Porches

Grandma’s Screened Porch

My love affair with porches happened quite subtlety.   My grandmother’s home was the hub of her great lake side resort in Minnesota.  Guests would climb the steps to knock on the old wooden screen door when checking in, and by the time they left camp, felt welcomed enough just to pull the door open themselves to hollar in a thank you and goodbye.  My hardworking grandfather would fall asleep on a little banquette doubling as a sofa on the far side of the screened in porch.  My brother and I spent our summers at the wooden table kept on the porch, playing board games with the resort children and dipping generously into the deep freeze, also on the porch, for fruit flavored popsicles to share.

My grandmother would entertain her very best friends and casual acquaintanceships alike on that porch, often serving up slices of pie or spiced cake, but always strong black coffee.  My aunt and uncle would visit, and indulge in cold beers during the evening on the porch, catching up and replaying family stories with the other adults while my brother and I listened intently.  I’d write stories, and color, dreaming staring far off on the country road – easily monitored from the high porch as if I were hidden in a treetop nest.

Porches are idealized symbols of friendship, community and sanctuary for me, thanks to that front porch of my childhood.  Sitting on a good one brings a feeling of rest to my soul.   It has long been a longing of mine to sit on a porch of my own, in the quiet afternoon while the rain spills down on a leafy garden below.   I’ve longed to give my eyes a rest from reading, rocking or swinging slowly on the porch, catching a slight breeze and take note of a birdsong in the distance.  I’ve longed to picnic with my family in the sunny air, with sounds of wind-chimes and scents of barbecue.   I’ve wanted to invite my friends over to offer them the extension of what was modeled for me as an act of gratitude and love to those who are important, summed up in a baked good and strong coffee.  I’ve even enjoyed the memory of sweeping away old cobwebs from the corners of my grandmother’s house, and thought how grand it would be for that to be the very finishing conclusion of a good spring clean…to put hand on hip, stand back and see everything just pat.

There is a nostalgia with porches, even if they aren’t your own.  Right now, we’re seeking our first home, our very first house purchase, and have confined ourselves to areas with beautiful, historic homes in the hopes of snagging a lifestyle more in pace with our hearts, our spirits.  For me, I’ve been seeking porches.  One for my own.

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