A House of Her Own 1

It wasn’t a tarpaper shack to Emily,custom Inflatable Bounce it was Home. As far as she was concerned, it was Heaven. With her feet up on the front porch railing, relaxing at the close of a long day, she could still smell the tar. She’d insisted on a front porch, no matter how small the house. It didn’t matter; the smell would go, but her new home would stay.
He always said they couldn’t afford to buy their own property until he was older and been promoted. She always said she was a farm girl, he knew that very well when he married her. She needed her own house to grow her own plants inside during the long winters, and her own dirt to plant outside flowers in the spring.
She insisted with a little stamp of her foot that her fingers and toes would simply fall off from the lack of being able to sink into HER OWN DIRT!
Besides which, if she’d had to live in that little tiny bedroom off her sour and grim mother-in-law’s kitchen one moment longer, she surely didn’t know how she’d have held her tongue!
It was late summer of 1905, the day of Emily’s seventeenth birthday.
Earnest finally promised to build this little house one day last winter. Emily had suddenly burst outside in her shawl one bright morning, looked around the large yard snow-covered yard, and then ran across the street to the line of young trees on the hillside, looking for a windfall branch.

After looking around the base of the third tree, she found a strong enough stick and ran back to the wintry yard. She began carving lines into the crisp February snow on the north side of the yard, between the carriage house that faced the back alley and the narrow dirt road going up Scotsman’s Hill at the front.

Impatiently, Emily kicked snow into a groove she’d just made. There was no way she wanted so much of her house right next to Ma Harding’s. Back, back a few feet. She’d make it to fit so they’d not touch or have very much of the houses right next to each other, and still leave room for the privy out back.

Emily concentrated fully on her task, arranging small rooms, dividing them with snow lines. There! She’d done it! She could prove to Earnest that a house – HER OWN HOUSE – would fit right here, right in this yard. Right in the half of the property they’d given Emily and Earnest as a wedding present.
Well, they probably didn’t mean it literally, but Emily dragged Earnest out to show him her snow house, and she won her point. And now she had her feet up on her own front porch railing, looking over the tops of the small hedges and little bushes between her and the hill across the road.
After a moment her eyes were drawn again to the earthen pot she’d just suspended from the front porch roof support. In it was a still-young slip of climbing ivy. She’d carefully taken a cutting from her mother’s large, healthy specimen, itself rooted from her grandmother’s and planted under her bedroom window on the day Emily was born. Lovingly tended until she was grown enough to remove a snippet of her own to take care of.
She’d borne the little plantling with her all across the country with her new husband, taken on her last visit to her parent’s farm in Ontario. Watered with her own tears more than once by now, but none the worse for the salt it seemed.
In the first six months of her marriage the tiny plant grew roots in the little blue bottle her mother gave her with it, and then in the earthen pot it was thriving in now. Six months ago, after Earnest promised her house for this year’s birthday, she’d snipped off the top bit. The plant had grown too spindly, but thickened nicely once a bit was snipped off the end. And the new cutting, placed in her mother’s little bottle on her bedroom windowsill, thrived and grew despite the frosty disapproval of Emily’s mother-in-law.