A Romantic Evening with the Fire Department

Two quick fun facts about our new home – it has a functioning fire place and we are 2 blocks away from the North Beach Fire Station. You can imagine how convenient that is.

This past Sunday, an exceptionally cold August evening, Martin decided to light a fire in the fireplace. Normally worried about fireplaces without having them inspected, I attempted to protest, but Martin brought up some valid points that I couldn’t argue. Specifically, we had plenty of scrap wood to get rid of (thanks to the start of pre-construction) and it was freezing in the house (thanks to the lack of heating). Against better judgment, I let him strike the match.

After 15 minutes of lighting the fire and 14 minutes of me beginning to relax and enjoy the warm glow of the flames (perfectly complimented by the bottle of red wine we had decided to open), we heard the sirens. What started as a low whine escalated quickly into what appeared to be 3 fire trucks. Martin and I immediately exchanged looks of surprise and horror…what were the odds? We had just started the fire, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary…that is unless our roof was on fire and we didn’t realize it.

With lightening like reflexes Martin ran to the roof to ensure we weren’t sending our biggest investment and new homes up in flames. With a grin he returned, shaking his head with the irony of it all.

But as we began to relax again and go back to our romantic evening, we couldn’t help but notice that the sirens were not stopping and while at times they seemed far away, they appeared to be getting closer. And so like all nosy neighbors, expecting to see someone else’s tragedy unfold across the street, we stepped outside to get a better look at the chaos. What we found was Armageddon.

With an orange glow of lights flashing against the buildings a block over, we could see 15 firemen fully geared up for a 5 alarm fire, led by the dim lights of their flashlights, emerge from the fog from every direction. Men were coming down the alley, down the side stairs all yelling “where’s the fire…I smell smoke over here.” It was Martin who spoke first, acknowledging that we in fact had a fire going in our fireplace. So while Martin took 2 firemen upstairs to inspect one of the main selling points of the house (we were in fact fine), I stayed in the alley and profusely apologized to the nearest fireman, a nice woman who continued to hold her 30 lbs of gear during the entire conversation.

In the end, we were fine, our house was fine and the neighborhood was safe… Apparently a neighbor had smelled smoke, got worried (because really, who has fires in San Francisco, especially in August) and called it in.

It is good to know we have people nearby who care, but going forward we will alert the neighbors (whom we all met that night) and the fire department next time we decide to have a romantic fireside evening again.