Quaker pastor/author Philip Gulley said people who have big front porches are usually open and welcoming people, while people who build and spend time on back porches are often suspicious and are probably hiding something.

Whoops.

When my wife and I first walked through the house where we now live, it was winter and evening and cold. We didn’t spend much time on the large screened-in porch off the back of the house, but my head danced as I thought of the hours I might spend on that porch if we bought the house.

I thought of porch swings and white wicker furniture and lush green ferns and plenty of time to read. I thought of how we might spend time out there with the child my wife was carrying.

Since that child was due in less than three months, I didn’t see the hot tub the home owners had on the porch in our future.

When we signed the papers to buy the house, we still expected to have more than two months to move and get the house the way we wanted it. When our son arrived more than seven weeks early — surprise! — all our plans went awry, and, in truth, in some ways we’re still catching up.

Our son, as it turned out, played on the porch very little. His favorite perch today is the couch in the den with an Xbox 360 controller in his hand, headphones on his ears, shouting about maps and snipers.

But finally, more than 14 years later, I am creating the oasis I envisioned on the porch.

The reclamation began several years ago when we had the porch reroofed. I made the mistake of taking the lowest bid, and we wound up with hundreds of gray nails poking through our white ceiling.

My wife was none too happy with my thriftiness, so I vowed to repaint the porch. I bought the paint late one summer, began the painting late the next summer and am going to finish it — I promise — this summer.

Many years ago, we bought the white wicker furniture and acquired a porch swing, but they weren’t comfortable for long periods of time and gathered lots of dust from an increasingly parched back yard.

They’re gone.

In their place, I sought a chair in which I could sit or read or nap. I saw the ultimate such item at a Home Depot once — it looked somewhat like a king-size day bed — but it cost way too much. I wanted something between the king-size day bed and the metal folding chairs used at the beach.

I found what I wanted at an estate sale. It’s a very light pink — my sister has volunteered to recover it — chaise lounge. It was once in the living room of a $2.7 million home on Lookout Mountain. At least, I tell myself that.

We acquired the round metal table and four chairs from a friend of my mother who was getting rid of them. Thanks, Mrs. G. A coat of dark green paint has given them new life.

A Ping-Pong table I bought my wife for her birthday — she said she always wanted to learn to play, honest — and an electric grill I bought from a friend and co-worker’s garage sale fill out the rest of the porch.

Earlier this year, I bought a neutral colored floor lamp by which I can read the newspaper in the morning and a book late into the night if I like.

After I finish painting, I will add new plants in the planters that presently have the detritus of my previous good intentions.

Truth be told, I have always wanted the comfort, solitude and quiet available on a screened-in porch. Neither of the houses in which I was raised had one. The one where I lived 17 years had a front porch the width of two doors and a tiny side porch that wouldn’t allow two people to pass without bumping hips.

My garage apartment didn’t have one. The entire apartment wasn’t much bigger than my current porch.

My first house didn’t have one, either. Since its porch collapsed several years into my ownership, I never felt safe about spending much time out there.

Finally, in spite of Philip Gulley’s teasing admonition, I have become a back porch dweller. And I am neither suspicious nor hiding something.

To suggest a faith story, contact Clint Cooper at ccooper@timesfreepress.com.

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