Our humble brick ranch, in Pennsylvania, used to be part of Jackson’s farm before houses were built here in the 1960’s. It was constructed by my husband Danny’s Great Uncle Huck and his wife Dot and was lived in by the couple along with two of his siblings, Danny’s Great Uncle John and his grandmother – known simply as Granny. When we purchased the property almost 2 years ago, it was heartwarming to find remnants of the past and their depression-era ways. How they took care of things and kept them in clean and working order left their handprint of a simpler time when everything was used, repaired and saved.
Strategically placed, there is always a pleasant breeze rising up the hill from the valley below us – wonderful for shirts, sheets, jeans or aprons hanging on the line – Granny’s forgotten clothes line – of which I am compelled to make smart use now. I find that the methodical motions of hanging my wash in the sun never fail to bring a simple peace to my soul. The heat of the rays warm my arms and back while acting as a natural stain-lifter on my family’s clothes – fading spots into non-existence and smoothing fabric into an ironed-like state. The heat of the day makes light work of drying, and much more can be accomplished during the wait. Sometimes a few moments of peace can be spent on the back porch, sipping an iced drink while watching bees buzz around the yard stopping here or there in hopes of finding a bit of pollen. But as we all know, that is a rare luxury these days. Most often it’s back inside with a heaping basket of veggies from the garden to plot out a plan for using up that bumper crop of collards and zucchini before Monday rolls back around. Then the piles of laundry sneak their way back into the baskets for another spin and if I am lucky, I just might catch another stolen moment of serenity again… at my clothesline.