-
Prologue: The Lure of the Porch in Summer: Privacy and Pleasure
- University of Pennsylvania Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
1 W Facing page: Walker Evans, Detail of a Frame House in Ossining, New York, 1931. The Lure of the Porch in Summer: Privacy and Pleasure without a porch, life at my summer place in Maine seemed incomplete. A granite patio-terrace adjoining the main house suited everyone as a gathering space for eating, drinking, and socializing—until the sun went down and the mosquitoes drove us inside. Nearby, however, was a small guest cottage with a wooden deck that had a roof over it. A local carpenter constructed a screened enclosure with a door on either side, and, with three wicker rockers, I was in business. True, it was not the wide-screened porch of my childhood on a quiet city street shaded by maples. But the very structure of this new porch gave continuity to the cherished habit of privacy on summer afternoons. As I sit there reading or writing, or just watching the day settle as the lobstermen pick up their catch, the question is always before me: What special contribution does the American front porch make to the quality of life that the outdoor patio, as conceived for modern homes, can never provide? Answering this question forces one to acknowledge how architectural design both determines social habits and is, in turn, determined by them. In ancient Greece, the porch, or portico, was a public area, an open gallery alongside a building with a roof supported by a colonnade. Zeno’s Stoic school of philosophy derived its name from the Greek word for porch, stoa, after the place in Athens where he taught his disciples. The Pompeii exhibition at the American Museum of Natural History shows how open-air patios—in the form of peristyle gardens and atriums—were private areas of the house within the confines of the external walls. 0715_FINAL_384pp.indd 1 8/10/10 1:44:43 PM p r o l o g u e 2 With the exception of Spanish-style houses, American homes have generally looked outward, reversing the situation. The porch, architecturally, is considered inside the boundaries of the home and usually forms part of a main entrance; the patio, with little structural form except for the flagstone or concrete paving that defines the area, is outside and not particularly private. The porch as we know it now appeared about 1840 on the Gothic Revival cottage; as the century progressed, it became larger and more elaborate, preferably on two sides of the house to give a choice of exposure. It was covered with honeysuckle or some other lush vine to add scent on warm evenings and protect it from road dust. In his invaluable text on the American home, The Domesticated Americans , Russell Lynes tells us that when screening was made with fine mesh in the 1890s, porches were further protected from mosquitoes and other insects. They already were shelters from the hot sun and inclement weather and provided the family, Lynes wrote, “with a window on the world about them and ample space for relaxation, gossip, games, and interludes of romance.” The couple on the porch swing in moonlight is the image that comes to mind. Although outdoors in the fresh air, the porch is a midpoint between inside and outside, governed still by the rules of the home but with formalities of its own. Ultimately, it is these formalities that make porch life a liberating experience by offering the benefits of privacy. When a person is alone on a porch, it is assumed he wishes not to be interrupted. Others may join him, but it is not considered polite to intrude unless he makes a sign. Similarly, though passersby may greet people on a porch, they will not come up without being invited. The ability to choose whether to be alone or to be sociable gives one’s time a higher value. The porch offers delicious isolation in conjunction with nature or an awareness of others, particularly where porches are close together and near the front paving-line. On the screened porch of my childhood, I could look into all the porches up and down the street and hear, above the sound of crickets, the murmur of voices. When the streetlights came on, there was a magical quality that seemed to link all of us night-watchers. Sitting still that way for a long time, and usually unseen behind the screens. I would observe the smallest details, which for me added drama to my neighbors’ lives. What was...