Revealing the magic of screen porch living.
There’s not a more cherished architectural element in a Virginia home than an old-fashioned screened porch. Completely unlike any other space—both inside and outside–it is amenable for company and for solitude. It is devoid of annoying creepy-crawlies, and perfect for any time of day and weather. It is the completely indispensable room.
My first was our sleeping porch on Monument Avenue, where for several cherished nights a year, my little sister and I would create a cozy nest in our second-floor aerie, overlooking the slate terrace and leafy garden. There, the sticky night air would add to the exciting atmosphere of our roost, where, bereft of parental oversight, we talked late into the night, spinning elaborate stories of adventures to come.
Nowadays my porch is my year-round snug. With removable panels that keep it hospitable (with a handy space heater) on sunny winter days, you’re likely to find me there with my nose in a book. Only the dreaded pollen season and its noxious yellow haze chases me briefly inside. Nevermind. I know that once it abates, I’ll be perched on my creaky swing until, well, forever.
It’s lovely to have a porch sited over a garden—as mine is—but, truthfully, I’ve found myself happily ensconced before on a porch overlooking an urban alley. Though a nice view is a wonderful enhancement, what’s really necessary is the rustle of the wind, the smell of an approaching thunderstorm, and the songs of the birds—even when interrupted by traffic or the occasional train whistle.
What makes a screened porch such an iconic space? Lots of things are de rigueur in creating the perfect spot. A ceiling, painted “haint” blue to match the sky is traditional, as are comfy, deep-cushioned sofas and chairs clad in jolly weather-resistant fabric. Shades and a sisal rug are optional, while conveniently placed occasional tables to accommodate a day-long trooping of drinks are non-negotiable. A wooden screened door to the garden, that closes with a satisfying crunch, is a porch’s pièce de résistance.
Refreshments on a porch can be anything from a full summer meal (chicken salad, anyone?), to a succession of drinks—coffee in the morning, iced tea in the afternoon, wine, or, with a bit of luck, a Pimm’s Cup before dinner. Day’s end needn’t spell the end of festivities, of course. What’s better than hurricane lamps with flickering candles as the fireflies start their own light show?
During the dark days of the pandemic’s first year, the porch became the scene of every human encounter I had for many months. My husband and I would lurk at one end on the swing, while our visitor would enter from the garden at the opposite end and perch at the adjacent table. That was even the setting for a memorable Christmas morning, as, swaddled with blankets, we opened our presents with our visiting son, as we quaffed hot toddies and watched the snow flurries flutter down.
Because the wonder of a porch is that even in the most formal of houses, it’s a casual, relaxed space. It begs for languid conversations and booming laughter. Even more, I’ve found that a porch is the perfect spot for heartfelt conversations and revelations that would feel somehow constricted inside. I’ve told and heard secrets on the porch, wept there, and, most importantly, used the space merely to be.
The ultimate compliment was paid to me recently when I learned that my son’s lifelong best friend was building a screened porch at his newly acquired home. Felix said it was because he longed for a space that was as cozy as our porch was for him growing up. Indeed, the ultimate compliment.
This article originally appeared in the August 2024 issue.