I’d been having a rotten, rough week. It was bad enough that my boss had to inform me that my position was being eliminated – not his idea nor what he wished – but in the end, I found myself having to look for a job, once again. Not that I was entirely thrilled with what I was doing, but it offered a decent paycheck and the ability to work from home – a real perk.

After I received the news, my boss gave me the rest of the day off. Not like I was in the mood to celebrate or anything. At least he gave me two months’ notice, which at least will see me through the holidays. But I couldn’t just sit at home and stew. I had to get out, go somewhere, do something. I ran some errands and took a different way home, a road I hadn’t been on in a while. The remainder of autumn leaves still gave patches of color here and there on the mountains, cheering up the rather bland brown they now sported.

Not far from my town, I noticed smoke. That can’t be good, I remember thinking. But I was sure that had already grabbed the attention of the local fire companies, who would soon be arriving to extinguish it. After all, it didn’t seem so awful.

We haven’t had any significant rain in months. After a very wet spring and early summer, the clouds forgot their duties and left us dry. The ground hardened, the grass turned brown. Reservoir levels dropped and the dam’s overflow stopped cascading water.

On Saturday afternoon, I saw this:

The fire exploded from a patch of burning ground to 2500 acres of hell. Firefighters from all over came to assist, but to no avail. The wind picked up, and the tinder-dry earth became perfect fodder for the flames. Trees fell, dead leaves swirled and caught sparks, igniting everything around them. An 18-year-old firefighter, not long out of high school, died when a burning tree fell on him. A horror scene, in real life.

Sunday morning I awoke to the acrid smell of smoke. It seemed as if my own home were on fire, but as I rushed to look out the window, I could barely see across the street. The smell had seeped in through whatever cracks my old house has. Two air cleaners couldn’t erase the smell. My car was covered in ash. My phone shrieked with an emergency warning: be prepared to leave, pack a go bag and stay close your phone for more alerts. Then the power went out. The water soon followed, as it was shut off to give more pressure to the firefighters.

My world was closing in on me. Only one week before, I was gainfully employed, lived in a nice town and looked forward to Thanksgiving with friends. Now, flames destroyed everything in their path, including any sense of security.

The next few days were stress-ridden. Even though my job was coming to an end, I agreed to stay on until the end of the year. Still worked on projects, even though my ability to concentrate grew thin. With the constant smell of smoke, the wail of fire trucks and an acute sense of helplessness, I stared at my screen more than typed on the keyboard. My boss called me for our midweek check-in. I started to discuss another position they were prepared to offer me, then I broke down in tears. I lost the ability to speak. I had reached my limit and was closing down. Take the rest of the week off, he said. There’s nothing that can’t wait until Monday. And be safe.

So I did. I turned off my computer, sat on the couch and stared at the wall. For hours. It was all I could manage. The room grew dark with the setting of the sun. Still, I sat there, glued to the couch. Eventually, I made myself a bowl of soup for dinner. It was the first thing I really ate all day, apart from an apple.

The next day I stayed in bed until noon. I checked my phone. The fire spread to 5300 acres. Now our town had fire companies from six states (at least 60 companies, at last count), the New York DEC, the NY/NJ Forestry Service and the Army National Guard. Professional fire jumpers from Montana and Colorado arrived, highly skilled at tackling forest fires. Chinook and Blackhawk helicopters joined the battle to fight the flames. It was encouraging, though they only managed to contain 10% of the fire.

Townsfolk came together and made meals for around 500 firefighters, including breakfast, lunch and dinner. In several locations, cots were set up for them to sleep and rest. Schools were closed, but that didn’t stop the kids from making “thank you” card to place on their beds. All around town, people hung hand-drawn posters from telephone poles, fences and storefronts thanking these firefighters for saving us. One morning, as the firefighters set out to do their work, townsfolk gathered on the streets to cheer them on. It was so encouraging to see. And uplifting.

My friends and I decided to go out to dinner to support one of the businesses that was donating food. We spoke of little else but the fire, and how one of us had ten minutes to be evacuated. There was real hope that we’d soon see this nightmare end, with all the help we’d been receiving.

Then, when it seemed as if everything was in control, the unthinkable happened. The wind shifted and the fire jumped the containment line. The firefighters raced to control the damage. An immediate evacuation of homes only 20 feet away from the line began. A bus came to get them, as there was no time to jump in the car and drive off. Besides, the fire trucks blocked access. The middle school became an evacuation center.

Firefighters worked through the night, climbing up rough, steep terrain to protect houses. Some cast their hoses on homes, others on the fire. Whatever it took, they did, because a miracle happened: the fire was contained, and no homes were lost. Over the next few days, even greater progress was made. The fire break lines held. Helicopters with water baskets worked endlessly to extinguish the flames.

On my morning walk, I’d heard the sound of the above helicopter approaching. It made for a glorious sight, emptying its water basket over the fire, backlit by the rising sun. It was beautiful.

Now, the fire is almost out. After nearly two weeks of burning, the joint efforts of many people to save us have this town’s enduring thanks and gratitude. Most of the firefighters are volunteers, and many didn’t have the professional training required to tackle forest fires. But what they had was determination, never giving up no matter how exhausted they were. And are.

There’s talk of having a celebration for these heroes, the ones who selflessly saved us. For their families live in this town too, and saving their lives, along with others, gave them purpose.

Today, it rained, and kept raining. They say we’re going to have up to four inches of snow, too. Nature has had mercy on us. May this never, ever happen again, but with climate change, there’s no predicting where the next conflagration will occur. For now, me, along with everyone else here, is grateful that the worst has passed, and that we will truly have something to be grateful for come Thanksgiving.