Letting It All Hang Out

I have a thing for line dried linens, well almost a passion, you might say. My reel clothesline is attached to a post on the northeast corner of my second floor deck and extends outwards about 30 feet to another post that is about 18 feet tall. Because I live in the country, there are no buildings to block the wind so the clothes can get whipped around pretty good on a windy day. That’s what happened today. Even though I double and triple pinned each piece of clothing, the 60 km winds were just too strong and within minutes, one of my towels had ripped off the line and blown against our wire fence about 50 feet away. Luckily, everything was dry and the towel was rescued by my farmer with no ill effects. But that doesn’t always happen. I’ve had tragedies.

First, the birds. We have a lot of trees on our property, hence a lot of birds. We actually encourage them to come around by feeding them. I don’t know why they choose to drop their messy bombs just as they’re doing a flyover on my clothes. Maybe they have competitions. Who knows, it might be boring being a bird. Perching. I mean, what’s so great about that? But pooping, now that’s gotta be more fun. Maybe they get extra points for a direct hit. I don’t want to get too graphic here, however, I will confess that if the poop is not too big and quite dry, I have been known to flick it off with my finger. There, I said it and no one’s the wiser. If it’s a good day for me, one item requires rewashing – if it’s a good day for the birds, well, I like washing clothes anyways.

I’ve had the experience of pinning a full line of heavy, wet blankets on my clothesline - just to turn around to hear the gut wrenching sound as the line snaps, leaving the blankets lying on the wet, muddy ground below. A heavy, messy, cleanup and lesson learned. The line has a weight tolerance. I only did that once.

Then there was the time when our good dog Maggie followed a groundhog down it’s hole that was situated at the base of my clothesline pole. The groundhog popped it’s head out, unaware that Maggie was on alert, and quick as a bunny, well actually a groundhog, he turned tail and skittered back in his home, followed by the fastest pair of front diggers you’ve ever seen. Maggie dug and dug, throwing the dirt between her front paws while kicking it behind her with her back feet. She never let up. The hole got bigger, and the pole started to tilt to the west. By the time we were able to pull Maggie away, she had managed to uproot the pole to the point that it was leaning precariously, held upright only by the clothesline wire. The groundhog remained safe below ground….that day.

Clothesline stories - I’ve got a million of them.

Over the years, we’ve had numerous farm animals as pets.

Some success stories and some not so great.  Before my current clothesline was installed, I had tied a blue plastic coated line between two large pine trees. It was only temporary and it worked fine, until our pet calf - who wandered around the yard at will - decided to suck on the corner of my mother-in-law’s heirloom linen tablecloth, loaned to me for a family celebration. By the time I noticed, the calf had chewed her way through one entire corner. The calf-slobbered fabric was bright green, with bits of embedded grass and small holes where the grinding teeth had met.  All I can say is I had a very understanding mother-in-law. She returned the mended, impeccably pressed tablecloth to me with these kind words, “I think you should keep this now.”

Then, there are those perfect clothesline days that completely make up for the inconveniences; those clear-blue summer sky days, when the wind blows so perfectly that the clothes dry in minutes. I usually leave them to hang all day, then unpin them just before dark when they fold easily and settle softly into my basket. If I'm in the mood, the iron slides smoothly across the slightly damp fabric, a most enjoyable and thoroughly satisfying task.

Many years ago, in my mother’s era, a housewife was measured by how white her clothes were, and in the manner they were hung. Monday was always wash day, and the earlier the clothes were hung, the higher regard was given to the lady of the house. “She’s a worker, that one. Up with the birds.” White clothes were always washed first, and the same water was used to wash coloured, followed by heavier work clothes or blankets. Doing laundry was an all day job, sometimes two. I remember mom lifting huge, square washpans onto our woodstove. If dad was around, he would help, but often it was mom doing all the heavy lifting. Washing clothes for five kids and a husband without running water or electricity must have been incredibly difficult. Later in life, her greatest joy was turning on a tap to see a steady stream of hot water pour out – there was no discussing water conservation with mom.

There are as many different kinds of clotheslines as there are clothes. When I lived in Kitchener, I was the proud possessor of two reel lines and with three kids, it was easy to fill them from end to end. Years ago when we lived in Guelph, I would carry my clothes upstairs from the basement to an outdoor clothesline, that was fixed to two cross poles, five lines in all. It was a lot of lifting and carrying, but I didn't mind – I was young then. My dad used to make clotheslines from old, rusty scrap metal.  He would scrape and weld and paint until they looked as good as new.  He installed them all over the countryside; I'm sure there are still some standing today.  My daughter-in-law uses a T-line or umbrella type that folds down into a solid pole when she's not using it. It works great for their small backyard.

My big city living daughter arrives at our doorstep with a large bucket of laundry so she can hang her clothes outdoors when she visits. We've had many enjoyable deck visits while her clothes are drying in the sun, munching on cold grapes and warm, runny Brie. The grape doesn't fall far from the vine.   

Along with the obvious benefits of hanging out clothes such as conserving energy, enjoying the outdoors, and having fresh smelling clothes, there are social aspects to consider as well. If you happen to live where there are other houses nearby, the back or side yard clothesline area could be a place to meet up with your neighbor. An over the fence kind of visit where backyard gossip is exchanged.

I love to hear the snap snap of my linens as they catch the wind just right on a bright, windswept day; to see how the sun brings out the whitest of whites and sanitizes too, and I bring the clothes up to my face to inhale that perfect freshness that no fabric softener on earth can duplicate. One of life's simple pleasures, a feast for the senses.