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Porch is invite only for now. Not invited yet? Join the waitlist.

What is a porch? porch The archive

A private weekly cadence for the people closest to you.

Photographs, notes and recorded audio collect quietly through the week. Once a week, your porch opens them together.

Stills from the Porch Archive ↗
One porch, one week

Five people. Twelve entries. Opened Sunday at seven.

Week 38 · Sep 14 – 20
Three men talking in a backyard pool while a fourth sits on the edge with his knees up.
Dad First swim of the year.
0:42
Mom Trying to explain the new water heater.
Friends in lawn chairs in a green back yard, one standing with a drink, the others turned toward each other.
Clara Everyone came over and nobody left.
A backyard party seen from an upstairs window: a small brass band under a striped umbrella, a wading pool, plastic chairs on brick.
Nan The band showed up, and then the neighbours did.

Poker night. Down forty bucks by ten. I maintain the deck was cold.

Mark Saturday, 11:40 pm.
A campfire just caught in a rusted fire ring, a grate swung to one side and a pile of kindling beside it.
Jo First fire of the season. Wet wood.
A man in glasses smiling on a bleacher under a white tent, a toddler in a striped shirt clutching a cup in front of him.
Dad State fair. We did not win the pig.
0:19
Clara So I put in my two weeks. Tell me I’m not an idiot.
A young woman holding a baby in a hanging rope chair on a front porch, potted plants behind her, a man in a cap beside them.
Nan Front porch, two o’clock, everyone asleep but us.
A black and white photograph of an older man at a table raising a glass, a plate of cake and an ashtray in front of him.
Mark Grandpa, refusing cake, accepting whisky.

Sold the car today. Twelve years. Sat in it a while before I handed over the keys.

Jo Tuesday, 4:12 pm.
Three girls and a man riding bicycles up a park road under tall firs, one girl with a white basket.
Clara Found this in the garage. Dad taught all three of us on that hill.

Photographs from the Porch Archive, with their photographers and licences ↗

Add to the pile all week.Add to the pile all week. Add to the pile all week.Add to the pile all week.
Once a week, the porch opens.Once a week, the porch opens. Once a week, the porch opens.Once a week, the porch opens.
An hour later, it closes.An hour later, it closes. An hour later, it closes.An hour later, it closes.
Every season, a bound volume.Every season, a bound volume. Every season, a bound volume.Every season, a bound volume.
The week

Photographs, notes and voice memos go into the pile as the week happens. Nobody sees them yet, so nothing has to be good.

The hour

Once a week, at an hour your porch agrees on, it opens for everyone at once. You go through the week in order, hear the voices, and talk. An hour later it closes.

The volume

Each week files in behind the last. Every season, the porch’s weeks are printed, bound in cloth and posted to your door.

Pull up a chair.

Porch is by invitation. Every porch is a handful of people who asked each other, and there are two ways onto one.

  1. Invited

    Someone on a porch saves you a seat. Open the link they sent and it takes you straight to them.

    Have an invite? Get the app
  2. The list

    Nobody has asked you yet. Put your name down and we will write when there is room for you to open a porch of your own.