I have always wanted a sleeping porch. I used to love going camping, sleeping by the creek in a tent, with the water rippling by and listening to soft splashes of the fish and frogs and other night creatures. That was pretty close to a sleeping porch, but now the best I can do is sleep with the windows open.
My bedroom has three big old-fashioned windows. I have to wrestle the old double hung windows up, holding my breath that I won’t break one of the irreplaceable bubble paned glasses. The sash weights on these windows are long gone, so I have to prop them up with a stick, and most of the storm windows are not in the best condition either. But it’s worth it to me to lie in bed listening to the far-off calls of the hoot owls, the tree frogs and even the slightly annoying cicadas on summer nights. I can almost tell the seasons by the night sounds from my windows – spring peepers, katydids, and the song of the wild geese in the fall. Then there are the rainy nights – too few of them lately, but the rumbles of thunder in the distance bring hope of a shower with the dance of raindrops on my tin roof and the clean scent of the rain on the breeze. Some of the best times are the early morning rains, just about sunrise. One window faces slightly southwest and that is where most of our rain comes from. If I’m awake and there is enough light, I can see the showers moving across the pastures coming toward the house.
Scout likes to sleep under the open window too, when he is not sleeping on top of the air conditioning vent. Every now and then he will sit up and look out the window, making sure nothing is creeping up through the yard to attack us. With seven dogs in the house right now, nothing much can ever creep up, but one never knows and a collie has to stay vigilant. His young sons, still waiting for their forever families to find them, follow his example and I’ve noticed that often times he lets them run first out of the house to bark at night creatures, only following if he thinks it’s a serious incursion.
I remember as a child hearing a distant train whistle in the night – trains have not run through our county in several years now. And I remember lying on that same bed in that same room with my grandmother, who I called Nanny, for naps in the afternoon. I’m not sure how much napping we did – I was probably talking most of the time and telling stories I used to make up. But I have great memories of the breezes that came through the window in the afternoon as we lay there. It was a precious, simpler time, when dreams were still a possibility and I had my whole life ahead of me. Maybe that’s why I still love sleeping with the windows open.
