My maternal grandmother was raised by her grandmother. Her mother died in childbirth of my grandmother. There had been a fire on the mountain several hollows away. They would sit on the front porch and watch the fire, while her grandmother smoked a corn cob pipe.
My grandmother asked if she thought the fire would come to them and was told no. When she told me this story, she now realizes her grandmother was scared that it would happen.
P.S.: My paternal grandmother was the quilter in the family. She is the one who aroused my interest when I was about seven.