In praise of porches

Every summer, my Granny’s porch became the gathering spot, a seasonal replacement for her living room.  Sometime in late spring, my Pop would check out the glider.  If it needed a fresh coat of paint or some oil to keep it gliding, he took care of the chores before returning it to its’ usual spot.  Granny would get out the cushions or, every few years, buy new ones, usually in bright floral prints and make the glider a comfortable place to sit.  To handle guests, they always brought a few of the heavy iron lawn chairs from the back as well and by the time summer arrived, the porch had become the place to be.

                Evenings, after supper had been eaten and the dishes washed, then put away, Granny would head for the front porch.  Although it faced west, a tall trellis laden with vivid purple clematis blossoms shielded her from the worst of the sun.  Miniature roses bloomed in profusion along the fence dividing the front yard from the neighbors on the south and other flowers brought color to the opposite side. 

                Since my grandparents had no air conditioning, it was cooler to sit out on the porch and catch the evening breeze.  Their porch was somewhat smaller than the one gracing the front of our home around the block but it offered cozy respite as well as a chance to view life passing by the house.

                On Tenth Street, a few blocks from the hospital where I had been born and where Granny had retired the same year, there was always traffic.  Ambulances often shrieked past en route to St. Joseph’s Hospital.  Sedate sedans passed with families headed for the park or a ballgame.  Teenagers drove past with the windows wide open and the radio blasting the now classic Sixties rock and roll music.

                Kids walked past on the sidewalk, girls with jump ropes, boys with baseball bats in hand.  Some skated by with speed.  Older kids marched in packs with their friends.  Sometimes the Sisters from the hospital took an evening stroll, their dark habits marking them out from the rest.

                Neighbors emerged to sit on their porches or front steps with a glass of cold iced tea in hand or a canned brew.  Children played in some of the yards, their voices calling across the grass in games of hide and go seek.  As the sun dropped lower in the western sky, neighbors began to greet one another.  Some migrated to another porch or stoop to visit or share a jar of fresh made jelly or a piece of homemade cake.

                Sitting on the porch with my grandparents was a favorite childhood pastime.  As the years passed, sometimes some of my cousins, the ones who like us lived close, joined us.  Often, we gathered to watch storms roll in from the west, a habit some of us continue to keep, in different homes and other places.

                When my husband and I bought our current home, a porch was high on my personal list of must-have features.  Many newer homes lack a porch but mine, one of the first built in my subdivision in 1960 has a porch as well as a deck, offering me the best of both worlds.  I’ve tried to grow clematis without much success but I have a huge, old maple tree with thick branches to provide a privacy screen. 

                Although I have a swing, not a glider, I still find sitting on the porch, swaying in the evening breeze, a favorite thing to do.  This summer, like any other, when I’m home, when it’s not too hot,  I’m likely to be found out on the porch, continuing an old tradition, handing it down to a new generation.