The modern-style lantern on my porch is like an old-fashioned gentleman in a well-tailored suit — it abides by traditional etiquette, only with the “fabric” updated to a new-age crafting method.
I got this lantern for $30 from an online shop. Made of galvanized steel, it’s as square as a slice of toast, and the glass shade is so spotless you can catch the neighbor’s cat sneaking over in its reflection. It has no frills, no gimmicks of artificial aging; it simply tells you truthfully: I’m a container, meant to hold light.
The beauty of modern lanterns is that they know how to hold back. Old-fashioned lanterns are always eager to flaunt their iron scrollwork, while some trendy ones even try to add Bluetooth for music. But this lantern keeps a Midwestern sort of humility — it lights up when it should, goes out when it should, and never messes with extra tricks.
Every Friday when I go grocery shopping, I always grab a box of smokeless candles. The cashier Jenny recognizes me by now: “Still the usual? Dinner by the hurricane lantern?” She’s right — this lantern’s greatest feat is lighting up our Friday dinners. My wife will move the folding table onto the porch, I’ll light the lantern, and when the kids come out with their plates, they’ll always exclaim: “Wow, our private restaurant is open again.”
The lantern has also become a secret signal for neighbors. Whenever they see my porch light on, old Johnson will hobble over with his cane to chat about the weather, bringing apples from his tree; the Baker twins will run over to “borrow” homework sheets — I suspect they just love playing shadow puppets in the light.
Rainy nights are the best. Water droplets streak across the glass shade in messy lines, refracting the light into starry patterns. Then I’d rather turn off the main porch light and leave only this lantern on — watching the shadows dance on the wall is far more entertaining than TV.
These modern lanterns know their role. They don’t pretend to be antiques, nor do they try to become smart gadgets. They just stick to being a lamp, warming every night that needs light in the most direct way.
Now more and more houses in town have switched to this type of lantern. No one made a formal pact; it’s like how folks here all tacitly trim their lawns on Friday. Maybe this is how we express modernity: no loudness, just practicality; no complexity, just that perfectly fitting glow.
When night falls and I strike a match to light the wick, I always think: Maybe the most precious thing in this era is this calmness of not trying to prove anything.