In the sweet south there is always a swinging seat on some over sized porch in the midst of the willows and magnolia trees, along the summer backdrop of the sound of the cacadas and the sweet smell of gardenias and honeysuckle. When we built our porch I wanted nothing but the feel of the south. I wanted a place to sit, dream and take in the sight and smells of the land I was blessed enough to call home. It is here where I long to escape to at the end of a day. It is here where I wait for my youngest to come home from school (now 16, not a child). It is there where I hum a quiet melody to my dogs as they are mesmerized by bees and butterflies that whisk away in and out of my porch railings.
Many writers have written about porches and their love for them. I know why I love them.
I have always felt that I was not meant to live in the city or any busy place. I have always bonded to the quiet, the free air and the simpleness of the country. I never did get to Tennessee to live or to the Carolinas or somewhere in the deepest of the south but I did find a taste of what I longed for.
It is here where I will grow old, it is here where I will retire to rest. This is my home and I have marked my footprints in the ground and in my garden and along the paved path that I traveled so many a time. I have made myself known to my trees that hover over my house, vigilant and always protecting. I have seen trees die and I have planted two in their place. They now tower over me like my sons showing that time and love have nurtured them and helped them to grow strong.
My roses fill the air with a sweet fragrance that with their combination and variation emit a fragrance that is exclusive to my home. No other place will have the exact combinations of lilacs, peonies, viburnum, hydrangeas, honeysuckle, magnolias and roses.
It is home, where I put my head down at night at the end of a long day. It is where I feel the safest and most myself.
Here in my porch is the extention of myself, of my life and of my family.