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There are city folk and there are country folk, and the most telling difference between them is the importance each places on the front porch.
Let me explain.
The front porch is relegated by city folk to be merely a place to wipe your feet and hang the occasional holiday decoration. There may be a flower pot or, if children are involved, a few stray toys. Otherwise it is merely a waypoint between heading out and coming home. A place to pass through but not linger.
But country folk are different. To them the front porch is an extension of their home, a way to bring the inside out. It’s a gathering place for both friends and not-yet-friends to sit, relax, and share.
And what’s shared? Truth mostly, though every good story has an element of fiction thrown in for effect. The truth about life and faith and people. About seeing big things in small things. And sometimes there’s a little struggling thrown in too, only because it’s best to speak of such dark things while sitting out in the sunshine.
One of the great things about the virtual world is that a person can have his front porch both any and everywhere. So whether you’ve stumbled by or found your way here on purpose, welcome. Pull up a rocking chair and make yourself comfortable. There’s a pitcher of sweet tea in the fridge, a nice breeze, and mountains we can look at.
We’ll sit a while and talk, you and I…
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I'm a writer whose first novel, Snow Day, will be published by FaithWords in 2010.
But don't let that fool you. I'm just as confused as anyone.
And that is fine with me, because the great thing about wandering around in the fog is that you never know what you might run into.
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Credits:
Photo credits: Joanne Coffey
Site Design: Brian Gardner
Kathy Richards
Peter Pollock
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At seventeen, I stumbled and fell.
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Four years ago…
It started the way most good stories do, over lunch with a friend. This particular friend was named Charlie, an iron-fisted brawler disguised as a nerdy engineer who worked in the building next to mine.
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“I’m already a man,” I answered.
Charlie nodded and said, “Maybe. You ever been punched?”
“No.”
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If I had known then that it would take that much time to be able to write these words, I maybe would have reconsidered that notion.
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