Front Porch Memories by Patti Perry-Armes

I miss the front porch of my 1960s country childhood. I know they still exist, but they have become something very different. They were once so much more than an entry to a house, a place to display plants, deposit muddy shoes, and greet people. Their usage was year-round, utilizing a quilt, and relying on the sun, for cold winter days.

TV shows were limited, few rural families had air conditioners, and there seemed to be time for visiting and enjoying the outdoors. A lot of people found their way to our porch. Not only family and friends but also strangers who became regular visitors. In those days we never hesitated to invite strangers to sit awhile and have something to drink.

Mrs. Lawson was our Avon lady. She would visit on Thursday mornings, lugging a black satchel filled with beauty samples, books, and the latest products. She showed Mama numerous cosmetics and helped her decide which lipstick shade was best for her. She told her where to dab cologne for the scent to be just right, using a square of cotton enclosed in a paper packet. I listened intently, hanging on to her every word, tip, and beauty secret.

Mr. Foster stopped by with his Watkins catalog, filled with pictures of spice tins, bottles of extracts, vitamins, shampoo, and other things for home and personal use. He would drink coffee and give his suggestions, while Mama made her catalog choices. I learned how various spices would enhance plain foods, the many uses of liniment, and the benefits of vitamins.

The insurance agent stopped by monthly to collect money for our policies. I would carefully count out the coins and bills, letting him know if change back was due. Sometimes we paid by check and Mama would let me practice writing one.

Numerous salesmen came by for one-time visits. I vividly remember the encyclopedia salesmen offering persuasive payment plans, and how the answer to anything could be found inside. The pages smelled so good, and their covers were leather with a gold band. We were told there would be benefits to their ownership for generations.

Mamaw taught me about weeds and the fact that many had medicinal benefits. She would send me into the yard to gather samples. I would be quizzed on their properties, helping me remember. I recall her chewing up plantain leaves, calling it a “spit salve,” to put on bug bites and cuts. Dandelions were very useful. You could eat the green leaves, crush the stem to put on warts, and use the flowers to make jelly.

Papaw’s lessons were about the outdoors and birds. He knew when rain was imminent by looking at the leaves on trees, the purposes of various insects and bugs, and identifying birds by their songs. He gifted me with a bird book and helped me match the songs to the pictures.

Mama taught me to shuck corn, shell peas, crochet, and sew on a button. I can still fondly recall the old hymns she sang while we worked.

My cousins and I would play with paper dolls, imagining a world of careers and family for them. Rainy days were perfect for reading or playing cards. Many hours were spent in a creaky old swing listening to the rain on the tin roof and reading about Helen Keller, Clara Barton, and any other biography I could find in the library.

Neighbors stopped by for advice on planting, share canning tips, and relay neighborhood gossip. Daddy often brought out the ice cream freezer in the summer; everyone who stopped by would take turns cranking the manual handle. One weekend in the fall everyone gathered to share in making apple butter. They would arrive early with bushels of apples and be assigned a task. Kids would wash the apples, and adults peeled, cut, or tended the big copper kettle over an open fire.

We can’t blame the abandonment of our porches on modern conveniences such as 24-hour TV, air conditioning, and computers. They give us more time, or so we are told. We should no longer postpone porch time, or the opportunity to share our childhood lessons and stories. We need to return before porch memories are lost forever to photos and scenes on old TV reruns.

Patti Perry-Armes is a short story writer from East Tennessee. She particularly enjoys writing about childhood memories and her Appalachian roots. She has been published in Chicken Soup for the Soul, Reunions Magazine, Moonshine anthology, and several ezines. She has received several writing contest awards. Currently, she is working on getting that elusive book from her brain and onto paper.

To read more of Patti Perry-Armes’ writing, including a different rendering of “Front Porch Memories,” visit The Mountain Laurel. 

**Featured image credit: Tolga Ahmetler from Unsplash, cropped