The Back Porch

View from our back porch. Photo by Mary North Allen

When we moved into the old farmhouse that would be our home during my formative years, my parents had the foresight to have a screen porch built in the back corner of the house, off the kitchen, in the shade of the big old maple tree, beside the cherry tree. It was a large room, with enough space for a table and chairs and two twin-size beds or cots. All summer long - and warm days in spring and fall - we ate our meals at that round table with the folding leaves, and on hot summer nights we vied for the opportunity to sleep on those coveted beds, to be the ones who would feel the gentle breezes of the night on their faces, who would awaken to the chorus of bird song and frogs emanating from the surrounding marshes and fields, who would sleep soundly rather than tossing and turning in a fruitless effort to find a cool spot of bed on the hot second floor of our not-so-well-insulated and not-at-all-air-conditioned home.

The 3-season porch we added to our house.
Photo by Gabi Mezger

We loved that porch. A bird house - wren-size - hung on the lowest branch of the maple tree, and we reveled in the bubbly sounds of the wrens' calls and in watching them enter with food and exit empty-beaked as they fed their young ones during the warm spring days. Other kinds of birds stopped on the maple branches for shelter or snacks, and as the cherries on the cherry tree ripened, red-wing blackbirds and others snatched up the tasty fruit. All were a source of joy and wonder. On weekends and after dinner, we sat and we talked, and not a single mosquito bothered us. The sky grew dark in the late summer and the whip-poor-wills began to call from the underbrush. The moon rose over the tree tops and spread its faint light across the hills and marshes. The sound of an occasional car on the road and lights twinkling in the house up the valley reminded us that we were not alone. Our dogs barked in response to sounds beyond our ken. Cows mooed in pastures unseen, and the chickens in our barn settled in for the night. At its best it was idyllic, serene, healing, and renewing.


So many breakfasts, lunches, and dinners....so many nights....so many words, so many events, so many emotions...so much, so very, very much happened here.


On April nights when it has become warm enough to sit outdoors, we love to listen to the proceedings of the convention in the marsh. There are long periods of silence when one hears only the winnowing of snipe, the hoot of a distant owl, or the nasal clucking of some amorous coot.              --Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac


In the name of G!d, the G!d of Israel, on my right Michael, on my left Gabriel. In front of me Uriel, behind me Raphael, and all around, surrounding me, the Presence of G!d. In the name of G!d, the G!d of Israel, on my right Sarah, on my left Rebecca. In front of me Leah, behind me Rachel, and all around, surrounding me, the Presence of G!d.                   --First verse, bedtime Shema liturgy, second verse, Rabbi Jill Hammer, based on passages from the Zohar