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Until my father died in July 1993 I had never taken a day off, nine years in Apalachicola living in the rectory next door to the church. We loved it, but it was a classic case of why ministers refuse to live in a rectory, a manse, a parsonage. As well as a long term financial disadvantage, there was no privacy at all! Oh, Monday was supposed to be my day off, but everybody knew we didn’t take it seriously, no one honored the priest’s day off including ourselves. I remember parishioner Frank Whiteside telling someone, “Go on over, Tom doesn’t mind if you come on his day off.” And it was true, never a problem. Most things in life aren’t problems anyway unless you let them be.

On the other hand, there was no downtime ever, except when we left for a week’s vacation each summer.

Once my father died, my mother was living here in the house all by herself unless I happened to be here. And she was scared to death. Not only at night: even in the daytime she stayed locked in the back of the house, the kitchen and her bedroom, and had me install deadbolts on the heavy doors leading to the dining room, living room and front bedrooms. And this upstairs porch! Mama was deathly afraid someone would lean a ladder against the side of the house and climb into the upstairs front porch and break in. So she insisted I have the porch framed and closed with screen and heavy hardware cloth to discourage anyone who might have such a thought.

Since being built in 1912, the porch had never been screened. But as it turned out, the screening made the porch usable year round, even during mosquito season, which is usually six to nine months a year.

It also made it safer for the grandchildren to play up here.

And sleepwalkers. One summer some forty-five or fifty years ago, in fact it was either 1963 right before we left for Japan or 1966 right after we returned from Japan, Linda and I were here with Malinda and Joe on Navy leave. We were sleeping upstairs here in Alfred’s bedroom, currently our bedroom, doors and windows open, no air conditioning. I had a strange dream about being on a riverboat, an old fashioned sternwheeler. Asleep, I got out of bed and walked out onto the porch here. This was decades before we had it screened, and I walked over to the east side, put my foot up on the bannister railing and, seeing that the steamboat had run aground on the riverbank, decided to jump ashore. I woke from sleep to find myself about to leap from the second floor porch into the yard below.

So the screening is a good thing for all sorts of reasons.

Right after my father died I started making up for the years I’d had no time off, leaving Apalachicola after dinner in the rectory Sunday noon and coming home to Panama City to help mama, and so she wouldn’t be alone all the time. Stay here Monday and Tuesday, returning to Apalachicola on Wednesday morning. Besides doing any work on the house, cutting the grass and whatever, it was good time for sermon thought and preparation as well. And it was peaceful, nobody knocking at the door wanting groceries. Plus, Kristen was here, living with her mom in our house next door. She was very little, and because her mom was working every day, I got to take Kristen on as my very own. She often went back to Apalachicola with me too, so I had her all the time. Happy, happy years.

In 2004, Hurricane Ivan swept through here and toppled our enormous ancient Hickory tree, tearing out parts of the upstairs and downstairs screens, so they were replaced with better looking and better quality material.

Every spring and fall, this screened upstairs front porch, looking out across St. Andrews Bay, is a fine place for breakfast and writing. Nine years after being rebuilt it still looks pretty decent. I’m hoping it lasts through my life time. I’m hoping Linda and I do too.