Real stories. Slow mornings. Honest takes with a side of sarcasm. This is where the coffee’s hot, the pace is slow, and the truth lands with a little grin (and maybe a grunt). From the porch, you can see a lot — family chaos, neighbor nonsense, and the good stuff that makes you shake your head and say, “Yep, that’s life.
From The Porch
It was 6 a.m. on a Friday. The sun wasn’t even committed yet. But there I was, Papa in the recliner, watching a five-year-old eat cashews for breakfast while the fast food industry told me what I couldn’t eat. Spoiler: I didn’t take it well.
From The Porch
Town’s got sidewalks, drive-thrus, and trash pickup. But I used to have airplanes in the yard and river mornings out back. So yeah… I miss it. Most days, I miss it bad.
From The Porch
Milli climbed onto the arm of my recliner like a ninja, took one look at my hand, and delivered a roast I wasn’t ready for. Kids don’t hold back. And apparently, neither does dry skin.