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Before a “visit” became a trip, it meant sitting down with someone face-to-face and talking. There were no emails, texts, Zoom calls or Snapchat messages—just conversation shared in person.

The word worked as both a noun and a verb. Someone might recall having “a good visit” on Sunday afternoon or invite a neighbor to “sit and visit awhile.”

When warmer weather arrived, much of that social life unfolded on front porches. Without air conditioning, people escaped hot houses in search of an evening breeze or relief on a scorching afternoon. Our porch had a glider, while others featured swings or rocking chairs.

Neighbors passing on foot would see someone outside and stop to talk. My mother usually offered them a cold bottle of Pepsi or a glass of sweet tea.

A photograph from June 1949 shows my friend Susie and me sitting on our porch glider. I was four, and she was three. We appear more interested in books than conversation, with an entire stack waiting beside us. It now seems fitting: I became an English teacher, and Susie became a librarian.

Adults had plenty to discuss, even though politics and religion were considered impolite. In a town of 20,000 people, there was not much news. Conversations often turned to the weather, hopes for rain or the possibility that a storm might cool the day.

Television provided another topic. Neighbors might laugh again over an episode of I Love Lucy, including the famous scene in which Lucy struggled to keep up with chocolates moving through a factory.

There was gossip, too—often more than anyone cared to admit. A neighbor’s new Chevrolet could inspire speculation about its price, perhaps at least $3,000. Recipes passed quickly from one household to another, while gardeners compared tomatoes, traded advice and worried about tomato worms.

The best visits included a gifted storyteller. In our family, that was my brother-in-law Joe and, later, his son Mike. With a sly smile and a twinkle in their eyes, they told stories that were funny without being cruel.

The internet often gets blamed for the decline of casual visiting, but air conditioning may have started the retreat. Once families closed their windows and stayed comfortably sealed inside, the old-fashioned front-porch visit began disappearing with the summer breeze.