Why Are Porches So Alluring?

Remembering how I first fell in love (part I)

This letter is part of a three-part series exploring the timeless beauty and meaning of the American front porch. That in-between space where home meets the world. It’s a story of architecture, culture, and the art of living well, beginning and many great stories do… with that moment I knew I was in love.

Welcome to the porch, dear reader.

I’ve always been enamored with the Craftsman bungalow, though I didn’t realize it at first.

Let me explain.

Decades ago, while house-hunting in the Pasadena, California area for a possible job move, I found myself hypnotically drawn to the older bungalows that lined those leafy, cozy streets. I couldn’t explain it then, but something about them felt deeply familiar. And perfect.

Later I discovered this was a truly American architectural style - one that had also shaped so many of the neighborhoods in San Francisco, where I’d lived much of my life.

Looking back, I know now what always caught my eye first: the front porch.

There’s something about that space - the way it reaches out to the world while still holding you close - that feels irresistible. The charm and warm comfort of an open porch is so nostalgic.

And now, all these years later, living in a 1924 Craftsman bungalow here in Northern Arizona, I’m more in love with the idea than ever.

When we bought our home, we came to realize that the front porch had been enclosed sometime in the 1960s or ’70s - walled in and cut off from the light and air that once made it sing. Opening it back up was one of the most thrilling major renovations we tackled. It took us from summer 2019 to summer 2021 to get it just right, but it was worth every bit of effort.

The Whiskey Porch in real life at Juniper Hill Cottage in the high-country of Northern Arizona. Our happy place.

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It feels glorious now - open to the breeze, framed by the scent of large old Juniper trees, with late-day light spilling across the space. Friends and neighbors step into the space and pause. They look around, feeling welcome and at home even though they haven’t even entered the house yet. We always get a good laugh when we describe how it had been enclosed and not enjoyed for over 60 years or so.

Every evening, almost without fail, we end the day out there. The porch has become a natural extension of our rhythm. It’s a place to unwind, watch the light soften across the western horizon, or share a quiet glass of wine. I never tire of it, or of the way it seems to slow time itself.

And yet, as much as I love my porch, I often find myself wondering about porches - this enduring idea that’s somehow embedded in our collective imagination.

What is it that makes front porches so alluring?

That’s what I hope to explore in this little three-part series - reflections on architecture, culture, and the quieter art of living well.

Because to me, the front porch isn’t just a design feature. It’s a philosophy: a way of being in the world that balances shelter and openness, solitude and community, simplicity and beauty.

Perhaps that’s what draws us in most of all.

Parts II and III of “Why Are Porches So Alluring?” will be coming soon - diving into the cultural history and design philosophy of porch living.

If you’re not yet subscribed, why not join me on the porch so you don’t miss the next installment?

With contentment & possibility,

PS: I’d love to know:

What’s your version of “porch sittin’”? A front stoop? A garden bench? A favorite café corner? Are you a wave-to-everyone-that-strolls-by, or a sip-your-tea-in-peace kind of porch sitter? What’s always within reach when you settle onto the porch - coffee mug, glass of wine, cold brew, good book?

Tell me in the 💬 comments 👇

Next Friday, I’ll share Part II: The Lost Art of Porchology. How porches once shaped American life and why we’re being drawn back to them again. You’re invited back to join me on the porch for that one.