Black Oak's Daughter

Roomie and I were talking today about how laundry was different when we were younger.  He’s a country boy and a little older than I am, so he remembers pumping water from the well and heating it on the stove.  We had indoor plumbing in Chicago so I never got to experience that one.

Things that I do remember:

• playing with the ringer part of the ringer washer  (mom made sure i knew how to release it if I ever smooshed a finger) She’d let me feed things in, and she’d stand on the other side and catch them

• hanging out laundry to dry on the clothesline

• watching the lines, supported by poles, sway in the breeze while I floated in the pool

• playing hide and seek between the sheets (the young and innocent way)

• the way the sheets and pillowcases smelled on the bed that night

• winding the line back up on the winder thing

• jousting with the clothesline poles on the way to putting them away

• ironing my dad’s handkerchiefs into perfect squares

Even after we got a regular washer and dryer, mom still hung the laundry out on the line to dry.  It was more work, but she was frugal and didn’t see any reason to run the dryer when it wasn’t raining or too cold out.  We also had a rather large laundry room in our basement, so she had strung lines across the room and used them to dry bigger things like throw rugs and also all the towels and bathing suits that we used daily at our pool.

Those memories are part of what was, at times, a wonderful childhood.   A small snapshot of what growing up in a much less complicated era meant.  They still make me smile.

I need to do laundry tomorrow.  It’s more of a chore now. I don’t have a clothesline. Things smell like fabric softener, and just don’t feel the same as nice fresh crisp clothes that have dried by way of sunshine and soft breezes. I can still remember how my pillowcases smelled.  It’s amazing how the little things like that stay with us huh?

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