Once Upon A Porch
In my youngest days, the best place to hang out during a rainstorm was the front porch at my grandparents’ house. It ran the full front and had a roof; just the spot for me to be outside and protected at the same time. So the rain pours down and I can stand there as if I’m saying, “Ha, ha; you can’t get me wet.”
I think we need more front porches. They are great places to hang out at night, especially in the summer when you can stay up late and listen to the sounds of the evening.
They aren’t so bad during daytime thunderstorms, either. (What brought this up was a quick look at the Doppler radar map on my computer a few minutes ago; we’re due for one in a little while.) It’s an “I feel safe” sort of thing, most especially when you are little and can be right there with the elements, but not get drenched.
One of my early memories is watching a real downpour and having the storm sewer unable to handle it all. The water would bubble up out of the holes in the cover and I’d be there on the porch taking all this in. It never dawned on me it might be hard on those people who had to walk from the bus. Like, my grandfather.
I had a black raincoat. Regulation black, as they might call it back then. Thick rubber with a lining. It had a little splotch of yellow where I must have brushed against a freshly-painted fire hydrant up at the corner. I don’t remember an umbrella, but the coat did have a good-sized hood; I was pretty dry (and warm) in it.
I think we need more front porches. They are great places to hang out at night, especially in the summer when you can stay up late and listen to the sounds of the evening.
They aren’t so bad during daytime thunderstorms, either. (What brought this up was a quick look at the Doppler radar map on my computer a few minutes ago; we’re due for one in a little while.) It’s an “I feel safe” sort of thing, most especially when you are little and can be right there with the elements, but not get drenched.
One of my early memories is watching a real downpour and having the storm sewer unable to handle it all. The water would bubble up out of the holes in the cover and I’d be there on the porch taking all this in. It never dawned on me it might be hard on those people who had to walk from the bus. Like, my grandfather.
I had a black raincoat. Regulation black, as they might call it back then. Thick rubber with a lining. It had a little splotch of yellow where I must have brushed against a freshly-painted fire hydrant up at the corner. I don’t remember an umbrella, but the coat did have a good-sized hood; I was pretty dry (and warm) in it.
posted by Tom Carten at 10:50 PM
2 Comments:
Oh, my "Auntie" Esther's porch up in Winooski, Vt. Haven't thought of it in years.
But yes, it was the same kind of porch, with big wicker chairs with overstuffed seat cushions. And those summer storms would come through.
Thanks for bringing back a pleasant memory.
Ah...days gone by, verandas. I would sit with my grandmother and rock in those wicket(?)chairs and she taught me how to count the time between the lightening and the thunder ,which would give us the distance of the storm from us.
Gullywashers...those big ones ,where the manhole covers would bounce.
I distinctly remember asking my mother what those white balloons were that kept popping out...Huh, never did get an answer...
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