Putting it all on the Line

I think this past weekend may have been the last time I get to hang laundry outside.  There may be another mild, sunny day with a nice breeze this fall but the days just aren’t long enough anymore to get the clothes fully dry.  I supposed I can keep hanging out laundry until the snow flies but I'm not that hardcore.  My grandmother told me how much she hated hanging out clothes in the winter. Her fingers would get so cold.  Sometimes the corners of the sheets would freeze to the line and tear when she tried to take them down.  She did say it was kind of neat to see the frozen clothes standing up on their own next to the wood stove.  When they thawed they would be completely dry.  I still don’t really understand how that all worked but I’m a historian, not a scientist.

I really like the way clothes smell when they dry outside.  There’s a freshness to them that can never be captured by dryer sheet companies no matter how hard they try.  I also like the way the fabric feels after a day flipping about in the wind.  Sure, a drying can fluff up your towels just fine but it’s just not the same.  I’m not so fond of birds that decide to sit on the line, especially during berry season but I suppose a spot to rewash is a small price to pay.  One of the first things we added to the back yard when we bought our house was a clothes line.  I almost feel sad that I won’t be using it again regularly until spring.

I will finish up these insignificant ramblings with a little poem I learned from my grandmother.

I love you. I love you. I love you almighty.

I wish your pajamas were next to my nightie.

Now don’t get excited and don’t get all red.

I mean on the clothesline, not in the bed.