Events circa 1905-1914.
Written June 1994.
During the late 1800s, architects in this part of the country designed front porches for homes that were ostentatious luxuries. The porches they built had ornately turned spindles in the banisters and fancily shaped pillars supporting the roof. There was always a narrow panel of gingerbread lacework in the wood around the eaves. This trim was usually painted white and made an ordinary house look quite splendid. Such was my Grandma’s front porch.
The porch was built clear across the front of their house. It was wide enough to accommodate a hammock on one side of the front door and several comfortable chairs on the other side. This was the visitor’s entrance, opened on state occasions, for it led directly into the parlor. Inside were the piano, an organ, and a prim set of horsehair upholstered chairs and a sofa. It was the entertainment center of the house, where the four girls entertained their beaus and other friends. It was too fine for us to play there.
In rural areas, there was so much work to do during the summer that they seldom had time to enjoy a porch, and the winter climate was too severe to use one.
Grandma worked from dawn to dusk every day to keep her table laden with food. The “truck garden” had to be planted with vegetables. The orchard fruit and small berries had to be picked and cared for. She felt it was her Christian duty to harvest and preserve all of these. Every day Grandma baked up to 10 large round loaves of bread, and up to 21 pies, cakes, and cookies in her outdoor Dutch bake oven.
She washed the clothes in great galvanized tubs, using a washboard and a huge iron kettle to boil the white linens whiter. When asked, “Why don’t you go and rest on the porch and cool off a little bit?” She would answer, “Rest? Rest when you are dead!” and would continue working quite happily.
We were content on the porch. We could look out across the lawn and up and down the road, seeing who and what was coming and going while gently swinging in the hammock. Beyond the road, we could watch the wind go by in the wheat field. The waves of grain with bowed heads seemed to flow across the field in long unbroken lines, traveling in long lines much as ocean waves do.
Only the brook at the bottom of the field could entice us away from the charm of the porch. On a hot afternoon, it was so cooling to wade barefoot there, looking for agates and pretty water-washed pebbles.
I was told that one “state occasion” was held on that porch long before we were born. Way back in 1899, on August 17th, the whole family assembled there, three generations strong, to see my mother and father married.
After the event, the photographer among my uncles, [Lloyd Sechrist], managed to pack everyone on the porch and take a remarkable picture of them, each face being recognizable. They were all dressed in the latest fashion of the day, looking happy and proud.
My great-grandmother, who died while we were in South America, was in this picture. It was a great grief to my mother to lose her grandmother while so far away. I can never forget Great Grandma’s sweet, serene face. It was an added sorrow to lose the picture in our disastrous 1924 house fire.
Grandma’s front porch held many a nostalgic memory covering a time when work-saving gadgets left much to be desired. Communications were limited to telegraph, mail, and a few newspapers. Local transportation used horse-drawn vehicles, and distant trips were made with trains and boats.
How times have changed! What would she think of my lifestyle today? My iron-railed patio porch, six stories high in the air and away from Mother Earth would frighten her.
Mary W. Dial
Transcribed June 1994 by CED
Posted Jun 14, 1994 at 00:03.
Revised Jan 23, 2023 at 20:21. EDT.
Retrieved Jun 1, 2026 at 22:01.
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