Today I found out the hard way that it’s not always true where there’s smoke there’s fire. Two of my friends and I went plant shopping at the Bellewood Nursery, then out to lunch at Anchorage Café. After lunch we took the long way, driving around the quaint town of Anchorage so Pat could show us where her daughter in law grew up. As we drove down a side street we couldn’t help but notice massive amounts of smoke billowing out of the chimney of the house on the corner. And in the front yard was a small pipe where smoke was pouring out. Although we couldn’t see flames, from the smoke it was apparent the house was on fire.
As we sat in the car, discussing about if we should call the fire department, we saw two men wearing neon yellow and orange workers vests walking down the street. We drove up to them and Pat explained about the smoke pouring out of the house. One of the men—very rudely—said they knew and that was the house they were looking for. He went on to say don’t worry and to move along.
I guess not everyone got the memo that everything was okay, because someone called the fire department, which sent out a hook and ladder, a tanker and the fire chief. They weren’t too happy when they found out there was no fire and that the smoke was merely the sewer company looking for a leak in the line. At least we got to see some hot firemen. J