The Kitchen Window: A Throwback Post

I was reminded that I had written this essay when a friend mentioned wanting a window in her kitchen, but she added that all she would be looking at was her car in the garage.  Our kitchen window now looks out on our new cedar fence, a large thermometer Ricky mounted to the fence, a piece of Ricky’s original blacksmith art, a crape myrtle tree trunk, and part of a banana magnolia bush.  Before Ricky and I moved into our present home, we lived in a modest duplex a block from our current residence.   Our previous kitchen window view was more diverse.

Duplex door

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I remember my mother talking about a newly constructed house she had just visited.  “Well, it’s very nice but I wouldn’t want it.  I wouldn’t have a house without a window over the kitchen sink.  I want to see outside while I work in the kitchen.”

I agree with my mother.  Even with today’s automatic dishwashers and microwave quick meals from the freezer, a kitchen window is still essential to a well-designed kitchen. 

The view from the kitchen window doesn’t have to be fancy.  A couple of bird feeders and a bird bath encircled by a rather disreputable-looking flower garden are in the foreground of my kitchen window scene.  Despite the neglect I heap upon my flowers, occasionally a large, purple iris, a hardy pink tulip, or lavender hyacinth blooms in the garden.  Each blossom is something to celebrate and ooh and ahh over. 

Tallow tree next to the ditch in autumn

Ditch with autumn leaves from tallow tree

I also have a tree outside my window—a tallow tree.  Tallow trees are considered trash trees.  They grow fast in the Deep South and are proliferate reproducers.   They don’t usually grow large, and they “self-prune” so they rain twigs in the yard.  Our tallow tree is big because of its location beside a four foot deep concrete drainage ditch that guarantees a good water supply.

A community of birds, squirrels, and cats live and play around the tallow tree.  Brilliant red cardinals, raucous blue jays, and red-throated finches have all been observed at the bird feeders that hang from the limbs of the tallow tree.  Woodpeckers and flickers eat insects up and down the trunk. 

One of the neighborhood cats beside the ditch

Behind the tallow tree is the concrete-lined drainage ditch that now has a weathered natural stone look.  A daily parade can be observed from the kitchen window as neighborhood children and an assortment of cats use the ditch as a thoroughfare.   At night the ditch is more sinister, its walls filled with large flying tree roaches.  Sometimes the ditch serves as an escape route for those trying to elude the police.  When it rains, the ditch is a roaring torrent of rushing water, scary to watch.

Flooding ditch  fills garage and garage apartment entrance during torrential rains

Elderberries, honeysuckle and wild morning glories grow along the old wooden fence that separates our neighbor’s yard from the ditch.  Each spring a dogwood with white blossoms peeks over the fence, and a royal star magnolia blooms bravely, almost lost in a jungle of vines.

The window connects me with my neighborhood…with life outside my home.  I wouldn’t have a house without a window over the kitchen sink.  You don’t have to either—hand me that sledge hammer.