Rediscover a fine southern tradition: Sit for a spell

Several weeks ago, a friend invited me over. We had meaningful conversation, a refreshing drink, chocolate chip cookies and a comfortable chair for our porch-sitting.

After three hours of well-spent time, I headed home. Thanks, Elaine Brelsford, for your southern hospitality and for the inspiration behind this writing.

Just like baseball, hotdogs, apple pie and Chevrolet, front porches are part of American history.

Back in the 1800s, Andrew Jackson Downing, a famous landscaper, envisioned a way to make American houses different from their British predecessors. Adding a porch became an important element of that design.

During the second half of the 19th century, porches, a feature on American homes, reached their height of popularity.

Originally built for practical reasons, they quickly became a place for social gatherings — a place to connect with family, friends and neighbors.

“Front-porch sitting was a ritual that no one ever talked about, it was just something you did,” one southern magazine explained.

American porch-culture isn’t what it used to be. Perhaps with some persuasion, you will rediscover a once fine art. Porch-sittin’ ain’t just for the southerner at heart.

Reruns from the American television series “The Andy Griffith Show” are a favorite of mine. Scenes filmed on the front porch that were incorporated into the sitcom’s script warm my heart. Sheriff Andy Taylor playing his guitar and singing “Church in the Wildwood.” Opie doing what boys do best. Aunt Bee sewing. The iconic Don Knotts, better known as Barney, just being his charming self.

The tone of the beloved show depicts an era of a time gone by that, in my humble opinion, needs to be rediscovered. I live in the present, but learning from the past makes my future better.

In some ways, my father-in-law, James Seay, reminds me of Andy Taylor. Pops was morally upright and a fine example to family and friends. He was well-respected, wise, and kind — a man of few words, humble in every way, a Christian man.

He was quite the comedian. I recall Pops telling me how delicious and tasty persimmons were. “Just try one,” he said.

I hesitated because he was known for a few pranks now and then.

The plump, reddish-orange fruit is the perfect welcome to fall with a sweet zesty flavor and hint of cinnamon. It was summer. I am so naive. I thought I had eaten a cotton ball. That chalky, dry, sour piece of fruit was disgusting. I quickly learned those berries aren’t tasty until after the frost hits them. I was much wiser the next time.

Once, he encouraged me to feed his goats. He would say, “Oh, Stephie, they won’t hurt you.” There he stood, laughing hysterically as I ran through the field screaming like a banshee.

Although nanny goats are known for their gentle and nurturing personality, those horns coming directly toward me were quite intimidating.

Pops let loose and his cackling was way louder than the bleating of those darn goats. Baaaaaaa! You can stop laughing now.

Pops embraced family and seized the responsibility and opportunity to provide. He was a dedicated employee of Westvaco for 45 years and prided himself in hard work. Missing a day for any reason was never on his agenda.

Going beyond the mere act of putting in long hours, his labor encompassed perseverance and a strong work ethic. When his chores at home were completed for the day, there was no shame in taking a break. He knew just the place where sweat halted, troubles ceased, and time slowed.

He sat and watched cows and goats meander through the field, traffic zipping by his house. Pops looked on as his grandchildren played in his yard.

Sipping coffee, chatting with family, petting his black lab, watching it rain. Doing absolutely nothing.

I am confident the Professional Porch Sitters Union would have welcomed him to their porch.

Recently, while out for a Sunday evening drive with Daniel, I noticed that many homes have a front porch. We didn’t see a single soul out. Where are all the porch sitters?

Cramming as much as possible into a 24-hour period, seven days a week, seems to be the American way.

“I’m in a hurry to get things done. I rush and rush until life’s no fun.” I bet you know that tune well.

The value of a nostalgic old-fashioned pastime offers a place for escaping the responsibilities of the daily grind.

“Sitting on the summer-night porch was so good, so easy and so reassuring that it could never be done away with,” said Ray Bradbury in Dandelion Wine. “These were rituals that were right and lasting; the lighting of pipes, the pale hands that moved knitting needles in the dimness, the eating of foil-wrapped, chilled Eskimo Pies, the coming and going of all people.”

You won’t find me smoking a pipe or knitting a sweater on my porch. Nor do I care to discuss politics or the state of our democracy from my cozy chair. I may read a nonfiction book, a biography or most importantly, the Bible. I sometimes sing or play a few tunes, drink a cup of tea. I may even eat a foil-wrapped chilled Eskimo Pie.

I am happy to talk about my faith in Christ. Please, be my guest.

Welcome to my porch!