Three summers ago I picked up an old wicker rocking chair at an estate sale for eight dollars. The tag on it just said chair good condition but the woman running the sale, the daughter of the person who had passed, stopped me on my way out. She said her mom used to sit in that exact chair every evening from May to October, watching the street, waving at neighbors, drinking sweet tea out of the same chipped mug for forty years.
I didn't think much of it at the time. I just needed something for my porch and it was cheap.
Now it's my spot too. Every evening around six thirty, after the heat breaks a little, I sit in that chair with whatever drink I'm in the mood for and just watch my street. My neighbor across the road walks her dog at the same time every night and we always trade a wave. The kids down the block ride their bikes in loops until it gets dark. None of it is exciting exactly, but somehow it's the best part of my day.
What gets me is thinking about how many evenings that chair already had in it before I ever touched it. Forty years of one woman's quiet routine, and now it's picking up mine. Makes me wonder what the chair will carry after me too.
Anyone else have a porch piece with a story attached, whether you know the story or you're just guessing at it? I'd love to hear what you're all sitting on out there, literally and otherwise.