The Porch

Many of the houses in our neighborhood have front porches. Some are well used, others underused. There are a few with couches on them, and one, up the street from us, used to have a piano on it. For the past few years, our porch has been more eyesore than retreat. We've needed to repair some of the boards and repaint, and it's been a parking place for kids' toys and our stroller collection.

Earlier this summer, I finally gave up on the illusion that I was ever going to manage the repairs myself. Between a lack of time, a lack of tools and a bit of trepidation about how I'd prop up the roof to repair/replace the columns, I got a bid from a guy who did a good job fixing a neighbor's porch.

Weather delays and a gradual creep in how extensively we wanted things done meant it about two and a half weeks before the carpentry was done. The painting was done by another chap (a friend of the carpenter who gave us a fairly low price and an assurance that it would be done quickly) over the next weekend.

On Saturday, I touched up the paint on the metal work and rehung the transmitter for the weather station (we're still deciding whether or not we to change the house numbers and whether or not to move the flag pole). We also rehung the swing.

About two years ago, the swing was banished to beneath the porch because we needed a place for the jogging stroller and the big double stroller — our old between-the-wars house has no garage, or driveway for that matter, nor a shed. Now the double stroller is slated for Craigslist or the thrift store and the jogging stroller has been given an accessible-but-not-so-visible home beneath the porch, and the swing is back in its rightful place.

It needs a coat of paint (Evelin is thinking purple), but even in its shabby-chic state, we're all enjoying its presence. Tonight, as I pulled up in front of the house, there were the girls, swinging away ...