Up with front stoops; down with back decks

Do you know what’s wrong with the world today? Back decks.

I arrived at this conclusion a couple of nights ago after spending an evening on my brand new back deck with my friend. It was a christening of sorts, my first evening on the new deck and I was feeling quite pleased with myself.

“Isn’t it great to have a back deck of one’s own,” I pronounced from my eight-dollar camper chair with the bourbon-glass hole in the arm.

My friend kindly indulged my new-deck fixation. She probably thought I was little loco, but this friend is special. she has a soft spot for those of us who have been without decks.

It was a warm evening and there were no bugs, which was a good thing because the way I was feeling about my new deck that night, I would have made her sit out there in a blizzard. We had a great evening and it was well after dark when she got up to leave.

“Wasn’t it nice to sit out on the deck?” I said (probably for the thirtieth time) as I waved goodbye from the front door. I sat down on the front stoop and watched her go. When she was out of sight, I stayed out to enjoy the evening.

My front stoop isn’t big or fancy. It’s made of crumbling concrete. There no room for a camper chair, picnic table or barbeque. You have to move to one side whenever the screen door opens and after awhile, you get a sore butt from sitting on the hard concrete.

Yet, this is where I wanted to be, on the uncomfortable crumbling front stoop, not the back deck.

My street is fairly quiet, but there was plenty going on at 10:30 on a Friday evening. I could smell a barbeque and hear laughter wafting through the air.

A neighbour out walking her dog stopped for a little chat. We talked about this and that, nothing earth shattering, but it was nice to make the connection with someone in the ‘hood. Later, some junior high kids walked by. I’d seen them before and thought one might be a potential babysitter. I’d be looking into that.

A car sped by, a little too fast for my liking. Then, another neighbour stopped and remarked on the poor performance of my tulips. She’d seen my column on this subject and had noticed that I wasn’t telling lies. Had I planted the bulbs upside down, she asked.

“Upside down!” I shouted, perhaps with a little too much volume given the hour. It was almost 11. “No one told me there was a right way to plant a tulip bulb.”

And this leads me back to my opening point about the back deck. The reason I wanted to sit on the front stoop was to have the “company” of my ‘hood. On the back deck I’d just be sitting there by myself in the dark.

I’d be missing out on the comings and goings of my street. I wouldn’t get to connect with neighbours I barely know. I wouldn’t spot potential babysitters or notice speeding cars. And I wouldn’t find out that there is a right way up for tulip bulbs.

When did the back deck take over from the front veranda, anyway? Twenty-five years ago? Does that moment co-inside with the rise social isolation we keep hearing about in the news? There’s more to it than the back deck, of course, but it is an interesting indicator of community detachment.

That doesn’t mean I’m going to give up my back deck for barbeques and evenings with friends, but when I want to go outside and sit down with a cup of tea after supper, I’ll be on the front stoop. The back deck should never be allowed to replace the front stoop.

Freelance front stoop sitter Gail Lethbridge thinks it’s good to have a front stoop of one’s own. Visit her blog: http://giftedtypist.com