The Front Porch

I’m a transplanted Midwesterner, from the region that calls itself “The Heartland,” not only because it is in the center of the country, but because Midwesterners are warm, friendly people. The majority of the houses in the small, rural town where I grew up have front porches. Here in the East, there seem to be front porches on some houses, but on closer inspection, many are only cosmetic, or borderline functional. It is rare to see people actually sitting there, in the cool of a summer evening.

The front porch of my childhood was not simply a decorative appendage to our house, but during the warmer months, it was an extra room. I used to like to sit there when a storm was blowing in, and even during the rain. Our house had no air conditioning, and usually the 100+ degree temperature hung about for a solid couple of weeks in the middle of summer. It was important to take advantage of every draft of cool air when it came. I would watch the rain drench our front yard, my grandmother’s rosebush and the climbing roses on the trellis. Oftentimes our dog would join us there, cooling his belly on the concrete. When the wind gusted, a fine spray would hit us. No air conditioner could rival that sensation. No air freshener could match the scent of the rain-washed air.

My other grandmother, who also lived in my home town, used her front porch for entertaining. When the family went to her house, we would spill out onto the porch in the evening, and swing with leisurely pushes, listening to the friendly creak of the swing’s chains against the metal hooks which joined it to the porch ceiling. If the mosquitoes weren’t too bad, we would stay out there well after dark, listening to the whippoorwills in the nearby fields, and watching the fireflies.

A porch was a good place from which to monitor social activity. You could wave and speak to others who were taking their evening walks, and if they were inclined, they would stroll over and have a brief conversation. It was neighborly. Everyone knew everyone else, and not to speak as others passed would be rude.

When I got married and moved to the mid-Atlantic region, I noticed that houses around here didn’t have porches – more houses had decks. And those were in the back of the house, not a good place from which to wave to neighbors, assuming that you even knew them. And the backyard of a house was often surrounded by a “privacy fence.” I sensed a sudden cultural shift.

If I’m secluded in the back of my house, I’m not expected to partake in the life of the surrounding community. I don’t care about who might be walking in front of my house. I probably don’t even know them.

Ironically, my present house has neither a front porch nor a deck, but as a person, I’m persuaded that my life has a big front porch, and I’d love to invite people come up and “set a spell.” It’s the neighborly thing to do.