My Front Porch

 

  Sunrise from the front porch.

                                            

     I’m setting on my front porch because that’s what I do—I set, I don’t sit.  I set here in the early morning and have my coffee a lot of days, because this place has pleasant weather most of the time and I can set here in a robe and still be comfortable, especially with a steaming cup of strong coffee.   Sometimes, in the evenings, I set here with a drink of whisky.  Depending upon a lot of things, I sometimes set here at the end of the day with a big glass of  iced tea.

     My front porch is fifty feet long and over eight feet wide.  I have six rocking chairs and a porch swing, plus sixty feet of rail wide enough to set a drink on if you have to stand up because all the seats are full.  I built it this way so I could set out here with my friends or family whenever I wanted.  The porch deck is unfinished, as are a lot of things at my house, because I ran out of money and energy before it all got done, but the house is solid and strong and safe and comfortable to live in.

     I wired the porch for sound when I built it—we didn’t have all the new-fangled wireless speakers back then—I put four stereo speakers up in the rafters so the music filters down in the background and you can hear it but it doesn’t interfere with any conversation going on.  When I’m out here by myself, in the dark of early morning or the shank of the evening, I sometimes crank up the volume and immerse myself in music.  Depending upon my mood, it might be Asleep at the Wheel playing Bob Wills, or Simone Dinnerstein playing Bach’s Goldberg Variations.  Usually it is both, with Norah Jones, Hank Thompson, and Dakota Staton thrown in, all magically mixed by a machine back in the mechanical room.

     My front porch faces east, and the neighbors are far enough away so they can’t hear my music.  At sunrise, I have to go back in the house because the sun is usually so bright it hurts my eyes, but in the evening the sun sets behind the house and lights the distant hills with spectacular color. The view across the valley always includes the limitless sky and is fresh and new every time I look.  I can see Bandera Pass in the far distance and tell stories about Texas Ranger Cap’n Jack Hays, all the while watching the magnificent panorama that plays out in the sky here everyday at dusk.

Company must be coming--all six flags are out!

 

     I have six columns on my front porch, one for each flag that flew over Texas.  When I was running out of money, I had to decide whether or not to finish the porch deck and handrail, or buy the mounting hardware, swivel poles, brackets, and flags.   I bought the flags and I fly them on  holidays and anytime out-of-town visitors come to see us.  I’m glad I chose the flags.  They add history and color and personality to the house and the temporary deck and handrails work just fine.

     Among the trees in front of the porch, I planted three arrows my friend R.G. Box made for me.  They are thirty feet tall and sticking into the ground at an angle, as if a great big Indian shot them at the house from the hill across the valley.  If that Indian had four arrows, I'd be in deep trouble.  Box also made me a sign that says, “Watch out for great big Indians.”

  I don't believe there is an ordinance against arrows in our little town.  Just to be safe, I didn't ask.

 

     My front porch is the best place ever to enjoy a thunderstorm.  Most of the weather here comes from the north or west, and the house shields the porch from those directions.  I can sit there during a raging storm, hear the rain or hail beating on the tin roof, and experience the violent side of nature without getting the least bit wet.

     When friends or family come over and the weather is nice, we just naturally gravitate to the front porch.  We talk and drink beer, wine, tea, or something stronger—I don’t discriminate—I’ll drink anything my guests bring.  We talk and laugh and just enjoy each other.  Sometimes it’s after supper with the immediate family and we listen to the grandkids’ adventures at school.  Sometimes it’s extended family from out of town and we catch up on each other’s lives, triumphs, and disappointments.  Sometimes it’s an old friend and in the words of Wayne Ratisseau, "we sip some mash and talk some trash." 

     I sometimes feel we have too few young friends, but that is not really true.  We have a number of friends in their thirties or forties that we have known since they were babies and we have vicariously enjoyed their lives and consider their children our own.  We are complimented that these young people take the time to drop by when they’re in town, and we hurry out to set on the front porch with them whenever they visit.

The storm passed over and headed toward Bandera.

     Any of these uses justifies the time and effort I spent designing and building my front porch, but, as an added benefit, I get to set out there all by myself and hatch ideas like a mother hen.  I can turn a story over and over in my mind, before I write a word.  I can think about that silly yankee who got so angry at me in the HEB, or the pretentious young doctor trying to expand his practice, or the time I misplaced my pickup.  I can dream of big arrows and great big Indians.  I can remember my life, the mistakes I made and the things I did right.  I can wonder what ever happened to that special girl in high school, and I can imagine my life had I made different choices.

     I can swell with pride as I remember accomplishments, or shed warm tears as I remember disappointments.  No one will know except me, alone, here on my front porch.

       This front porch is my place.  I dreamed it.  I built it.