The Wisteria Vine, Part II

I remembered recently that my grandmother had written about the wisteria vine porch roof in her memoirs, Days in Dixie. During the construction of my grandparent's house in the country, my grandmother went out to the place everyday. She and the builder, Mr. Groggans, were at odds during most of the project. She had him doing things he had never heard of before.

My grandparents a few years after the house was complete.  Notice the small wisteria vine behind them, and the unfinished timbers in the roof. 

Here is the excerpt from the book recounting their conversation about the front porch and wisteria vine:

      Eventually the time came to build the front porch, a time I had not looked forward to as I knew a porch with a trellis for a roof was not going to be to Mr. Groggans' liking, and when he heard that the trellis was to be unfinished pine poles three feet apart, it was going to practically shake him off his foundation. Which it did.
     But that was not all. There was a final blow; when the brick floor was laid, I instructed him to leave a three feet OPENING in the floor in which I planned to plant a wisteria vine. Just a nice wide opening onto the good earth, Mr. Groggans.
     "You mean you want a hole left in the floor?"
     "Yes, I want to plant a wisteria vine there to run on the trellis."
     "In the floor?"
     "Yes."
     "Why don't you plant it down there at the end of the porch in the ground?"
     "I'm going to plant one there, but I want one here too, right by the door."
      "You're going to plant a vine in the floor?"
     "Yes."
     "That beats me and I've heard a lot of things."
     "Perhaps so."
     "You're going to plant a wisteria vine?"
     "Yes."
     "Wisterias ain't nothing but wild plants, the woods are full of 'em."
     "That's true, but I am going to get mine from Hastings so it will have a sturdy root system."
     "And you want me to tell Mose just to leave a hole in the floor?"
     "That's right. Right here. Three by three."
      "Right there by the door?"
     "Right there."
     More head shaking, more mumbling, followed by a leave-taking while he cooled off.
     That was all for that day. The next day I came up just as they had gotten to the opening. He was kneeling by it, gazing down at the three feet of bare dirt and fighting his usual fight as to whether to leave it, according to my ridiculous instructions, or forget our conversation and go on and brick over it. (What would I do, knock it out, or decide to let it go?)
     Seeing me standing there brought his dilemma to a close. He looked down at the square yard of bare dirt, surrounded on all sides by clean, fresh, newly laid brick. Slowly he picked up the trowel. Gazing down sadly he replaced it in the bucket of cement. The decision had drained him of all his strength and giving me a look of utter hopelessness he said, "This is killing me." Sadly he picked up the bucket of cement and motioned to his helper to follow him, leaving a three-foot hole in an otherwise good brick floor.

Click here to read The Wisteria Vine.