Saturday afternoon, the ceiling fan on your porch is spinning in overdrive to move the humid air of the first full day of summer. You are sitting on your porch with a small group of neighbors, both adults and kids, making friendship bracelets. Today is PorchLuck in Jubilee Station. On this day, you and others welcome the town onto your front porches for a potluck of experiences, ranging from music to crafts to show and tell.
Mason, a tall middle schooler from down the street, holds his bracelet out in front of you and says, “Can you help me with the part that opens and closes?”
You say, “Yes, of course. It’s called a clasp. Let me show you.”
You pick a magnetic clasp out of the organizer in front of you on the coffee table. You and your visitors are all sitting cross-legged around the table, on the floor of the porch. As you listen to the gentle rhythm of neighbors sifting through beads, you thread the bracelet wire through the rings on each end of the clasp, crimping everything into place. You click the magnetic clasp together, and you look down on your handiwork, taking a satisfied breath.
Mason says, “Thank you! This looks sick.”
You say, “I love the pattern you made with the orange and pink.”
Mason hops up from his position at the table, waves goodbye to the group, and shuffles down your front stairs, looking at his phone as he goes. No sooner has he left your porch than another kid from the neighborhood sits down in his place.
She says, “Hello, You! I’m Olivia. This is so cool.”
You say, “Welcome, Olivia! I’m glad you stopped by. Now, what would you like to make?”
Your bracelet making session lasts two hours. The fire station in town sounds its siren once every two hours on the day of PorchLuck, from noon until sunset, letting everyone in town know when it’s time to start or finish sharing their experience. You give the last stragglers on your porch the time they need to finish up their work, as you clean up the stray beads and bits of wire that are strewn across your table.
When you have finished cleaning up, you put on some sunscreen and your floppy hat, before venturing into the day. All around you, neighbors are hanging out on each other’s porches. You hear a bluegrass band in the distance. You smell fresh pizza and wood smoke wafting down from the other end of your block. You stand on the sidewalk in front of your house, feeling the heat of the concrete coming through the soles of your sneakers, and you take a deep breath.
The Jessicas have invited you to stop by this afternoon, so you head to their houses, around the corner from yours. They live next to each other, with a huge shared playset in their backyard. They wave to you as you walk up to the porch of one of their houses, where a handful of kids are playing with a litter of puppies.
The first Jessica, who took over from you on the support wagon for the Cumberland March, says, “Hello, You! We’re fostering these puppies for a few weeks. Would you like to hold one?”
You say, “Yes, absolutely. How old are they?”
Before Jessica can answer, one of the kids pipes up and says, “Six weeks today!”
You sit down on the floor of the porch, inside the play fence that has been set up around the litter and their guests. Around you, the puppies are climbing across the legs of the human visitors, hopping up and down with excitement.
The other Jessica, who gave you a tour at the union hall several weeks ago, steps out the front door of the house. She says, “I’ll be surprised if they make it the whole two hours without a nap. They don’t exactly have a lot of stamina.”
Sure enough, after about 20 more minutes, the puppies start clamoring for milk, which the two Jessicas and their kids feed to the litter. One by one, the puppies fall asleep in their arms. You quietly excuse yourself, stepping over the play fence, and stretching out your arms and legs with a yawn of your own.
From the edge of the porch, you see Fritz, the van driver, standing in his front yard across the street, in the middle of a rough circle of strange-looking metal boxes sitting on stands. Each of the boxes has a stovepipe sticking out of it. You head over to take a closer look.
Fritz sees you coming and calls out, “Gruss dich, You! Are you hungry?”
You say, “Yes. The puppies were just getting fed, and I was getting jealous.”
Fritz says, “Today we’re making the traditional flammkuchen. Ah, this is my wife, Anna.” A woman with graying hair at her temples waves a shy hello.
Fritz starts to open one of the boxes and says, “These are stainless steel pizza ovens. We make them ourselves at the shop. I could give one to you?”
Anna says, “Please, yes, we have far too many,” and gives Fritz a pointed look, which he ignores.
You say, “Thank you! I’d be happy to have one. I will need some lessons on how to use it.”
Fritz uses a metal pizza peel to remove a large flatbread from within, which he sets atop a platter on a nearby wooden table. The flatbread is covered with sliced mushrooms and onions, set in a light colored cheese. The edges of the crust are bubbly and dark from the heat of the oven. Anna sprinkles chopped scallions across the top and says, “Now we just give it a moment to rest.” You stand over the cooling flammkuchen, noticing the fragrant and earthy aroma of its steam, and you take a slow breath.
Anna hands you a pizza cutting wheel and a plate, and says, “You are the guest of honor. Help yourself.” You cut the rectangular flatbread into squares, lift up one for yourself, and take a bite, salty and melty and crunchy.
Fritz comes over, pizza peel slung over his shoulder, and says, “Well, what do you think?”
You say, “I think PorchLuck is my new favorite day of the year.”