Why Are Porches So Alluring?
The Lost Art of Porchology (part II)
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. And today we’re stepping into the shared history and sweet rituals that once made porch life the heart of American community.
🌟Welcome to the porch, dear reader.
You made it! Grab a seat - I saved you the comfy chair with the view.
And, in case you missed it last week, Part I is here Remembering How I First Fell in Love.
If “porchology” isn’t a real word, perhaps it should be. To me, it describes the cultural and social side of the American porch - the part that connects us not just to our own homes, but to one another.
Today we’re stepping into the shared history and sweet rituals that once made porch life the heart of American community.
From the mid-1800s through the years after World War II, the front porch was woven into the fabric of everyday life. It was a space of connection, where families cooled off after supper, neighbors lingered, and the rhythm of the street became a kind of shared heartbeat. The porch wasn’t simply a passageway between inside and out.
It was a destination.
During a century of industrialization and expansion, Americans were looking for ways to stay rooted in nature and community.
The front porch offered a shaded refuge from the afternoon sun, a place to pause in the breeze and still feel part of the world outside the door. It spoke quietly of privilege, perhaps, but also of time. Time to rest, to visit, to watch the day drift into evening.
And then, somewhere along the way, we drifted inside.
The automobile arrived, garages replaced porches, and air-conditioning and television made the indoors more comfortable than the street. Automatic doors closed behind us, and so did the habit of waving to a neighbor passing by.
For a while, porches were forgotten.
Two hundred years later, the idea might sound quaint or nostalgic.
But here we are, in an age of high-definition everything and endless digital connection, often feeling more isolated than ever. Even before the long pause of Covid (remember that nightmare?) many of us sensed that we’d lost something elemental - the gentle, unplanned connections that happened on front steps and wooden chairs.
So yes, “porchology” may not appear in any dictionary, but the longing behind it is very real. And universal.
It’s the study of belonging. Of what it means to be both sheltered and seen.
Maybe that’s why so many of us are drawn once again to the porch: we’re remembering that life feels richer when we spend a little more time in that welcoming in-between.
📫If you’re not yet subscribed, why not join me on the porch so you don’t miss the next installment?
And be sure to keep an eye out in your Substack Notes feed to catch my ongoing series on Porches & Cottages of Prescott, including lots of peek at my own cottage and front porch.
With contentment & possibility,
PS: Your turn:
Do you still wave to neighbors from the porch or front steps? Or has your “front yard” become digital? I’d love to hear how you stay connected in your corner of the world.
Drop a note in the 💬 comments 👇
Next Friday, I’ll share Part III: Finding Contentment on the Bungalow Porch. It’s a look at how thoughtful design, scale, and craft can bring us back to a truer kind of beauty. It’s about discovering how the spaces we shape end up shaping us. You’re invited back to join me on the porch for that one.