PorchFest and the Work of Resilience

On one corner, kids had drawn a hopscotch board in bright chalk. Instead of stepping around, everyone, kids, parents, strangers balancing coffee or beer, hopped through. I did too, laughing with the kids as I tried not to spill my coffee. For that moment, the sidewalk wasn’t broken or scarred. It was playful, communal, alive.

Too often, St. Louis gets talked about only in terms of crime. Those headlines and statistics shape how people imagine the city, and they can even seep into how those of us who live here see our own neighborhoods. I have absorbed some of that myself, moving quickly through my block with a sense of unease. PorchFest shifted that for me. Spending a day outside, hearing music from porches and recognizing the people who live inside those houses, gave me a new sense of ease.

Safety is not only about the absence of danger but about the presence of familiarity. When you know the names and faces of the people around you, the streets feel different. They feel lived in rather than anonymous. PorchFest gave me those points of connection. I learned which houses belong to the singers, which ones welcomed bands, and which neighbors stepped outside to listen. These details root me here in a way that makes me less guarded.

A few months ago, a tornado tore through St. Louis and left its mark on my neighborhood, Skinker-DeBaliviere. Trees that once arched like green tunnels over the sidewalks now lie splintered across lawns. Some homes are patched with tarps, waiting for repairs. Sidewalks are broken where heavy trunks fell. Walking these blocks since the storm has meant being constantly exposed to the sight of damage everywhere, reminders of how quickly a familiar place can be undone.

A few months later, those same streets filled with something different: music, voices, and the hum of neighbors coming together for PorchFest.

PorchFest is a neighborhood music festival where residents offer up their front porches as stages, and musicians perform for anyone who passes by. People wander from block to block, lawn chairs in hand, listening to everything from jazz and folk to student a cappella groups and cover bands. The streets become walkways of sound, each porch a gathering place. This festival is an annual tradition in Skinker-DeBaliviere, one that brings people out of their homes and into shared space. 

I didn’t even know PorchFest was happening this year until I stepped outside one morning with a cup of coffee and heard music drifting down the block. Curious, I followed the sound and suddenly found myself in the middle of it all. I found my neighbors gathered on lawns, chairs pulled close together, and groups of kids riding their bikes between the houses. The festival had transformed familiar streets, which still bore scars from the tornado a few months ago, into a space of joy, resilience, and connection. As I kept walking, the music blended together in the background. It carried over broken sidewalks and past the trees that still haven’t been cleared. The damage was still there, but so was the sound of people choosing to gather anyway.

Now, when I walk home, I look up. I notice the same houses, but with different associations. They are no longer just buildings on my block; they are places tied to sound, memories, and people. Knowing more of my neighbors has made the streets feel less like a route to hurry through and more like a place where I belong. And belonging, I think, is one of the strongest foundations for resilience we can build.

This is my community, and my community is safe, powerful, resilient, and full of joy.

I know climate change makes storms like this tornado more likely, and that reality can feel heavy. But PorchFest reminded me that resilience is not only about rebuilding structures. It is also about joy, about insisting joy belongs here. It leaves me wondering what it would look like if we each sought out our own versions of PorchFest. Times when a neighborhood, even one carrying scars, chooses to gather anyway. To play hopscotch, to sing, to rebuild not just houses but trust.

​​The storms will keep coming, but so will the music, and it is that balance that helps me imagine a way forward.