From Rocky Mount NC: A Love Letter to the American Bungalow

This morning, I looked at this gorgeous photograph of a green craftsman bungalow, its symmetry softened by shrubs, its porch pots blooming., I purred like a kitten. The reaction was instant and familiar.

I have a grand passion for bungalows, one that never fades no matter how often I’ve written about them or pass one in a neighborhood. Something about their scale, their warmth, the design and craftsmanship demands my respect.

That sense of nostalgia and belonging runs through my book collection. On my bookshelf sits a paperback copy of Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury. I haven’t opened it in years, but it remains one of my favorite books, quietly informing my worldview. It holds a reverence for summer mornings, for front porches and slow awakenings. Bradbury once wrote:

What better way to describe the kind of light that falls across the lap of a bungalow porch? These homes, like the book, carry a certain golden-hour glow, timeless, gentle, full of feeling.

Bungalows first found their footing in American neighborhoods in the early 20th century, promoted as modest, artful alternatives to ornate Victorian homes. Pattern books sold in Sears catalogs allowed middle-class families to dream and build affordably.

These homes weren’t just structures, they were philosophies. Embracing craftsmanship, simplicity, and domestic comfort, the bungalow reflected a longing for rootedness during an era of change.

In literature and in life, the bungalow often appears as more than a building. It’s a setting where childhood happens, where old age settles in quietly, and where families make their mark in worn floorboards and creaking screen doors.

I sometimes imagine a story about the woman who once lived in the home pictured here. She planted this beautiful front garden, she learned to knit on that porch swing, The architecture carries her fingerprints even if we never know her name.

In Rocky Mount, we are lucky. Our historic neighborhoods still hold bungalows that can be saved, revived, and loved again. Each one is a story waiting to be retold through fresh paint, mended porch railings, and new hands touching doorknobs worn smooth by time.

I still write about bungalows because they continue to be something for everyone.They represent a promise of beauty in utility, and of a life lived close to neighbors who grow older with us.

We don’t always recognize the books that shape us while we’re reading them. Sometimes, years later, we see their shadow cast across our work, our preferences, our longings.

I believe the same is true of homes. The bungalow lives quietly in the background of my imagination, steady, kind, and always welcoming. A golden tissue paper morning in architectural form.

PS: I hope you will take the time to ‘see’ what the bungalow I have featured entails. Don’t miss the windows. If you live in a bungalow, leave a comment on the joy of that home. Thanks. .