From the Front Porch

This past weekend, I went to the Iris Festival—an annual tradition that somehow always smells like home and funnel cake. As I walked the familiar streets, I started thinking about something I don’t often say out loud: I consider myself a citizen of Dresden.

Never mind that I haven’t lived there full-time in years. I show up about once a month. But ask me where I’m from, and I’ll tell you with pride—Dresden, Tennessee. Why? Because Dresden is where I learned how to be a neighbor.

Being a good citizen, I’ve realized, isn’t always about voting or showing up to council meetings (though that’s nice too). Sometimes it’s as simple as sitting on the proverbial front porch—being kind, being present, and being available.

I’m talking about waving at folks you don’t know. Holding the door open without making it weird. Asking someone how their mama’s doing—and actually listening. Southern hospitality isn’t just about charm; it’s a quiet form of citizenship. It says: You matter. We’re in this together.

Nowadays, our “front porch” looks more like a screen. We scroll past birthdays, losses, and milestones without ever picking up the phone. Social media may be convenient, but it’s no substitute for walking across the yard and saying hello.

So here’s my first front porch reflection: Let’s be citizens who slow down. Who stop by. Who wave.

No policy agenda—just kindness, patience, and maybe a cup of coffee.
Sincerely your neighbor, Tiana.