Wash day at the Bungalow

Today’s wash day and I am feeling very jolly about it. Any joy that I find in doing the wash is totally mine. I have no inspirations to draw from my foremothers. Gran sent her washing out. That, and, having her groceries bread and milk delivered, were the luxuries that she enjoyed. Running the farm kitchen was enough work for her although she loved it. She had no time for doing laundry.

Mum had a love/hate relationship with doing laundry. In the summer, she would rhapsodize over at the sweet smell of laundry dried on the line, but that was about the extent of her wash day ecstasy.

Now I am absolutely over the moon about it. There is magic in doing laundry. I like the casual attention that you pay to sorting, and checking for spots or missing buttons. I love the magic of soap and water. Best of all I love the laundry line.

My laundry line starts on the back porch and extends to a beech tree across the yard. It’s very high up, because it originates on the second floor and the land drops away down the hill. You can’t actually see much of my laundry because it’s behind the bungalow, but sometimes one or two pieces at the far end of the line are visible from the road if you look carefully. Although they are tiny specks, high up and distant I still choose what I’m going to display there with extreme care. It’s part of the fun. 

My usual choice is a couple of brightly colored hand-woven tea towels. Sometimes it’s a colorful outfit complete with matching socks or tights. I like making an artful composition of the laundry on the line. Outfits go out together, arranged in colors of the rainbow. Socks are always in pairs, walking toward the distant tree. You’ll have to guess at my taste in dainties, because they are hung closest to the porch and few ever see them.

I don’t think I could live in a neighborhood that had a covenant that forbade hanging laundry outside. I think that’s an invasion on the private lives of the residents and I don’t think there’s anything disreputable about hanging laundry out to dry. I have unfriended very few people on social media, but there was one person who is insistent that hanging laundry outside was an unspeakable offense, and I just had to realize I had nothing in common with this person or her outlook on life.

Several states have passed Right to Dry legislation, targeting communities that don’t appreciate the environment or the comforting aspects of clothing dried in the fresh air and sun.

My blog is late this week because I worried that the topic was too frivolous in a country torn apart by social justice issues. But, when you shine a harsh light upon white privilege, you realize that laws against hanging laundry outside are but further ways to marginalize people who are struggling financially under the burden of being on the wrong side of privilege. I think we need to let go of the snobbery, celebrate the earth and the diversity of all of her peoples. We need to hang our laundry out, as our ancestors did. Celebrate cleanliness. Look for hidden art in laundry lines. Have some love for your neighbors.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, it looks like rain and I had better take my laundry in.