To set the scene:  My smallish, single-level house is situated in a cul-de-sac in a small town that’s considered by big city folks to be “out in the country”.  The houses around the cul-de-sac are fairly close together, with some large leafy trees in the various front, side, and back yards.  My home office is in the front of the house, with a large window facing out to the street.  It’s around 8 pm on an end-of-summer weeknight, and the day is just now thinking about heading into twilight time.  At the moment it’s quiet in the neighborhood, as usual.

I’m sitting in my office working on my laptop (okay, fine, I’m playing online solitaire) when I hear this really loud, kind of whooshing, grinding noise.  It’s intermittent, starting and stopping three or four times in the space of a minute or so.  I can also hear a man’s voice yelling from a little way off.  I’m thinking someone is running either a very large chainsaw or a very loud leaf blower and another neighbor has a strong opinion about that.  I’m puzzled, because the noise is odd and it’s rapidly coming closer.  I’m starting to feel a little concerned.  The man’s voice is also getting louder and while he’s not screaming his words, there’s definitely some strong urgency there.  I get up from the computer and go to the window, looking out to see if I can figure out what’s going on.

To my considerable surprise, a hot air balloon is drifting by, barely a few feet above the trees between my house and my neighbor’s.  The vision is striking: the brilliant orange and yellow squares of color, the welding-bright flare of the flames.  The loud noise is coming from the balloon’s burner as it gasifies liquid propane to make the heat that makes the balloon go up, so: big fire, small space, lots of risk.  Let’s also not forget that the gondola hanging from the “envelope” is essentially a very large wicker basket.

I can see two or three people crouching in the front of the gondola and another person leaning forward beside the burner.  What I thought was yelling is more like someone not-quite-frantically shouting orders, or possibly instructions.  For a concerning, but admittedly thrilling, moment it doesn’t look like the balloon is going to clear the neighbor’s roof.  The urgent tone of the shouting goes up a couple of notches; remarkably, it sounds like the person is in control but the situation sure looks sketchy to me.

Just when I’m starting to wonder if the balloon really is coming down in someone’s back yard, it gains a little altitude, just enough at first to clear the even taller trees that surround the nearby football and soccer fields.  I thought the balloon might continue to rise to a more reasonable height and the passengers would continue their float trip, but once clear of the trees the balloon again shed altitude and slowly floated down beyond the farther trees, out of sight.  Since there wasn’t a corresponding flash of exploding gasified propane I assumed it was a good landing.  I gave a passing thought to getting in my car and racing around the corner to the playing fields to see what I could see, but I would have had to change clothes, put on shoes, maybe even brush my hair, because – people.  Nah, way too much effort.

It was all very exciting for a Wednesday evening in the country.  In a small town, it’s the little things that make life interesting.