View from the porch

In certain parts of the world, having a porch or verandah was integral to the home. Over time, with new builds, these are often omitted. I’ve been reflecting a lot about this in light of the many benefits which come from having an outside extension and living space to the home. In my homeland of Australia, a Queenslander (type of home) always had a verandah, and often wrapped around three sides. It connected one to the outside world while providing some shelter from the weather. A porch or verandah was a meeting place for friends and family. A gathering place of community and connection.

For almost 26 years now, I’ve made my home in rural Cumbria in the north of England. Our home has a porch. It’s an outdoor area with a roof that allows us to be outside and, if necessary, have cover during rain.

And it is to the porch I come for many reasons: morning cuppa, quiet time in my day, meditation, a chat with husband, lunch with friends, to cook damper over the firepit with loved ones, watch the birds at the bird-feeding station, to breathe in the calm of the night-time stars and Moon before I head to bed, and I come here to write ceremonies and books. Although I have a lovely writing room, I’ve found that sitting out here at my table gives me a view that, even though it’s the same as from my writing room, feels more connected. In many ways, this space has become my psychic sound chamber: where I consider, digest and live with my many thoughts and feelings on all manner of things.

There are two views from the porch; the view I can see before me, and the inner vision that evolves from these daily pockets of porch time.

Last Christmas, I decided to treat myself to a week’s hire of a hot tub. Warmth, particularly warm or hot water, is my idea of bliss. Christmas week is a full one: our celebration of Christmas on Christmas Eve as per my German ancestors; my birthday on the 28th, our wedding anniversary on the 29th. I figured being able to soak for a few hours each day would help me unwind from a busy work year. What I learned, by sitting outside in the middle of an ice-cold Winter, was that even though it’s a time I’d traditionally hibernate, the world outside couldn’t have been more alive. I’d be up long before sunrise delighted to step into that warmth and relax. Beneath starlight, I enjoyed watching the skyline change from ink-black to blue. At other times, I soaked in the warmth while a thunderstorm raged around me. I was in that tub at least twice a day, and for a good couple of hours each time. The changing colours of the sky, the dance of clouds, watching the flight of birds, and so on, were beautiful reminders that nothing stays still. Life is always changing.

What I’ve learned from porch life is that no matter how crazy-busy my work days get, or if I’m working seven days a week from before sunrise right through to deep into the night, stepping out onto the porch transforms me. In some ways, it’s become a healthy addiction. This view is what allows me to keep going.

Being connected to the natural world in this way is the equivalent someone else might feel when they see a regular counsellor. Are you ok? What’s been happening? Want to talk about it? How do you feel about that?

Veronika Robinson is an author, publisher, celebrant, celebrant trainer and mentor, and retreat host in rural Cumbria.