1teacherwriting: The Clothesline

Recently, a friend had asked where she might buy some sturdy clothespins . Not those flimsy plastic type sold now or even the pathetic excuse for wooden ones that must be made from balsa wood and don’t open more than a ¼ inch but, those large hardwood clothespins that your mother used to use. I know the type well, since my mother hung clothes out on the line almost every day through the Spring, Fall and Summer and sometimes even in the Winter! I still have some of those coveted clothespins. They are made to last a lifetime. If one side of the pin comes out, you can even put it back in because the wood doesn’t split or get soft or rotten over time. My clothespins are weathered from years of use but that has not affected their ability to hold a heavy blanket or towel securely to the line or to gently clip lighter weight items that whip about on a windy day.

My mother’s clothesline was an aluminum pole set into the ground that had umbrella like arms strung with cotton roping. Over time the roping would break from the weather and use. Then, my father would restring that one rope with a new one; eventually replacing all with a vinyl coated roping that needed to be cleaned with a bleach solution periodically to remove the mildew and dirt. Although the vinyl roping didn’t break and rot like the cotton, it continued to stretch with the weight of heavy clothes and always needed adjusting so the towels didn’t touch the ground.

I can still see my mother lugging the laundry basket filled with heavy wet clothes up the cellar stairs to the backyard. When I was little, I handed her the pins while she hung each piece, and sometimes I would hand her the socks, one by one as she arranged each in their own spot on the line. I never remember her complaining about the job. When I was older and able to reach the line, I would hang the clothes, too. I never thought of our hanging clothes an eyesore to the landscape or the neighbors. Everybody hung out their clothes. We didn’t have dryers. In winter, clothes were hung on lines strung in our basement and sometimes, to dry them more quickly, the heavier clothes, like those stiff Wrangler jeans, we laid directly on the furnace. I can still hear my mother yelling for everyone to grab the clothes off the line when that quick summer rainstorm would threaten to drench each dry piece. “It’s starting to rain, quick grab the clothes!” she would shout, and my sisters and I would dash to the clothesline and throw pins and clothes into the basket all together in an effort to keep those clothes dry. How quickly the laundry dried was dependent on the weather each day. Hot and humid days it would take forever for just one load to dry, but those dry, sunny days when a slight breeze blew, the clothes were dry in an hour and the next load could be hung out. My favorite day was when the wind blew strong and the sheets and towels whipped around the line as though they would sail away. I called these “Superman days” . My sisters and I would pin a dry towel to our shoulders and race around the yard, pretending that we were Superman. Skillfully, my mother would be removing a clothespin, at the same time, firmly grasping a sheet so it didn’t blow away. Folding it quickly, took coordination that only comes from practice and experience.

All my memories of the clothesline are blended together with no one incident standing out more than another, except for one. It was Winter. My mother would often hang clothes out if it was a sunny day, even when the temperatures were well below freezing and the snow covered the ground. She had carefully washed my father’s good suit pants and hung them creased from the cuffs with two clothespins. It was late in the day when she finally remembered to bring them in. As she removed them from the line, I remember watching, in shock, as the frozen pants, hanging stiff as a board, cracked right in half. It was a big deal then, since my father only had two suits and he wore them to work, alternating every day. The image of those pants in two pieces is still vivid in my mind. We did have a good laugh about it years later, but at the time it was not so funny.

I still love to hang out laundry. There is nothing better than the smell of freshly dried clothes on a windy day. The scent of spring, summer or fall penetrates every thread. No dryer sheet can duplicate this. For most of us, convenience and “not enough time” have replaced the clothesline.

I would not trade my clothesline memories for all the dryers in the world. Of course I use a dryer, but if you ask me about my dryer stories, other than the missing socks, there are not many memorable moments. But the clothesline, oh yes, those are special times I will not forget.