A beautiful poem about a front porch in my past!

"That Old Front Porch"......written by Tamie Jo Myers-Stockdale

Saturday, March 14, 2009 at 4:34pm

It was in an L-shape, twelve feet long, ten feet wide, and ten feet high. It was made from solid oak lumber. The steps were made of concrete, poured with great care and accuracy. The walls were painted white, and the floors were painted gray. There were two doors; one opened into a room which was never quite, and the other opened into a room of silence. The lattice was unique, each board spaced precisely. These are a few of the things which made up my favorite place, my Grandma's front porch.Grandma's front porch was a place for hello's and goodbye's, laughter and tears, teaching and learning, work and rest and play. It was a place where PaPa taught his granddaughters to whittle, and Grandma taught her grandsons to cuddle. Many quilts were sewn, and many hearts were mended on that old front porch. Music was made by fiddlers with bows and songs were sung with the whip-poor-wills. Each grandchild and great-grandchild had a turn riding the rocking horse which was kept on that front porch corral.Every child heard several times, "Don't slam that door!" or "Keep that door shut! You're letting flies in!". Many hours were spent listening to stories about the "olden days". PaPa would tell us about chasing cows through the wilderness, about working on the government crews, and about that old mare which was born the same year as I. Even more hours were spent listening to Grandma's complaints about that old man, PaPa, and all their aches and pains. That old front porch was home to more flowers than florists keep in stock. Each flower was carefully watered and protected from the elements. Just as Grandma protected her flowers from the heat and cold, so, too, did she protect her grand babies from the harsh rays of the sun. She would hang bed sheets across the porch to keep the hot sun from scorching her precious little Angel Wings and Wandering Jews.Watermelon seeds and sticky drops of lemonade could be found on the floor in the summertime. Sometimes buttermilk would spill when butter was being churned, or homemade icecream would drip from the paddles onto that old floor. Several drops of blood soaked into the floor boards as each child and grandchild and great-grandchild came to the first-aid station which was always open on the front porch. Nevertheless, Grandma's porch was always spotless because, as Grandma would say, "My front porch is the first place a stranger will see when coming into my house." Grandma's house was her castle, and the front porch was a gateway into her kingdom. Many years have gone by since the front porch was new. The steps are starting to crumble. The paint is dull and peeling. The lattice work is all gone. Grandma and PaPa have a new front porch. The steps are made of gold and the chairs are lined with soft, white satin. There are no more aches and pains for the two of them to bear. As for their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, we will always have photographs in our hearts and minds of PaPa leaned back in his woven-bottom chair and Grandma standing beside him with her apron waving in the breeze.

Written by Tamie Jo Myers-Stockdale