One of my fondest memories growing up was when my mom brought in a load of laundry from the clothesline in the coldest part of winter. You see, I was raised on the Gaspe Peninsula in Eastern Quebec, on the Chaleur Bay, and there were times when it was consistently below zero. Can you imagine what the clothes looked like when she brought them into the house? Well, let me tell you. Our jeans could literally stand by themselves. No kidding. I remember my sister and I holding them up and walking around the house with them until they started to thaw and then my mom would hang them in the house to dry. I never quite understood the reason for them being hung on the line in the first place, and it is only recently that I have thought about it, and now it is too late to ask, since she passed over 14 years ago, and June 1 would have been her 74th birthday.
Oh, the good ole days! I can still see mom coming into the house after hanging the clothes on the line, holding her fingers and at times crying out in pain because they were hurting her so badly because they had been exposed to the cold for so long. She washed our clothes with a wringer washer, yes, one of those old ringer washers that the top would snap and we would run. I am laughing as I write this because you would have to be there to know what I am talking about. Then again, those of you who remember those "good ole" Maytag wringer washers know exactly what I am talking about. I would get up on a stool and stand at the side of the washing machine and watch the clothes go round and round -- of course, with mom warning me to not put my hands inside or get too close. Then she would take the clothes out of the tub, one piece at a time and feed them through the wringer. At times a pair of jeans would get stuck and the top of the wringer would snap and she would have to start all over again. What an ordeal when I think of it now. As I got a little older, like maybe four or five years of age, I would stand where the clothes came out and catch them and drop them in the turquoise-colored rectangular laundry basket that served many more purposes than a laundry basket. We used it as a go-kart and pushed one another up and down the hall, as a holder for the new puppy, as a carrier for squash and turnips from the garden and as one of the pieces of the many forts we built with pillows and blankets and chairs and whatever we could gather in the house.
Then Mom would carry the basket of clothes to hang on the clothes line that was really a bit too high up in the air for her, but she never complained; rather, she stretched up on her tippy toes to reach high in the air to bring it down and put the clothes out one piece at a time. And, for those who hang clothes on the line, we know there is a certain way to do it "right." That is, you start with the longest and the darkest piece of laundry and they go out first and then one at a time you put out the lighter colors and the shorter pieces of laundry.
I am so grateful to live in Northern California with an amazing backyard with green space and room for a clothes line and no restriction to put one up. Can you imagine that? There are places in this country that do not allow for a homeowner to have a clothesline. Impossible. I will not be living there. One of the first questions I ask when renting a house is, "Can I have a clothes line?" Do you know what it feels like to crawl into a freshly-made bed with sheets that have just been taken off the clothesline? I love it, one of my most comforting moments of the day. Actually, both of my children love it as well.
So, Mom, this load of laundry on my line today is for you. I can only imagine the look on your face and thinking to yourself: "she learned to do this 'right.'" Thank you for teaching me how to hang out a load of laundry and appreciate nature at the same time. You are truly missed.
With love and grace,
Trina
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