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I am by definition: just a little older than my toes but not as old as old can be, rather bookish and not necessarily wise. I curate my own eclectic library, collect maps to nowhere and chase dreams. I’m a painter of water and light, a misplaced child of the ocean, and I find that the season of falling, russet-colored leaves the most bewitching. I believe magic can be found in the ordinary and small moments of everyday.

 

Over the last few years, I’ve come to realize that there is an ever increasing need, in all of our lives, to slow down… to take each day deliberately and with intention… to tune into what is important in our lives and stop the mindless scrolling of instagram accounts, newsfeeds, updates on Facebook, TikTok or whatever the app du jour happens to be, to feed that fear of missing out and responding like Pavlov’s well-conditioned dogs to the endless beeps and rings… but what is the reward?

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There was a time, not too long ago, when people gathered on front porches on long summer evenings as twilight fell and the sky turned lavender. They told the stories of everyday life… of Fourth of July parades, fireworks and great grandma’s homemade strawberry ice cream… the biggest fish ever caught and that trip to Niagara Falls where Uncle Tom not only lost his watch in the water, but his new teeth as well. There was always an appreciation of the fruits from one’s own hard labor… the vegetables from the garden — abundantly shared, a deserved promotion and always a hopeful eye toward the future. With each re-telling of the stories, the fish got bigger, the snow deeper, and the winters the worst on record.

 

Although this porch is not as grand as the original, the welcome mat is always out. It’s a place to pull up a rocker and share a cool drink… relax for a while before you make your way downtown, to the five-and-dime or to Mr. Fleming’s watch repair. It’s a place to slow down, turn off the electronics and listen to the wind in the trees and the sound of the rocker on the floorboards of the porch. Listen to the memories of another time and place… when children could stay out until the streetlights came on and when the only thing that influenced one’s life was a change in the weather. Who knows, maybe there are a few porch stories of your own that are waiting to be shared. This porch is the place to begin.