A porch is more than a place. It is a state of mind.

Everything seems more pleasant on a porch. Drinks are more refreshing. Reading material is more engaging. And time seems to have its own rhythm as the breeze and the chirp of songbirds counterbalance the list of commitments that march through our brains.

A porch is more than a place. It is a state of mind. This is where they really gained architectural popularity as opposed to overseas alternatives such as loggias, verandas or porticos. Some historians argue that porches in America might owe their origins to enslaved people who built their own simple dwellings with overhanging roofs like those that sheltered entryways in their African homelands. Porches were ubiquitous until air conditioning, suburbanization, television and the automobile ushered in the decline of front porch culture. Front porches became a quaint relic enjoyed when you visited grandparents or the grand Victorian homes in a town’s historic district.

Kathleen Parker: Porches may fall in and out of favor, but I’ll always appreciate them

With climate change pushing temperatures to the stratosphere, the front porch should return as a central feature of American home architecture.

Beyond curbing the urge to crank up the air conditioning, porches can pull us away from TV screens and gaming consoles. And those covered spaces that open to our neighbors can foster stronger community bonds.

Years ago, I heard about an experiment in the Norfolk area in which builders installed front porches in public housing. The porches gave people a chance to display pride of place with flowerpots and wind chimes. They created a communal link for people who could greet kids on their way to school and neighbors heading off to work.

And the porches meant suddenly lots of people had their eyes on the corner where some young folks were making mischief and selling drugs. A battle of wills ensued between the young toughs who didn’t want neighbors in their business and the porch-sitters who wanted to perch on their rockers or folding chairs in peace. The porch-sitters won. It was a small victory in a rough neighborhood that didn’t often post gains against encroaching blight.

This story resonated with me. My grandparents in Birmingham, Ala., had a bustling front porch. Every house along Avenue G did, and those semipublic elevated “living rooms” created a loving and sturdy tether among the families on the block. People could greet each other or visit for a spell without invading personal space.

In a world that is getting hotter, where communities are ever more divided, where kids need more of our attention, and where we sleep with machines that produce the sounds of crickets instead of listening to that night music in real time, front porches deserve a roaring comeback. —Michele L. Norris