Papa Tom's Front Porch

I grew up in a time when evenings were spent in conversation with neighbors, and front porches were outdoor parlors rather than a place to sit potted plants. These porches served as playgrounds for children, and spots of quiet repose, while reading a good book and sipping lemonade. I hope you are not too young to have a favorite front porch tucked away with your fond memories.

Papa Tom lived in a pre-civil war house, inherited from my grandmother, who died before I was born. Folks in Plymouth, North Carolina knows it as the Latham House. But, to me, it is known as Papa Tom's House. The thing I loved and remember most about the house was it's huge front porch.

Entry to the porch was made by climbing a wide set of stairs. The porch itself must have been six or seven feet off the ground. I know adults could stand under it, because that was where they kept the lawnmower and I saw my Uncle Thomas walk under there, push it out to cut the grass many times. There was a railing all the way around the perimeter of the porch to keep the children from falling off. At the far end of the porch was another, narrower set of stairs that led to the porte-cochere. A lattice covered with climbing roses walled the porte-cochere. They were the old fashioned kind that smelled good.

But the biggest attraction of Papa Tom's porch was the swing that hung suspended from the ceiling by chains. You had to be careful about holding on to those chains while swinging, or you might get your fingers pinched. The swing was made of wicker and could seat three grown-ups or a lot of kids. And we were forever being warned not to swing too high or it would tip over.

On the other side was another swing, but for some reason we children were not much attracted to it. It was heavier, with leather cushions, and it didn't swing as easily.


On sultry, summer nights, when my cousins from Raleigh came to visit, the grown-ups would all sit and talk on the front porch while we children played hide-and-seek or chased lightning bugs in the huge tree-canopied yard. In the afternoons, while Mama and my aunts prepared supper, the porch was OURS. My cousin, Patsy, and I usually played house with her dolls. Or we'd play in the swing, and one day we did swing to high and it did flip over backwards. We weren't hurt, but we got fussed at and weren't allowed back in the swing the rest of the day. That is not until Papa Tom came home from work, then he let us sit and swing with him.

Papa Tom's porch was most magical when I played there alone. I acted out every book I read and every movie I saw on Papa Tom’s front porch. The porch was most often a boat, where I'd fish off its bow with a pole made out of a privet switch. Sometimes I was Huck Finn, floating down the Mississippi on a raft, and other times I was Peter Pan battling it out with Captain Hook on his pirate ship. Sometimes the porch was a castle, and I was the resident princess. The porch saw me through my Davy Crockett at the Alamo phase, I fought off Indians as Daniel Boone and I entertained the Queen of Hearts as Alice, complete with a real rose garden.

The roses bloomed profusely. The wall of the porte-cochere filled my May basket every May first. And on Mother's Day, Papa Tom and I would ritualistically pick out the most perfect red rose for me to wear to church.

When I got older, and after Papa Tom had his stroke, the front porch is where he and I would visit on warm days. I remember being somewhat uncomfortable with him then. I was about fourteen, and I guess it scared me, seeing him sick. I still feel pangs of guilt for having made those visits too infrequently. When I did go, I remember swinging gently in that old wicker swing, not saying much, while Papa Tom quietly sat in one of the cushioned wicker chairs. I think perhaps both of us were remembering those exuberant days we'd spent on his front porch.

Mama's Fried Green Tomatoes

Mama's Fried Green Tomatoes

I know its a little early to be thinking about garden fresh tomatoes, but I am planning where to put my plants and dreaming about my first mess of fried green tomatoes. Mama made the best.

Alligators in North Carolina

Alligators in North Carolina

Have you seen a NC alligator? Let me know where; I am still looking!

Remembering Tugboats and the Corner Drugstore

Remembering Tugboats and the Corner Drugstore

Banker Ponies: Wild Horses of the Outer Banks

Banker Ponies: Wild Horses of the Outer Banks just put two things I love - horses and the Outer Banks - together and you have Banker Ponies!

The Ultimate Health Food - Collard Greens

The Ultimate Health Food - Collard Greens

I promised I'd share some North Carolina food with you. You can't talk NC food and ignore collard greens. Click on the title to read all about them.

A Trip to the Outer Banks

I had a book signing scheduled at the Whalehead Club in Corolla and decided to make a weekend of it. My grand daughter and I packed up the old Ford Taurus with clothes and picnic food and drove down highway 64 to the Outer Banks.

We crossed the Manns Harbor Bridge with connects the mainland and the barrier islands. I am sure the view was beautiful going across Roanoke Sound and the marshes. But, I was so darned scared my eyes were glued to the road directly in front of me. I breathed a sigh of relief when we reached the visitor center on the other shore where I stopped for a much needed potty break. Jessica and I got a cold soft drink out of the cooler and resumed our drive. The next bridge put us at Whalebone Junction in Nags Head.

We stopped at a small cluster of wooden buildings perched on the edge of the sound and painted bright beach colors – hot pink, turquoise, peach. I bought tickets for the dolphin watch boat ride. I’ve wanted to take Jessica on the tour ever since the previous summer when I came to the Outer Banks alone. We had just enough time to check into our motel and drive back for the three o’clock trip.

The pontoon boat that seats about forty folks was docked when we got back. The water was choppy, and the floating boardwalk rocked in a balance challenging rhythm that made me feel somewhat tipsy. Jessica giggled at the thought of her grandmother falling into the brink. Humph!

About two hours of the three-hour trip were spent searching for the elusive dolphins. Our guide kept saying, “They are really hard to spot in rough water.” I was disappointed that Jessica might not experience seeing these mammals up close like I had on my other trip. Just as we were turning to go back, one of the other boat captains radioed they’d found the pod. We had a good hour of observation before we returned to dock.

Jessica was nicely impressed and admitted she’d enjoyed the tour. That was good coming from a sixteen-year-old. We went back to our room, adjusted the air conditioner and watched a show on Animal Planet. We don’t have cable TV at home, so it’s always a treat to watch it when we are in a motel. We had dinner at the Red Drum Tap Room. A bit noisy by the time we got there, but the seafood was very good.

After dinner we visited a view shops. Jessica had money burning a hole in her pocket – she wanted to buy her boyfriend a gift. He happened to be vacationing in Florida, or I’d never have been able to drag her along with me on this trip.

Friday morning I left Jessica in bed and walked down to the ocean shore. Our motel was next door to a fishing pier. The water was slick calm, and I took some shots of the pier from a various angles and a nice close up of a sand fiddler crab.

The book signing was on Saturday in conjunction with Wild Pony Days, a festival to help raise funds and promote the wild herd that live on Currituck Banks. After a little confusion of where the books were located we set up under a live oak tree on the shore of Currituck Sound. A gentle breeze kept us comfortable in the ninety-degree temps. Five of ponies were brought in and turned out in a portable corral under a grouped of shade trees. Folks were able the meet them from a safe distance. The wild ponies seem tame, but like any wild animal can be unpredictable. Children were asked not to climb on the corral and finally a “caution tape” was erected a few feet from the corral fence to keep tasty little fingers sway from curious horses. One horse, named Little Man, was an adoptee and well broke to be led, the others were young males that would be part of the auction later in the evening. They all were very comfortable with the attention, music, tents, and crowds.

The day was fun and relaxing until about six o’clock when a typical Outer Banks storm rolled in. We scrambled to pack everything – books, t-shirts, posters and other merchandise. Some of the most fearsome lightning I’ve seen in a good while and a heavy downpour made us run for cover. I retreated to the Whalehead Club’s gift shop and signed the rest of the forty books. We drove back down to Kitty Hawk where we stopped at a pizza joint for supper. It was bedtime when Jessica and I got back to our motel, and the storm was over.

Sunday we drove down to Hatteras Island to do some beach combing. After the walk on the beach we went back to Nags Head and visited about six souvenir shops, all with the very same t-shirts, beach towels, flip flops, and various over-priced trinkets.

I usually limit eating out to one time per trip, but I decided to splurge. This time we went to Millers, which was about a block down the beach road from the Red Drum. I had flounder stuffed with crabmeat and a nice salad. A very nice young man was our waiter. Jessica believed he had an Australian accent. I think it was Virginian, Tidewater, to be exact. Delicious! The food, that is. Jessica went for shrimp – again. We did more shopping, then stopped by the grocery to pick up “going home food.” The budget would not allow another restaurant meal.

The weather turned cool during the night, so cool that I woke up and turned off the air conditioner; my knees ached. When I got up and dressed, I left Jessica still in bed and walked down to the ocean. The “surf was up.” The sky was over cast, and the waves smashed into the shore and swooshed back out like mother earth’s heart beating after a hard run. There were few fishermen on the pier, probably because they couldn’t cast out in the wind without a backlash.

Pelicans seem more numerous than I remember from when I was a kid. In fact I don’t remember ever seeing one until recent years. I sat on the deck and watched and listened to the waves. I remembered the summers gone by. I’ve been visiting the Outer Banks since I was a child. I have an old photography of Mama and me at Jennette’s Pier, must have been the late 40s. The wind and the surf pulled me out into a sea of memories.

Jessica and I had breakfast at McDonalds. On the way home, we crossed the old bridge that takes us off Roanoke Island. Next to the bridge on the island side, was Mama’s favorite fishing spot for many years. Some people were there that day, casting into the wind, ever hopeful of catching the “big one.” I like the old bridge better than the new one, its shorter for one thing. We drove on through Manns Harbor, through the East Lake wilderness, and to the next bridge, which crosses Alligator River.

“Why do they call it Alligator River, Memaw?” Jessica asks again. She’s been asking that question on almost every trip to the Outer Banks since she was big enough to read the bridge’s name on the sign.

“Some say because the river is shaped like an alligator. Others say because there used to be alligators in it,” I answer for the umpteenth time.

We’re on the mainland now. I’m ready to be home, to be done with the four-hour drive.