The Rochester I Know
From The Rochester I Know, by Henry W. Clune (1972)
Today, the front porch is an architectural anachronism, and most modern dwellings lack these pleasant sheltered appendages. They have no purpose in the suburban home with its patio, its swimming pool, its air-conditioning unit; the urbanite would have no patience sitting on a front porch inhaling the noxious fumes of carbon monoxide with only the pricking glints of fireflies to divert him.
And city dwellers no longer have backyards where one might, if one wished, raise chickens, play croquet, sift ashes, paint a screen door, grow an eggplant, breed dogs, experiment in floriculture, dry curtains, or plant a quince tree: the space once available for these pursuits is now consumed by an asphalt drive and a two-car garage.