Frontporch

Back in “old” (ca.1950) Montreal the houses along rue Cherbrooke just west of rue de Bleury where I lived all had front porches. Some of those wooden porches had low bannisters all around but most did not. They were open to view from the street. That is how I know about the Canadian rocking chairs. Few porches had less then four of those. One chair per resident, it seems, was the norm. The interesting thing about these chairs is that they were used. If you walked along Cherbrooke any evening you would see them all occupied. It was fascinating to see the good folks chatting and rocking. Some would do short back and forths, controlled with their feet on the ground. Others pulled their feet up and did deep, energetic swings. No matter when I walked by this parade of motion, however, there was never any rythm to it. I do not remember ever seeing two chairs rocking at the same clip. As a matter of fact, by the time I reached the library at the other end of the street I was sometimes a little dizzy. It was a confusing phenomenon: they rock and I get dizzy.
In Newport Beach where I now live I find myself again in a neighborhood with front porches. The houses are single family homes and the porches are mostly stone and stucco. Most of those porches are furnished with chairs and little tables. The preferred style is the Adirondack chair. Many families have cushions in their chairs and flowers on their little tables, all set up for little evening gatherings and some gossiping. Just like in the old days, you would think. But there is one noticeable difference: nobody ever sits in any of those nice chairs. There are no rocking chairs either, and nobody is chatting, let alone gossiping. In a way this town is asleep. But that is deceptive. There are people living in these houses and they are awake. But they are never seen outside unless you catch a glimpse of one of them hurrying from house to car or from car to house. Judging by the few I have seen they are like regular people except that some of them have only one arm to wrestle with shopping bags, children’s seats, golf clubs, and such. Their other arm is attached to a telephone which, in turn, is fastened to one ear.

And here, I think, we come to the crux of the matter. Things have not changed. All the chatting is still going on, more than ever probably. But people no longer take time to sit around in a group, talking. One now talks to one person at a time, and not face to face either. But one does talk, all the time, continuously, all through the day. As long as it can be done by telephone. The juiciest bits of gossip are transmitted by the local blog mothers. They show up as email messages, also on your phone.

In the process our front porch lost its function. It did not disappear. It has only been reduced to a tableau, a thing you look at but mustn’t touch. Somebody please tell me: is rue Sherbrooke at least still rocking?

(c)2017 by Herbert H. Hoffman. Picture credit: cdn.morguefile.com