Porches: Places to See and be Seen
Front porches are called an American tradition but historians now attribute European explorers for admiring them in “Equatorial Africa” in the 1400’s. Porches offered a respite from baking hot interiors as a place for families to gather on cooler evenings. Nevertheless, they were adopted here in the 19th century and became a gathering place for people to see and be seen when they gathered with their families or talk with their neighbors. Even passersby could be invited into conversation.
I was a passerby one evening when I drove to a nearby beach town for some scenic bike riding. I parked in front of a house where a few people were gathered on the front porch. I asked if the spot was a public one and they assured me it was. They were laughing, eating and drinking, and they offered me a beer. I laughed and politely declined, “No thank you. I need to get some exercise on my bike in this great little town.” I thought of it as the pearl in the oyster of beach towns.
I felt like I was dreaming as the early fall was warm but crisp and it made for perfect bike riding. I traversed the streets and enjoyed the beach community and its vibe. I loved seeing the charming cottages, many of whom had been impeccably cared for with colorful landscaping. I crossed a bridge to a part of the community where I don’t often ride and was delighted seeing the late summer moon shining on the silver lake. I was grateful to be riding and to be experiencing the aroma of the beach pines. I rode closer to the beach and enjoyed smelling the decaying sea life and its promise for new marine life in the spring.
I thought that I knew the streets of the town well but I did note where I had started my ride. It was beginning to get dark and I recalled my one-and-a-half-year- old puppy was out of her crate for the first time. She might be scared of the dark so I decided to look for my car to begin the trip back to my house. I rode around for a few blocks but I couldn’t find my car! I stopped a woman and I asked her if she knew where any parking spots were on a diagonal on the beach block. She tried to help me get acclimated to the streets. I nodded but confessed that I was still unsure if I’d find it. She gave me her name and address in case I needed it. I continued to look for my car, getting frustrated in the process.
I decided to swallow my pride and to call 911. The operator seemed annoyed at me and kept calling me “ma’am.” I knew that this was what I had to do. A kind, young policeman showed up in a few minutes and took my information. He talked with a fellow officer on his radio and looked up at me. “We located your car and the good news is it’s only three blocks away from here.” I thanked him profusely with only a sliver of my pride intact. A few minutes later, I saw my white car, with it’s “I Love My Boykin Spaniel” and my USAPA pickleball sticker under the dim glow of a streetlight. I was so relieved! “Thank you and I hope this is your toughest call this evening,” He nodded and left.
The people on the porch were still outside enjoying themselves, being a little rowdy. One of the ladies asked me, “What was that all about? We thought that you might have been murdered.” I laughed and confessed and I’d called the police when I was hopelessly lost.
One of the guys laughed and lifted a can. “Sounds like you could use a beer.” “Thanks,” I said, “but I need to get home to my puppy.” I loaded my bicycle onto my bike rack and waved goodbye.
As I drove off, I realized they noticed I hadn’t returned before dark. I had been suspicious of them when I had parked my car, but I was now grateful that they had seen me earlier. They may have been able to ID me had I been murdered. Thankfully, front porches remain places to see and to be seen.