Though I spend much of my time with my head in the weeds and hands in the soil, there are many other passive outdoor pleasures that have been forgotten. The last two days have been bright with a warm wind coming from the West. This weather called me to hang out our laundry, which we often start to do later in the season. This was not the first time this year we placed washings outside. But today seemed different with the emergence of fattening buds on the trees and bushes. Spring (and our tablecloths) is in the air.
As I took the laundry outside, the winds were whipping about making it more difficult to attach them to the clothesline. A wet tablecloth slapped me as I stretched its middle along the line. The damp smell of the detergent was a reminder of my task as I wheeled the table toppings toward the fence and crabapple tree. Each piece attempted to fly away as I fastened it to rope. Roosting birds on nearby trees chirped in laughter.
The heat on my back contrasted with the coolness being blown toward me from the cloths. I needed only three clothesline spreaders so the laundry wouldn’t drop and touch the grass and emerging violets. Looking at the line, I wondered how many of my neighbors put their clothes out to dry. When I was a child, someone was always in trouble at my house or others when an errant kickball or whiffle ball caused a run into a set of drying garments. The clothesline was always out of bounds.
An elderly neighbor once told my wife that he loved the fact that she hung our laundry out. Particularly the sheets. “It reminds me of my mother when she used to put the laundry out to dry,” he said. I have the same memory.
