My house was devoured by flames yesterday. I cannot believe it; the yard's utterly barren! All of my beautiful flowers wilted and dead up from the snow or the fire, I do not know which. I cannot tolerate looking at that black scorch mark. It is quite unattractive. All that is left to the lot is ashes. Now, I have an excuse to some more gardening. I can get a smaller house built, and save some room for a huge yard. I can have the garden I always dreamed of! The fire opened up a variety of opportunities for me. I can recall everything about the fire... My potted plants needed to be taken care of, kept warm. I would not want them freezing and shriveling up until they died. I cannot fathom letting them die, just like that. I had kept a fire on in the flue in the kitchen. I assume that was what sparked the flames. All the folks around Maycomb came to help me out. I watched them carry the furniture out of my house one by one. I was delighted that Atticus saved my oak rocking chair. The flames spread throughout the property, burning the yard and melting the snow around the building. My flowers withered in the heat. The only thing I wished to save was my garden. Seeing all of my life's work die away in the flames was horrid. I could not watch it. I stood there, helpless, as the men tried to dim the hungry flames. They had little effect on the blaze; it grew and grew, scorching through every inch of the place I called home. I could not stop the inevitable. At least I would get a smaller house after this horrible night was over. The house was too big for me as is. I could take in some roomers to get some money. I would plant new flowers; I would have the finest garden in Alabama! Everything will be alright, I knew it. The firemen hosed down the property, which had little effect on the looming flames that swirled to the sky. Big clouds of black smoke emitted off the flames, and I could hardly see the house anymore. I heard an awful ruckus, and I knew that when the smoke cleared, there would be nothing left of my little old house. Or my yard, that yard that I had spent so much time on throughout the years. Everything would be gone. I would have to plant new azaleas, and it was futile to start anything during this snow. Why, oh, why did the snow have to start falling now? The last time it snowed had been 1885. I despise the stuff; it kills off all of the vegetation. I eye the other folk's houses, a sad and weak smile appearing on my lips as I criticized the plants they owned in my mind. At least they had their house, unlike me. They were fortunate that their homes had not gone up in a blaze, like mine. It is too harsh of a fate for anything to have; losing the one place they called home. The next time I looked to where my house once stood, the smoke had disappeared. My house, oh heavens, my house was a pile of smoldering ashes. Repulsive, black ashes with bits of wood here and there... That was all that was left. No plants, no sign of any life. The flames had died down. I went over to the remains, leaving the folk behind me. The crowd has distinguished as the blaze did, going into their homes. I stared at the relics, quiet tears streaking down my cheek, leaving their moist mark on my cheek. I wiped them away, refusing to cry over spilled milk. I focused about the positives; a new garden, a smaller house. I had never liked that house, nonetheless. All of the townsfolk had decided that I could stay with Miss Stephanie Crawford. I am going to keep my eyes on her. She has always been after my lane cake. I will have to keep the recipe concealed. I will have to find some obscure place to hide it until she is out of my sight. Then, I will make some lane cakes for all of the Maycomb County for helping me out. That will keep me occupied until I can garden, once again.

Maudie Atkinson