By JANET HART LEONARD
From the Heart
My back porch … a place of refuge, a place of peace and a place where the busyness of life is put on hold. For me, it is a sacred retreat.
It’s been over 20 years since my dad said, “Bug, (yes, he called me Bug) you need to screen in your back porch so you can do more sitting and thinking back there. In time, you will come to appreciate it.”
Dad provided the materials. My son, Brandon the carpenter, provided his skills.
At the time, slowing down and having a chance to sit a spell seemed far away. Funny how quickly that time got here.
Now, some 20 years later, I understood why my dad thought I needed that screened-in back porch. He knew what it would become.
It is my place to ponder my thoughts.
It became a place where my heart and soul could heal.
I call it sacred. Dedicated and set apart from the rest of the world.
As I do every spring, I have been cleaning the furniture, fluffing the cushions and pillows, and cozying it up a bit. Candles, signs, books and journals find their place next to my rocking chair. There just might be a blanket out there for the chilly mornings and evenings.
There has been lots of laughter shared with friends out there. There have also been tears and secrets shared. What is spoken on Janet’s porch in confidence will remain there.
Sometimes I turn on music. Sometimes I sing with the music. (Sorry neighbors!) Truly, on my back porch, I can sing … it is well with my soul.
I ponder the sadness of the world, knowing I cannot fix it, but maybe I can make it a little bit softer for those who are suffering from its hardness.
I invite my family and friends to sit on the porch and offer them some sweet tea. I think it tastes sweeter on my back porch. Perhaps it is a reminder of the sweetness of friendship.
If my friends would rather have coffee, I tell them that it is a mild brew but somehow strength is found in the caffeine or the conversation.
Wisdom is shared. Both mine and theirs. I always pray for my guests after they leave. That’s something my mother taught me.
The birds gather at the birdfeeder and often wait, anxiously, as I fill it. They are fed well, as are my guests. My mother always taught me to feed the belly and the soul. Both need nourishment.
The squirrels often entertain with an act, something I liken to a trapeze artist or contortionist, as they try to finagle their way to the opening of the feeder.
All this seems so simple … and it is. The older I get the more I appreciate the simple.
Perhaps my dad did know what I would need as I got older.
I don’t have him here to remind me but the porch echoes his voice as I hear, “See Bug, I told you so.”