On that June morning six years ago when we moved in, I got to the house before the moving truck and the kids, pulled a chair onto the front porch, ate a yogurt, and fell in love. I’d never had a front porch before, and this one, with its graceful columns and plenty of room for chairs, was hard to resist. “I’m going to sit out here every morning after my run, enjoy my breakfast, and watch the street wake up,” I said to myself.
I am not a gardener. This year I couldn’t even muster the enthusiasm to weed my flower beds. But my front porch is always full of flowers. For the last few summers, I’ve lined the perimeter with potted geraniums, and unlike every herb and edible item I’ve ever tried to grow, these actually stay alive.