Published on October 15th, 2025.

On decks and why they aren't outside

To me, a deck seems a lesser practicing of that sanitizing impulse so common here and now. Now, in a hospital, that seems reasonable, but in the home, it feels mostly out of place. Why should I sweep spiders from their homes in the corners? Do I use the corners so much? Is my looking at the ceiling somehow incompatible with their existence? They don’t bite us that much, so surely it must be something to do with looking or using, and I like the look of them.

More baffling to me is the sweeping away and killing of webs outside the house, where they have lived and adapted with the rest of them. That is sanitation gone from seeming-cute to unapologetically conquering—the thrusting of a hand into something it neither knows or could ever hope to own. Can a spider who rarely bites bite you from the other side of a wall?

The deck fits into the boundary between inside and out. Inside is clean, smooth, chemical. Outside is wild, filthy, unkempt. Each has their place, though outside shouldn’t deign to exist anywhere, be it corner or ceiling, within the boundary. Inside, though, is fine to cross the boundary; it is, in fact, encouraged. Inside cleans, it kills, it sterilizes so that we can breathe without worry of dirt or danger. Buy a house with a big lawn so we can mow it every weekend instead of spending time with it. The American Dream.

Need there be a boundary? Those are so limiting, constricting, and the inside wants to conquer, for it was made by us.

The deck is where only the nice and good of the outside is allowed. The wind. The sound of trees. Maybe some sun, but let’s put a roof overhead to be safe. Screen doors and windows are necessary. We want to be able to use the deck, after all. We want wind, but not leaves or rain, and certainly not crawling or buzzing or webbing things. Smash those whenever you see them.

The deck is a place of comfort. I admit to often being cradled in its soft arms, to reading or writing in nature while avoiding the mosquitoes. I admit to being lulled by the inside wearing outside’s clothes.

I miss the outside’s cold, prickling, true stare. I want to do more than stroll through the forest on paved trails. I want to get away from the inside for once in my life.