Thoughts on the Porch

My family moved into our house 3 years ago. My parents designed it with our family in mind. They yearned for a final resting place. The blueprints always included a wrap-around porch. Friends thought we would hardly use it. The contractor agreed. My parents stood firm. After moving in, my siblings and I spent most of our waking hours on that porch.

The left side over-looked the garage, curving underneath the house into the basement. The right side faced a wall of trees towering around a valley formed by the wandering vein of a distant creek. The front embraced all-comers with a spacious staircase at the center. A garden sat below in the yard, and beyond a forest trail beneath a canopy of countless windows of sunlight. I occasionally napped outside on a rainy day. I would rock back and forth, reading a book. I enjoyed snacks with friends. In the back, I occupied my time studying.

Us kids once all owned a pair of roller blades. We scooted around the porch, laughing and screaming with glee. When we slept on the porch, the wonder of creation kept us awake as the crickets serenaded under the shimmering moon. Last summer we added a table for meals in the gazebo. After the corn harvest, we devoured sweet cobs dripping with butter, pepper, and salt. My hospitable mother often invited people over for parties, reunions, birthdays, dances, socials, or merely dinner. The back porch routinely served as the buffet line while the front and sides furnished space for conversation.

The porch holds a spell of pleasant memories. I chased my siblings around the porch. I laughed and cried with my parents. I absorbed philosophy from my mentor. I conversed with God. I opened the letter of acceptance to The King’s College. I descended the steps leaving for college. I wish to walk back up when I return.

The door normally functions as the entrance into a home. It locks up and keeps out. Our house has such a door, yet also a porch. The porch does not shut or lock, but remains open and unlatched; forever wrapping around as if to embrace all the sheltered merry souls. New York lacks wrap-around porches. I miss that season of life with the joyous giggles and marvelous freedom.