The Lark: Vol 6, Issue 11, October 2026

Porch Sittin’ and Fishin’

by Danny A. Bass

I’m from the South, and down home we don’t say the “g” in “ing.” So sitting is pronounced “sittin’,” and fishing as “fishin’.” Thus the title of this piece, Porch Sittin’ and Fishin’.

Porch sittin’ has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember and probably began just after birth. Our first home was a small two-bedroom mill-style house on a narrow street, and the house was close to the street. There was a small porch, half the width of the house. In the evenings Momma and Daddy would sit on the porch in metal lawn chairs while me and my brother sat on the porch or the steps.

At that time, porch sittin’ in the South was not just for pleasure. Many months of the year it is hotter in the house than on the porch. We would sweat as we ate supper in the kitchen at the metal and formica-topped table for four. Momma would have been in the hot kitchen for an hour cooking while we were outside playing and Daddy working in the yard. Momma made the best cornbread and biscuits and fried chicken and on and on. I never appreciated how hard her work in the July heat of Georgia must have been. After supper, we would escape the hot kitchen to begin evenin’ porch sittin’.

There was a social element to porch sittin’ as most of the neighbors were also outside escaping the indoor heat. That led to porch visits and conversations. Everybody knew everybody on the street.

I am not an avid fisherman. In fact, I haven’t gone fishin’ in many years. But as a child, many of my fondest memories involved fishin’. My family had a camp house on the Chattahoochee River. I remember nights when there were twenty people sleeping in the camp house, kids on the floor. Sometimes we would catch as many as fifty or more fish and then have a big fish fry. There would be French fries and hushpuppies too, all dumped from the frier into paper grocery bags which soaked up the extra grease. You can have your French cuisine; there is nothing better than a Southern fish fry!

When I do my porch sittin’ now, I wave at passing cars and if the driver looks my way I add a smile to the wave. Recently as I was having my mornin’ coffee on the porch, wavin’ to passers-by, it dawned on me that porch sittin’ and wavin’ could be a metaphor for fishin’. Bear with me while I build the language of that metaphor.
At the time, I lived on Pine Crest Dr. but imagine if you will that the street is instead Pine Crest River. In the metaphor, I’m not sittin’ on my porch, but on the banks of the river. Fishermen cast a lure to tempt fish to bite. My wave is the casting of my lure, and a return wave is a bite!

The fish in the metaphor are the drivers of the passing cars. Like any river, Pine Crest River has various species of fish.

There is the “straight-aheader” species. As they swim by, they look straight ahead and don’t see me cast my wave, my lure. I’ll never catch one of those.

There is a sub-species of the straight-aheader, the “look-awayers.” Though looking straight ahead, in their peripheral vision they do see me cast my lure, but quickly look in the opposite direction, faking that something there has caught their attention. Not catchable fish.

There is the coffee-drinker species. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding a cup of coffee, they’ll never bite.
Another uncatchable species is the make-uppers. Steering with one hand, or none, their eyes are in the rear-view mirror applying makeup so they cannot see my lure. When I was a child, the make-uppers were female fish, not so sure about that today.

A less attractive species is the pickers. They swim along in their little bubble that is their car, thinking the world is not watching. Can’t catch them.

As you can see, it is very hard to catch fish in Pine Crest River despite my repeated casting of lures. But I do often catch one species, the “friendlies.” I cast my wave lure, and they bite and wave back. Some even return my smile.

I have a favorite friendly catch. One morning I cast a wave, but the driver was a straight-aheader, so no bite. However, in the back there was a car seat with a little girl who looked about three years old. She stared straight at me with a serious look, didn’t smile, but threw up her arm in a static wave, just as I do. I had caught a minnow!

I have wondered why some folks bite my wave lure and wave, and sometime smile, in return. Perhaps it is an act of kindness because they may see me as a lonely old man sittin’ on his porch waving to people he doesn’t know, making a human connection. Human connection is said to be of vital importance for the health of the elderly. Is that what I am, elderly? When did that happen?
If people wave back for my benefit, I appreciate it. But maybe they also get something from my wave and smile. I believe television and air conditioning began a decline in social connection. It seems to me that the internet, which promised to make neighbors of everyone in the world, has greatly decreased real positive human connection. My wave from my porch is not much of a connection, but it is real; and my morning smile could be the only smile my neighbors see that day.