Back to the Lost Art of Porch Sitting

A few months back I wrote about the joys of front porch sitting. Today, I had the chance to fulfill that wish in real time. I was able to sit in an honest to goodness rocking chair on an honest to goodness front porch and look down that winding gravel road.

Honestly, I’m not very good at it yet. I think I — like so many of us — am programmed with the urge to look at my device instead of looking up. But I think I’m getting better at it. I was able to put my phone face down and simply bask in the breezes blowing all around me.

Thankfully, it wasn’t 1000 degrees outside this time. I even thought for a moment that it might rain, which would have been especially pleasant sitting on that porch under a tin roof with the rain coming down. But alas, that didn’t happen.

Lots of houses still have front porches, but I rarely see anyone taking the time to sit on their front porch. We’re probably in the busiest time in the history of the world with people accomplishing the least (or at least hardly anything of true significance). We are slaves to the tyranny of the urgent (which is a great little book that everyone should read at some point).

But sitting on a front porch is simply the art of doing nothing. It’s choosing to exist in the moment that God made like Martha who chose to sit at Jesus’ feet rather than worry about so many distracting and competing tasks. And yes, I know that Mary also did a good thing in being a good host but Martha chose the better way.

It takes practice to sit on a front porch well. You almost have to retrain your brain for the slower rhythm and learn to see everything again. You almost have to become a little child again (although I don’t know too many little children who are good at sitting still for long periods of time) by remembering the art of awe and wonder at God’s creation.

From now on, I want to waste as much time as I can sitting on front porches, especially on near fall-like days like today.

The Lost Art of Porch Sitting

I think in my twilight years I want a house with a front porch. It doesn’t have to be a big house. It can even be one of those tiny houses as long as there is room enough in front for a rocking chair and/or a wicker swing.

I see houses all the time that have front porches of all sizes and types and shapes, from wraparounds to those that barely stretch past the entry. But I very rarely see anyone sitting on those front porches. Most people are too busy and have lost that art of being able to sit on their front porches.

I think it’s a lost art. It’s one thing to be physically present on a front porch but be mentally elsewhere, whether it be on social media via all the devices or with thoughts that are a thousand miles away. Sometimes, all you need is a front porch, a rocking chair, and a good book. Or even just the front porch and rocking chair on a beautiful sunny day.

We’re so addicted to our devices that 15 minutes without them can seem like 15 years. It’s easy to spend all that time wondering what you’re missing out on or what breaking news you haven’t heard about. But all that can wait for a few moments of hearing the hum of a creaky porch swing or the song of the cicadas.

People did that back in the day. They’d spend afternoons and evenings on the front porches, visiting neighbors and sharing sweet tea and their lives. They didn’t have devices. Further back in the day, they didn’t have television. Those front porches were their social media, their grapevine, their community all rolled up into one.

Back when I was little, I’d sometimes curl up on a porch swing and fall asleep to the creaky swaying rhythm and gentle breezes blowing. I’m sure that life can’t be THAT simple again, but I wonder if we don’t overcomplicate our lives with too much stuff and too many activities and not enough margin. We can choose to say no to things to have room for rest and reflection.

I want to get good at front porch sitting, not doing anything other than waving at neighbors and being in the moment and hearing the small still voice of God.

Old Houses

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For as long as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to old homes. Especially those with a front porch and hardwood floors and fireplaces.

Old homes have character. You know that if these walls could speak, they’d have plenty of stories to tell about families and memories and times of celebration and of sadness.

To me, new homes are just too cookie-cutter. They all look the same. They look like castles where people go to shut out the rest of the world.

Old homes always seem more inviting, like you expect to see someone on the front porch with a glass of sweet tea inviting you to sit a spell (as we say here in the South). I imagine that even the ghosts in old homes are friendly, like Casper (only slightly less annoying).

Maybe one day someone will leave me an old home in their will (hint, hint), along with a little extra money to help with the upkeep. That would be nice. I’m fairly certain that if I had a real genuine front porch, I’d almost never leave it but sit in my front porch swing and watch the people and cars passing by.

Old homes are a throwback to a simpler time and a slower way of life. Like Andy Griffith and Mayberry. A time when people were more satisfied with what they had and not always in such a hurry to acquire more and do more and possess more all the time.

I’m also open to house-sitting in an old house. Maybe for like four or five years, perhaps?