For sixteen years, our family of five has lived comfortably in an 80-year-old two-story house on a brick road lined with homes of a similar vintage. It’s not perfect (is any?), but it’s just about perfect for us, and through the years I have learned to find contentment in all of its quirks and features, among my favorite of which is its prominent front porch.
The porch stretches across the width of the house and isn’t anything fancy — wooden steps and a white railing, a couple columns and trellises I added to support my morning glories — but it’s been the site of so many small, beautiful gatherings through the decades that I feel I owe it a little homage every now and then.
When the world feels volatile and people are donning their blue light glasses to wage keyboard wars, I’ve found it helpful to retreat to my porch to breathe in the fresh air and remind myself that the world is, in fact, still turning.
On the front porch, the girls will gather with their friends and chat about their school day and the latest happenings. They’ll giggle on the swing or play games on the small coffee table, or occasionally we’ll blow bubbles (is one ever too old for that?) and yell at the cars that drive too quickly down the road, as if they hear us and care.
On the front porch, we escape the heat of dinner cooking in the kitchen and the chaos of the indoors — the audible noise, perhaps, of the cats in a fit of “the zoomies” or kids who are so bored that they’re bickering with one another and don’t understand that all they need to do is separate; or the visual noise of baskets of laundry that need to be folded (but not yet) and dishes that need to be put away (soon).
On the front porch we eat popsicles after dinner on summer nights, or sip coffee in the morning before the world is wholly awake and can recognize us in our pajamas.
Sometimes we stay out until it begins to grow dark and the solar lanterns come on, casting shadows on the deck boards that move as they bounce in the breeze. It’s barely enough light to see by, but enough to make it feel cozy and safe.
On the front porch we say hello to passers-by; the same neighbors walking hand-in-hand, or walking the same dog (sometimes a new dog) or pushing a baby in a stroller (sometimes a new baby). We come up with nicknames for the frequent fliers and speculate about new faces and families; we learn new names and try to remember them for next time. (We don’t often succeed.)
We hang a hammock between one porch column and the wall and swing gently back and forth while reading a book or playing the day’s Wordle.
Mr. Roy brings out his guitar and plays it until dusk on the swing, and sometimes we sing along or snap our fingers or tap our bare feet to the rhythm.
On the front porch we make ourselves visible and accessible to all who pass by, leaving them space to make their assumptions and extend their greetings, or not.
We have laughed and cried on the porch; prayed, shouted and pondered whether or not to take kids to the emergency room for illness and injury.
Quite a lot of life has been lived, actually, on this old front porch, and last night as a steady rain rolled in after weeks of drought, I laid in the dark on the porch and felt myself being thankful.
I was glad in those moments that I’d left my phone inside, because watching the lightning split the sky and hearing the raindrops soak the pavement were the best sort of distraction from the heaviness of the world.
Perhaps for you it’s not a porch — maybe it’s a room, or a chair, or somewhere outdoors. Maybe it’s a person who is a safe place; that space where you can breathe and be yourself.
Whatever, or wherever, or whomever it is, I hope on days that are hard, you’re able to seek them out, breathe and find gratitude in the space where you find yourself.
Sometimes getting away from the fray is just what we need to remind ourselves to be grateful and find our feet.
Abbey Roy is a mom of three girls who make every day an adventure. She writes to maintain her sanity. You can probably reach her at amroy@nncogannett.com, but responses are structured around bedtimes and weekends
This article originally appeared on Newark Advocate: Abbey celebrates the many blessings of a big front porch
Reporting by Abbey Roy, Newark Advocate / Newark Advocate
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