memories: granny’s porch

Granny’s Porch

There is a sound of abundance of rain – I Kings

I love porches. I particularly love porches in the rain, particularly if they’re screened in. My great-grandmother had a terrific porch, but it wasn’t screened, and even if it had been, it still faced the prevailing winds. What Granny did have, though, was a tin roof. Her attic was located mostly over the kitchen and the “cold room” (began life as a side-porch but was later closed in), so when it rained, you could hear it deliciously dancing over that tin roof.

Now Granny’s roof wasn’t one of those new, colorized punched-tin roofs. It was made of those drab-grey corrugated sheets of tin that tended to rust with age or if they weren’t cared for properly. If wind blew across the hills “just right”, the eaves sang, and the tin whistled. I always thought that if those tin sheets ever came loose in the breeze, they would play Litz.

[[i’m making an effort to write down memories instead of letting them get lost inside to time. i collected a bunch from my old blog. i also make notes when memories pop into the forefront of my mind. this post is the second in a series that’s going to crop up now and again.]]

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Author: Mari Adkins

Appalachian gothic fiction writer - my works reflect a love of literature flavored by the darkness and magic residing in these ancient mountains. In my spare time, I'm a Simmer, I tumbl, I journal, but I always have a very strange sense of humor. I have lived away from the mountains and lived deep in the mountains. I currently live in Central Kentucky with my lifepartner and his cat. The mountains, their culture, their superstitions, their particular magics, will always be in my blood.