comments

1. Andrew Simone on May 25th, 2011 at 1:48 pm

   Am I the only person who has a hard time liking that thought?

2. Deron Bauman on May 25th, 2011 at 1:52 pm

   It’s complicated.

3. Rick Neece on May 25th, 2011 at 6:33 pm

   I remember helping Mom take stuff in off the line, when I was young. We had a clothesline in Rockford (where she washed clothes in a wringer washer. ) And Cherry Valley, the first place we had a dryer (but she didn’t use it unless it was absolutely necessary, due to weather and such).

4. Rick Neece on May 25th, 2011 at 6:44 pm

   Oh, and, it wadn’t about setting clothes on a line artistically. But there was a protocol she had for putting them on and taking them off.

   My favorite remembery of clothes on the line is sheets hung between two lines on the lines. One end of the sheet on one line, the other end on the next line. The parabolic “u” it shaped. Beautiful. Blowing gently in a breeze.

   No fucking fabric softener. They were crisp on the bed and smelled like fresh air.

5. Cindy Scroggins on May 25th, 2011 at 7:57 pm

   Rick, that’s exactly how my mama would hang sheets on the line. There is nothing better in the world than a bed made with fresh line-dried sheets.

   Our clothesline had two metal poles on each end, each a T. Yellow jackets built nests inside the poles and sometimes came in with the laundry. That was a problem. Also, the clothes pins were made of blond, untreated wood. That was another problem. Other than that, though, I think clotheslines are wonderful. I intend to have one in Marfa. But I’m going to use plastic pins in pretty colors.

6. Rick Neece on May 25th, 2011 at 8:30 pm

   Cindy? Remember the clothes-pins with no spring? Kind of like a head with legs? Raw wood, yes. I remember Mom taking clothes off the line and holding the pins, up to a point, in her mouth. ‘Til she dropped them into a hanging bag meant to hold the pins, until next time, at the end of the line.

   Cindy, I so think we are peas in a pod.

7. Rick Neece on May 25th, 2011 at 8:33 pm

   Minus the holding of raw-wood-pins in your mouth.

8. Sheila Ryan on May 25th, 2011 at 9:08 pm

   How did we used to dry clothes in the winter? Seriously. I can’t remember. Rick? You know how cold it gets in northern Illinois. What did your mama do from Thanksgiving to Easter?

   I know about drying racks, but they take up space.

9. Cindy Scroggins on May 25th, 2011 at 9:09 pm

   See, I never understood those springless clothes pins. I’ve seen them, but I don’t understand how they work. It’s always been a mystery.

   Yep–a couple of peas in a pea holder. Minus raw-wood pins.

   The bag for the pins hung right on the line, didn’t it? And sometimes the yellow jackets would get in there, too.

10. Cindy Scroggins on May 25th, 2011 at 9:11 pm

    They were mighty stiff in winter. Blue jeans, especially. I remember I used to think the sheets would crack. Of course, I was in dry El Paso, not cold, wet Illinois. That don’t seem right, winter-wise.

11. Sheila Ryan on May 25th, 2011 at 9:35 pm

    I’m baffled. How would I dry sheets in the winter? Especially in a little apartment. How did Alice Kramden or Trixie Norton dry sheets? Laundromat? When did laundromats come into being? What did city dwellers do before then?

    Please, someone, report by tomorrow morning.

12. Sheila Ryan on May 25th, 2011 at 9:37 pm

    I know about clothes wringers, too. My grandma had one. Still, they don’t dry clothes 100%. But it is mainly the sheets I am thinking about.

13. Daryl Scroggins on May 25th, 2011 at 9:38 pm

    Cindy–Yes! Bag of pins on the line and yellowjackets nesting in the metal pipe T at each end of the wire. When I was little I would hoist myself horizontally from one end of the line to the other, imagining a rushing river below. Once I got to the end, bumped the metal pipe, and got stung a dozen times about the neck and face by the wasps. Fell in the river that time, running for the house. My mother put ice in a dish towel and gave it to me, along with a popsicle.

14. Sheila Ryan on May 25th, 2011 at 9:42 pm

    Gave you a popsicle. After she took wooden pins out of her mouth.

15. Sheila Ryan on May 25th, 2011 at 9:43 pm

    The clothesline presents an opportunity for creative expression.

16. Rick Neece on May 26th, 2011 at 5:28 am

    I remember clothes hanging in the basement, I think Daddy’d rigged clotheslines near the ceiling.

17. Rick Neece on May 26th, 2011 at 5:29 am

    I vaguely remember running between clothes hanging like a maze.

18. Carole Corlew on May 26th, 2011 at 7:56 am

    In Alabama, the clothes went on the line no matter the weather. Most people didn’t have basements, too wet down there in those swampy places. It did get cold in the northern part of the state, so the clothes would just freeze on the line for a couple of months, then be brought in to thaw and be ironed dry. I guess that’s why Mother had A. in to iron. And babysit. And, a little lagniappe, give me fish. I asked A. how she did that, got fish from my pond. I knew there were no fish back there. She only smiled. The next week I went fishing with daddy and Uncle H., the first time they let me go. They put on the bait, handed over the pole. The fish kept coming and I kept screaming. They would bait, take off the fish. No one else caught a fish that day. And I couldn’t stop catching them. They couldn’t understand. I did. It was the lagniappe.

19. Carole Corlew on May 26th, 2011 at 8:06 am

    In the warm months, we made tents from quilts and sheets hung with clothes pins from the lines. Mother had three lines, one high one in the middle and two lower ones on either side, perfect for tents. We would take naps there. Sometimes we slept overnight or tried. We would start out 10 kids. I would wake up, eight kids. A couple of hours later, five kids. Then, 4 a.m., it might be just sister and me. I’d grab her hand and we were headed for the back door! Later, they would say, “There was something in the woods.”

20. Daryl Scroggins on May 26th, 2011 at 8:42 am

    For a while some company sold a clothes line that looked like a giant umbrella without the fabric cover. Central pole, and as I recall the whole thing would spin so you could stand in one place and hang everything up. My mother would see those and just say one word: Lazy. I liked them, mostly because once, in a big blow before a thunderstorm, I saw one spinning wildly, shedding clothes, like a demonic merry-go-round.

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