Such a pretty morning. I ate my breakfast bagel and cantaloupe in the swing pondering on birds and all the old houses on my street. The sky was full of pale puffy gray rain clouds and the sunshine finally broke through and left the beautiful blue sky of coming summer. After lunch the clouds darkened up and swirled around and thunder sounded far away. The wind picked up and the wind chimes battled each other. Penelope didn’t like the thunder so we went in the house to the lady den. The lady den is the sunroom of the house and has nine windows. Stew and I spent an hour trying to raise some of the windows and only successfully got two of them to open. It was very pleasant with just two of them open. We’ll work on them again tomorrow and get a few more open.

Why do we love old houses? They always give us trouble, but we don’t hold it against them. Most of the houses on my street were built in the early 1900s. Most of them have porches and several neighbors of mine are porch and yard sitters like me. Older homes have a welcoming charm and quaintness that new builds don’t have. Older homes have strong structures and plaster walls. These homes were built to be repaired and not replaced. They were built with longevity in mind. The windows in my home are the original ones and have held up well but I’m saving now to replace them.

Old houses have a history. When I go upstairs I’m holding on to the bannister my grandmother used when she moved into this home as a new bride. The house, built in 1920, was a wedding present to my grandmother Margaret Handley and her husband Paul Lane. Can’t imagine moving into such a large home as a new bride. This house was next given to my mother and daddy when they married and they raised me and my three brothers here. I purchased my brothers inheritances in the house a good many years ago and Chief always said we’d move back here when I retired. Sadly I moved here without him but many, many times he told me to go home to my family if something happened to him. And it did, Covid killed him in ten days.

My grandmother’s house has seen four generations of my family gather for holiday dinners and special family celebrations. Chief and I were married here. My mother was born here and died here in this house. My father had a heart attack at the kitchen table here and died surrounded by family. Family members here have watched the world grow up through 103 years of history from the 19th Amendment giving women the right to vote in August of 1920, to the Great Depression, World War II, D-Day, the Korean War, men on the moon, the development of the internet, and the Covid-19 pandemic. Just a few of the historical moments from the last 103 years that my family experienced while in this home.

The history of this house is precious to me and comforts me with memories of wonderful times. Every morning when I sit in the swing and do some pondering, I can see my family and myself through the years sitting on the porch and in the swings. Daddy swinging with one leg down, hearing the squeak of the swings when I went to sleep as a child, mama throwing scuppernongs seeds over the porch bannister, my children playing happily in the play pen, my grandchildren and I swinging and pretending to be on an airplane. My grandmother Big Ma drinking lemonade in the swing with her pants on inside out. All the family pets stretched out on the cool red tile of the porch floor. Good night kisses at the front door in high school.

I’ve read that the kitchen is the heart of the home so that makes the porch the soul of the home. Our homes and all our memories are always in our hearts.

“Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.” — John Horace Payne