There are few things I love more than a good porch. While a collection of wood and a canopy to keep the worse elements out isn’t anything special in and of itself, there are few places that spring into my mind quicker than a porch when thinking on my favorite and most vivid memories.
A porch is where one sits after a long day of yard work and lawn mowing in the summer. A porch is where one sits with friends and talks about things of utter unimportance, or has the most meaningful conversations of their life. A porch is where one enjoys God’s good gifts, while taking in views of His beautiful creation. A porch is even where one sits in quietness with a man who’s just lost his wife to cancer. A porch is where one laughs until they cry. A porch is where you daydream and plan. A porch is where you grill various and sundry delicious meats.
Charlie Brown said that every man at his birth should be issued a banjo and a dog. While banjos are great (Rainbow Connection, anyone?) and dogs are too, he’s wrong. Not because of any principles of anarcho-capitalism, but instead because one can’t enjoy a banjo and a dog without a porch. A porch is location that is necessarily associated with feasting. The time and opportunity to enjoy a porch is indeed a great luxury. A porch is a place for sharing and a place for solitude and introspection at any given time. I am an unashamed stoic. Not the passionless fatalistic ancient philosopher type, but rather one who simply loves time spent on a porch, philosophizing, eating, laughing, writing, and just sitting.
I have written this ode to porches from the back porch of my father’s house. I one day in eternity future hope to write something similar from my Father’s, perhaps while smoking a Rocky Patel and drinking scotch with my Lord.