Spring is in full swing. The pollen war is winding down. This means that I can take the plastic off the screens and get around to enjoying some back porch time again. I’ve been missing that simple pleasure.

When I built my porch, I don’t think I really knew how much I was going to enjoy it. A couch. Two chairs. A nice ottoman for propping up my feet. A couple of lamps. A ceiling fan. A long table for family meals. A Foosball table for the grandkids.

Adding a space with an outdoor feel has to be one of the best things I’ve done to this house over the years. I enjoy my kitchen. The family room with a fire in the winter is great. I did remodel my bath and bedroom several years ago. Nothing exotic. Just a simple house that feels like home.

But when I open the door next to the fireplace and step out onto the porch, my world changes. Maybe it’s the fresh air and beauty of the creek. Maybe it’s the texture of wood and stone. The atmosphere out on the porch is certainly different from the rest of the house.

It could be that sitting out here reminds me of a dream I had once upon a time over twenty years ago. I “saw” this porch long before the first nail was driven. I imagined my seat right in front of my window. This is now my third spring on this porch. No longer a dream.

I’m not sure why, but this is the place where I enjoy my home the most.

Marion and I are having a snack for lunch out on the porch right now. Slices of a Honey Crisp apple lathered in caramel dip. Club crackers on the side. Water for me. Tea for her. The plastic on the screens obscures our view, but the temperature is perfect.

She’s searching for something on her phone. I’m half listening to the birds and half falling asleep. We’ve been working out in my shop since about 8:30 this morning.

A thought occurs to me. The very first text communication I had with Marion, long before we actually met, took place while I was sitting on this porch. It was summertime. 2023. Early in the morning. Somewhere between cool enough for long sleeves and warm enough that shorts felt good.

We’d start with a “good morning” text about 6:30am. I remember being surprised as to how great it felt to have someone to talk to again, even if it was just by text.

On this porch, I came through the loss of my wife. On this porch, the fog of grief lifted. And on this porch, I found a new and unexpected season of my life.

Even before I retired from the tree farm, way before I ever met Marion, my plan was to sit out here every possible morning I could. With my coffee in hand, I knew that I’d watch the sunlight chase away the darkness. I’d read for a while. Listen to the owls. I’d even smile at the sound of my neighbor’s truck as he leaves for work. Poor fella.

I think that it’s possible for the best in life to come to a person who sits on a porch. The sounds of the bird calls are more colorful. Not only can I hear the rain better out here, but I can smell the freshness of it. I can see the leaves move in the breeze. I am more dialed into my surroundings out here than when I’m on the couch in the family room.

I am more dialed in on the gratitude that comes from living.

My mom and dad used to sit outside in the metal lawn chairs when I was a kid. I was too young to understand how anyone could just sit for hours and not be bored to death. But there they were. Shoes off. A newspaper rippling in the breeze. Maybe a knife working on an apple.

I didn’t know it then, but they were absorbing something more than mere rest. They were taking in some of the simple things that the creation itself has to offer. The workday was done. Supper was over. The kitchen was clean. This was their time to recharge. To hear, feel, and taste that life is good.

My porch gets me as close to that as I can get. Porch time might consist of a nap. It might just provide time to think about the day. But whatever it does for me, my time out here usually clears the head and purges the soul. No other room in the house can do that.

It’s weird, isn’t it?

I know it sounds melodramatic to say it this way, but from my porch I have faced some of my darkest hours and discovered some of my most profound contentment. When I have tough decisions to make, I usually head for my porch because that’s where I do my best thinking.

My porch has become my “go to” spot. It’s where the voices of my past speak to me. I don’t actually hear voices, but they speak from the memories that reside inside me. It’s the place where I wrestle with conflict and where I listen for much needed Guidance.

I don’t know what’s happened to porch sitting. Used to be that people sat on their porches all the time. A porch invites conversation. It’s the kind of place where friends sit for a spell. Where guitars come out and music sails out amongst the trees. Where the frogs sing back to you and the owls say their goodnights.

I can tell you from experience that a man can find peace on a good porch. He can find second chances. He can find new love. He can sort out all his questions, and he can dream new dreams.

To sit on a porch in the springtime is like soaking up all the hope the world can offer and then some. Everything is new. Everything is just beginning to show its real beauty. It’s been there all along, though hidden by the grey of winter.

Dogwood petals on the ground like snow. The oranges of late season azaleas showing off against the backdrop of fallen leaves. New leaves emerging from stems like bean sprouts from the ground. So much green. So much life. So much determination.

Some days I think I should just live out here. It might not be my best idea, but I think about it.

Life on a porch beats the stew out of TV any day of the week and twice on Sundays. If you don’t have one, I’m sorry. You’re missing out on a very potent force in life.

If you do have one, but you’re not using it, get out there. Now. Take your head and your heart and your soul right out there and just sit and listen. It’ll do you good. I promise.

A porch can’t fix everything, but it just might fix the necessary things. You might even discover the secret to life.

The plastic comes off the screens tomorrow.