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The weather has turned. Technically, it still hits 80 during the day, but overnight and early mornings are now living solidly in the 50s. At Two Rocker Ridge, that means it’s officially “mornings on the front porch” season. Even before breakfast, we head outside to marvel at the leaves doing their annual costume change. Sometimes, we just sit in quiet communion with nature… and sometimes, nature just stares back at us and wonders why two humans are wearing bathrobes at dawn.
Our house faces a small patch of forest, so nobody can actually see us until the leaves are gone—which is good, because we are a sight. Picture a couple of very colorful polar bears, swaddled in heavy winter robes, fleece-lined slipper socks, and clutching our steaming mugs of lemon water like it’s liquid gold. (We’ve never been coffee drinkers, but our Scottish, Irish, and English ancestors make sure the occasional cup of tea is a legal option.)
The morning porch chat is sacred. I outline my glamorous domestic schedule—sweeping, maybe a load of laundry if I’m feeling wild—and then it’s genealogy time. Meanwhile, Willie’s plan can be summed up in one word: wood. Whether it’s milling logs, building a fence, or crafting something for a grandkid, sawdust will be involved.
We solve the world’s problems out there, too. Slowly. Over lemon water. Our plans are flawless, our insights brilliant, and the fact that world leaders haven’t called us for advice remains a mystery.
The porch is where we exhale before the day starts inhaling us again. It’s where Willie pauses to ponder, where I soak up fresh air before swapping it for Pine Sol, and where time itself politely slows down.
There’s just something about porch life—part therapy, part strategy session, part fashion statement. Honestly, if more people wrapped themselves in fuzzy robes at sunrise, the world might run a little smoother.