In Praise of the Porch

Timeless Pleasure of the Porch Beckons Us to Slow Down

Vintage Raggedy Ann and Andy were handmade by my mother decades ago. The dollhouse was built from the remains of an old-growth redwood barn for my daughter. Now her daughter plays with it on the old front porch. | Credit: Courtesy

The front porch: It’s the transition between the great outdoors and the living room; a space to sit in comfort and breathe fresh air; a place to read, to contemplate, and to watch the world. We decorate our porches with an emphasis on comfort, we hang our flags to celebrate the seasons, and we wave to friends as they pass by.

This huge toyon shrub, also known as Christmas berry, started out as a tiny plant purchased at the Santa Barbara Botanic Garden. It seems to like its home. | Credit: Courtesy

Author Ray Bradbury, who regularly appeared in Santa Barbara as a guest lecturer, for book signings, and as the keynote speaker at the Santa Barbara Writers Conference, had an intriguing take on the decline of the front porch in his classic, Fahrenheit 451:

No front porches. My uncle says there used to be front porches. And people sat there sometimes at night, talking when they wanted to talk, rocking, and not talking when they didn’t want to talk. Sometimes they just sat there and thought about things, turned things over. My uncle says the architects got rid of the front porches because they didn’t look well. But my uncle says that was merely rationalizing it; the real reason, hidden underneath, might be they didn’t want people sitting like that, doing nothing, rocking, talking; that was the wrong KIND of social life. People talked too much. And they had time to think. So they ran off with the porches.

I’ve been lucky enough to make our family home in a 1912 Craftsman bungalow for more than three decades. This old house is practically a member of the family with a welcoming personality all its own. It has many fine features — stained glass, built-in-bookcases, and window seats among them — but one of its most pleasant aspects is the cozy front porch. Over the years, it has been the place where we’ve enjoyed many meals, glasses of wine, and pitchers of lemonade; quiet moments, meaningful conversations, and countless hours snuggled in the rocking chair reading to children. It’s a comforting place that facilitates authentic and respectful communication, equally pleasant for solo contemplation or curling up with a good book.

Increasingly, the old front porch has taken on a new use as a meeting place, especially during the social-distancing requirements of the COVID-19 pandemic. In my role as a literacy advocate, I met regularly with parents concerned about how to help their struggling children. Since then, it’s functioned as a welcoming office space for strategy sessions, planning meetings, and the mutual exchange of ideas on community issues ranging from preservation to political campaigns.

The glider on the front porch — a wedding gift in 1990 — is still in great shape and decorated for the season. | Credit: Courtesy

The front porch is a cool place of quiet refuge on a hot day. Looking outward into the world, it is also an inherently social spot for engaging — not only with invited guests but with the considerable number of pedestrians in a walkable neighborhood. During the Santa Barbara Bowl season, we feel the excitement of concertgoers and often exchange greetings. During our annual Halloween night porch party, we welcome and express appreciation for the costumed trick-or-treaters who make their way up the steps to the decorated porch and reward them for their efforts with candy treats.

As the end-of-the-year holidays approach and the New Year beckons, we bundle up from the cold, sip a cup of hot tea. In the silence and stillness, surrounded by lights and seasonal decor, we remember those who have been here and feel the presence of those who are no longer with us.

We take comfort in the timeless pleasure of the porch as it beckons us to slow down, to take time from our hurried lives, silence our phones and improve our minds and our spirits.

As Bradbury noted, “Heaven is a house with porch lights.”

Cheri Rae is a longtime neighborhood advocate and the author of A String of Pearls: Pearl Chase of Santa Barbara. She is a board member of the Pearl Chase Society, and the longtime editor of the society’s newsletter “The Capital,” where this article first appeared. Email Cheri at pcs@pearlchasesociety.org or visit pearlchasesociety.org.