anyway, conversation ensued. The police officer saw a doused main fire and householders at work on putting out hot spots.
So he said something like ‘looks like you’ve got this under control. Should I call off the fire department?’ Their response: ‘no! this could go south any time’.
Well, literally, a new fire would be going north, into the timber claim, blown by that brisk south wind. But the police officer got the idea.
Just then, our daughter spotted a smouldering log, not much over four inches across and maybe a dozen feet long.
As she headed toward it, the police officer said ‘maybe I’d better help’. That’s when our daughter swung the hoe over her head, catching the log on its far side, rolling it over and calling to our son-in-law: who sent an arc of water onto the log, dousing it.
The police officer commented that she was obviously doing just fine.
Fire Watches, Winter Weather, and Getting Work Done
Time passed, folks from the fire department showed up, and the last problematic hot spot was hosed.
Our son-in-law and daughter had lost part of the day’s work, but kept a small fire from becoming a big one. And nobody got hurt.
For that, I’m glad and grateful.
Fire weather watches are a summer thing in the Red River Valley. Come winter, they’ll be dealing with other situations: including but not limited to shoveling out after blizzards and keeping the access road open.
This is where I’d usually talk about why family matters and using our brains is a good idea. But it’s been one of those weeks, and — I’ve talked about that sort of thing before:
- “Arba Zeri Campbell and the Telephone” (July 26, 2025)
- “A Vacation, Rain, Comic Books, and a Waterlogged Dad” (June 28, 2025)
- “A Skunk, a Woodpile, Dynamite, and Rural Kids” (February 22, 2025)
- “Sledding With My Dad: Good Memories” (June 22, 2024)
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