On summer nights at my parents’ farm in the Champlain Valley, a seat on their screen porch offers a view of a beloved elm tree, a hearty survivor of the Dutch elm disease epidemic.
From the same seat, I watch pink and orange streak the sky as the sun dips behind farm fields sown with strawberries, sweet corn and garlic.
In the spring, the sound of peepers rises from the surrounding woods and marshes. If it’s been a sunny day in the summer, the air is laden with the scent of freshly mown hay. The light dims as the activity of the day fades into night.
A porch is only truly a porch in the summer. Shaped by the sights, scents and sounds of the outer world, a porch may as well not exist at other times of year.
A porch’s practical uses continue year-round, of course, as firewood storage or extra refrigerator space for winter parties. But watching the world go by from a place that’s not indoors, but not quite outdoors, a place made for leisure, that’s for June, July and August.
Only in New England’s brief, but glorious summer can you enjoy fresh salad greens, tomatoes and sweet corn while looking over the fields from which they came.
A seat on the porch is an oasis from the rest of the farm, which bustles with the labor necessary to bring the bounty to the plate. Nearby, farmhands pluck weeds to give crops more room to grow; my dad tows clanging haywagons from field to barn and back again; my brother unloads bales in the hot, dusty air of the haymow and my mom responds to quizzing from curious customers on berry pricing and the length of the pick-your-own season.
It’s a familiar rhythm to me, having participated in planting, weeding, harvesting and selling the farm’s produce from an early age.
During breaks — often at mealtimes — the porch serves as a spot for reflecting on the day’s labors.
The porch is separate. Tucked behind the house and away from the barn, it isn’t a place for work.
In a rural setting, the porch offers a glimpse of the natural world. At my parents’ house, that consists of the comings and goings of birds, chipmunks and a fierce, prowling cat named Bella.
In a more populated place, pedestrians and their canine companions passing by on a nearby sidewalk provide entertainment for porch sitters. Taking the time to enjoy the view helps slow down time’s passing to a quiet, summertime lull.
In Bristol, Vt., where I went to high school, porches are some of the best and most highly coveted vantage points for watching the town’s 4th of July parade, which draws people from across Addison County and beyond. From front porches overlooking the street, residents may simply wander out their front doors to comfortable seats with a view of the passing floats, fire trucks, horses and clowns. Those lucky folks greet neighbors and passersby from the comfort of their own homes.
In the meantime, the rest of us — flocking into town from elsewhere — sweat to find parking spots and shaded viewing positions along the parade route.
This year my yearning for shaded summer comfort has taken on a new dimension.
The home I share with my husband and young son in South Royalton had a deck large enough to hold some chairs and a table, but this summer its condition deteriorated. It developed a hole in one board and other boards began popping up. Evidently, the entire thing was rotting, making me fear my foot could go through at any time, perhaps while carrying my 3-month-old.
Instead of serving as a place to relax on a summer afternoon, the deck became a stressful house project we hadn’t yet tackled.
A college friend of mine — who like me emerged from the cold, long Minnesota winters of our college days aching for sunlight — feeds my porch longing by sending photos of her family enjoying their Richmond, Va., porch. Such photos begin arriving long before we have seen our last frost.
In these images, my friend and her husband, clad in T-shirts and shorts, often clasp cold beers, while their young son smiles in the sunlight. They’re true pictures of summertime relaxation at its best.
Through a veil of jealousy, I see that it is precisely the brevity of our New England summer porch season that makes it so sweet.
As a writer accustomed to deadlines to motivate me to get my work done, it helps to have a fixed timeframe when prioritizing home improvement projects.
At our request, a contractor removed our dilapidated deck last month. For simplicity’s sake, instead of replacing the deck’s summertime perch, he installed stone steps.
It’s a pragmatic solution that eliminates the safety hazard posed by the old deck, but one that has left me still longing for a peaceful summertime oasis. I’m still dreaming of a place where I can catch the scent of freshly cut grass, admire bright green leaves waving in the breeze, slow down time and soak in the season’s sunlight before it fades.
Nora Doyle-Burr can be reached at ndoyleburr@vnews.com or 603-727-3213.
