The old home place. Is that expression familiar to you? If not, you may be a city dweller. I’ve heard it all my life. Especially from my mother when she’d talk about the farm she grew up on. With a few acres and a lot of work, her family made a living from the farm. Her father used to claim if a man managed right, he could make a living from five acres of good ground. You’ve probably heard the saying, “We don’t have much, but we have all we need.” I imagine that’s what my grandfather considered a living. Can you agree that “all we need” is a good living? I think so.
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I picture the home place as a community within itself. With the barn in back, the animals and the pastures, the orchard, and garden. Even the wood lot where the winter’s wood was cut. The creek made for wading and exploring. In the center was a two-story white frame house with a wide welcoming covered porch. An extension of indoors, the porch had a roof and floor, usually with a railing just high enough to sit on surrounding all open sides except for an opening where the steps led to the yard. A porch swing might hang at one end with another chair or two backed up to the side of the house. The porch was a sort of summer living area, especially toward evening.
My family used to gather on the porch and spill over into the yard on hot summer nights where a cooling breeze blew in the scent of honeysuckle and roses. Those of us young enough to still have energy after a long day would catch fireflies in a jar and watch their lights flash before letting them go again. The adults sat on the porch and talked. True ghost stories were one favorite topic that cause a few chills to run up and down my spine.
My mom also told stories of her brothers who would sit on their front porch with their musical instruments—a guitar, mandolin, and banjo. They’d pick and sing way into the night. She said they often stopped vehicles on the road in front of the house with their music. The motorists sat with their windows down listening until her brothers stopped playing. Sounds like a fun way to spend a summer evening.
Go back another generation to the late 19th Century or early 20th Century and you might find a family sitting on the same front porch. The woman would have handiwork in her lap, mending or embroidery. She’d work until the light grew too dim to see by, then she might set her work aside and relax until bedtime.
The home place was also a social gathering place. Neighbors or kinfolk might stop by and sit with the family on the porch. Or maybe the teenage daughter had a visit from her beau. Then other members of the family found one excuse after another to leave the young couple alone on the porch. In that case, the porch swing became a perfect place to sit with the boy’s arm resting along the back.
Are we missing something by ignoring our porches, preferring to stay inside where the air conditioner keeps us cool? Maybe I’ll take a second look at the porch in front of my house and go out one of these evenings and see if I can remember what it was like to truly enjoy the old home place. How about you?
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