If our friends ring the doorbell, and we don't answer, it's a good bet we are on the back porch.

There, surrounded by tall, longleaf "flattops," the backyard is a special, sheltered place. It has the feeling of an aviary on a spacious country estate. This is our other world that we gleefully anticipate now that spring is almost here.

Chuck and I bought the house for the porch. I remember that just before we called the Realtor to make an offer, we invited good friends to come see the house and to sit on this wonderful porch. Words seemed unnecessary as the four of us silently scanned the view on that balmy afternoon. Knowingly, we broke into smiling eyes. "It's perfect" we all said in agreement.

The porch is our gateway to a natural habitat for colorful birds, dancing butterflies, and rustling critters chasing each other (we swear) for our personal entertainment. This little outdoor "room" sits high above the pine straw at a perfect angle to welcome seasonal breezes and has a perfect vantage point to watch forest friends searching for bread crumbs.

Spring is here and now that we have been in the Sandhills for several years, we know the drill. The porch is stark and dormant in the cold months but is lovingly resurrected as the weather warms and daylight returns to outdoor fun -- though it seems to be just in time for the annual pine pollen deluge.

Old-timers tell us to wait until after tax day to ensure that the threat of cold damage has passed. We ready our plants and flowers for their home on the porch.

This is where my soul lives. It is my favorite place to hang out and to cherish the earth. I don't even mind the soft '40s music from my neighbor's radio in the distance behind the Leyland cypress trees.

The porch is home to odd pieces of furniture given to us by friends. A baby fridge hides in the corner supplying a treasury of drinks for hot days. There is no better place to kick off your shoes to rest and survey the status of an outdoor project. It is a welcome respite before I shed my garden grungies and go off to the shower.

Here the rich sunlight makes it perfect for reading or doing puzzles. Sometimes it is just me and the pine cones. Other times Mother Earth's murmurs keep me company.

Offended that we are encroaching, the hummingbirds sip from a red bottle; they dive-bomb playfully. The songbirds blissfully sing from high in the trees, each with their distinct call -- we whistle back, mimicking their sounds to see how they will volley back and forth.

Lisa, my ornithologist friend, taught me to swish my lips in a "pussshhhh" sound like a Carolina wren. All the birds seem to answer back. Soon a crow lands on the railing and cocks his head to one side, to give me the "eye."

The porch is my place to write, when my mind is clear and I am relaxed but observant -- in the perfect state called the present. How difficult it has become to be so simple -- to be totally in the here and now. Here, my "porch self" takes over and my senses open to enjoy the good smell of newly-cut grass, buzzing bees stopping on their way from the holly bushes, or the strong aroma of wafting rosemary.

Late in the day, when the sun is with us past suppertime, the porch beckons us for dessert. Then, as conversation wanes, and night descends, the special treat of a full moon shines so bright you can see across the yard.

Now it is too dark and too cool to remain on the porch, so we move inside and say goodbye for another day. Nature's vespers are over.

As long as we have our little porch we have a strong connection to the earth. Our petty daily concerns are minimized as we watch the world move through its cycles that dwarf and humble us to our human role as just another of God's magnificent creatures.

For now, we are content to be willing observers of the simple things that life offers to us, on the back porch, where we can always stop to smell the rosemary.

Contact Pinehurst writer Darlind Davis at darlinddavis@nc.rr.com.