Porches are more than entryways. Some of my favorite and most memorable moments have taken place on that fine space between the drive and the front door.
After our house in New Orleans was robbed; Sally and I cracked a couple Milwaukee’s Best (we were volunteers, don’t judge) and sat back on our front porch. We pondered how we found ourselves in the deep South, swapping stories and working our way back to a feeling of safety.
From Boston, I can’t count the hours spent looking down on Comm Ave from Packard’s Corner, taunting undergrads and blasting ELO.
On Rocky Bound Pond, the sunset cascading through the trees as I set the table for some of my favorite people on the planet. Coming together on the screened-in porch to share a meal, stories, laughter and long weekends together.
At home in Oregon, where family dinner in the summer always takes place on the back porch. Facing the woods we’d rehash our days, eat straight off the grill and try not to get eaten alive by mosquitos.
In El Salvador, we rocked in hammocks and sang; at Santa Clara, the cheap champagne flowed and late nights were the norm.
Now, in Maine, we have a veritable plethora of porches, at different angles, jutting toward the lake, off the roof, and into the yard. We joke we need to rotate around every night just to use them all.
Regardless of their locations, porches are a special place that allow interface with the outside world, but within your home. They encourage neighbors to chat, music to be shared (although perhaps not always welcomed), and generally open doors in ways we usually close.
From where I sit, that’s pretty grand.