Of all the houses I have lived in over my lifetime, most of them had a front porch, except for the one we lived in just before moving to our present home. For the 10 years or so that we lived there, we had to be back-porch sitters. Which is OK, but not quite as good as having a front porch. After all, our view was confined to our fenced-in back yard. Not much to see.
Many of the new construction homes nowadays are being built minus a front porch. I don't believe the folks that purchase them know what they are missing. Of course, a front porch does sort of put you out there socially, as you have to wave and speak to anyone who happens to be walking by. I know we have become a nation of people who value their privacy; but I think if more of us had front porches, the world would be a friendlier place.
I am very fortunate that the house we now live in has a substantial front porch, and my husband and I both spend a considerable amount of time there during the warm months of the year.
On this front porch I have two hummingbird feeders, two sets of wind chimes, a wooden bench, a swing, a glider, two cedar chairs, several other chairs and numerous potted flowers. And it is not crowded. There is still plenty of room for our younger grandkids to pedal their little tricycles up and down its length.
Our house is on a small rise, so we have a pleasing view of the hills and fields surrounding us. I bless the folks who built this house with such a wonderful porch! I usually head out there about 7 a.m. with a cup of coffee and my Bible. It is a perfect place for some quiet time to study and think in the hush of early morning.
As a matter of fact, I am on my porch now, with my computer, writing this column. It is about 9 p.m. and the lightning bugs are making their presence known. The wind chimes are hanging silent, and the hummingbirds have gone to bed. I can hear the distant rush of traffic above the chorus of insects, and the drone of a jet as it tracks across the indigo sky. My cat is curled up beside me on the glider cushion and my world, at least, is at peace.
In this quiet time it is easy to let my mind wander back into years long past and visit some of those other front porches I have known. My grandparents lived in an old house a mile or so up the road from us, and it had a wooden porch with wooden posts and a sagging green shingled roof. Grandma had some kind of viny things that twined up the posts; and this porch faced east, so it was usually shady and inviting. I remember sitting there with my grandma snapping green beans into her white enamel dishpan, or shelling peas or stemming strawberries.
It's funny, sometimes, the events that trigger memories. I will hear a board creak somewhere, and remember the way the front step of that old porch creaked when my bare foot hit it just right. Or I will smell fresh green beans cooking and be transported back to grandma's porch, the smell of her beans and bacon wafting through the rusty screen door as we waited on the porch for her to call us to dinner.
The front porch that I remember at my parent's house was concrete. I'm not sure if there was a porch there before that one, but I remember my dad filling up the space with rocks and then pouring the concrete over to form the porch. Later on, he poured concrete steps and wrote the names of all of us kids on them. They are still there, I know, a good 50 years later. That porch held the wood that we burned in the stove in the wintertime, and the old water cooler in the summertime. The water cooler was just a very large fan, built into a chicken-wire box lined with excelsior. When you wet down the box with the ice-cold water from our well, the result was nice cool air being blown into the house -- a bit damp, but it was better than the heat!
As children, we spent many hours on that porch. We would catch jars full of lightning bugs and sit on the steps and watch their light. We would bring out old quilts and set up housekeeping there, especially on rainy days. We would play tag, and the porch was always base. In junior high school, I would do my homework there, or practice playing my flute. We would sit there in the evenings and listen to the coyotes sing their songs to the moon, and to the whippoorwill's twilight call. And, as with my grandparents' porch, many vegetables from my dad's garden were prepared there, either for our table or for Mom's pressure cooker. And there was usually a dog or two (or three) snoozing away in the shade. That porch holds many good memories for me. I have pictures of my mom and dad sitting there, and pictures of us kids there too, and then pictures of my kids later on sitting there with my mom and dad.
The front porch has become, I believe a singularly American icon. There have been songs written about front porches, and songs written on front porches. Front porches have been silent witnesses to first kisses and first heartbreaks. They have welcomed new babies, seen those babies grow and watched them leave. They have also seen them come back home again.
Many important questions have been asked on front porches, from "can I keep him, Mom, please", to "will you marry me?" And many momentous decisions have been made there, such as whether or not I should go in and do the dishes, or sit on the porch for a just little longer! (Guess which answer I chose!)
There is no place more welcoming than a front porch. And its size doesn't really matter. As long as it will hold a chair, you're good to go. Happy porch-sitting, and I hope all your memories are good ones!
Tamela Weeks is a freelance writer in the Gentry area. She may be reached by email at tamela.weeks@ gmail.com. Opinions expressed are those of the author.
Editorial on 07/23/2014