If Walls Could Talk, Part Five: Wash Day

If white-washed block cellar walls could talk, they could tell of little mountains of laundry separated by color that dotted the concrete basement floor every Monday.  Some mountains were white, some were dark, and some were pretty with flowers and prints.  In the center of the little mountains stood an electric (cord and plug) white wringer washing machine and a rinse tub set on supports.  The washer was filled with clean, hot water and soap added.  My grandmother used homemade lye soap, but I think Mom used Tide.  The rinse tub was filled with warm water and fabric softener added.

The piles of white sheets and pillowcases were washed first.  When one pile of whites was done washing, I swung the wringer into place and pushed the lever to activate the rollers.  Next, I lifted a sheet by a corner and fed it through the rollers that squeezed the water out of it back into the washing machine.  I could stop the wringer too while I adjusted the sheet to feed it smoothly through the rollers.  The sheet fed into the rinse tub, from which I would run it through the wringer again and into a waiting laundry basket.  It was a long and laborious task.

When the first load of sheets was done, a second load was put into the washer, while I carried the first load to the long wash line in back of the house.  There, I carefully folded the sheets in half by matching the bottom and top edges and pinned them to the line with wooden clothes pins.  By the time I got back to the cellar, load two was done washing.  It was an all-day process to get all the mountains off the cellar floor.  We didn't have a dryer, so laundry was hung to freeze-dry outside in the cold weather too.  Chapped hands and rosy cheeks were common. :o)

If those cellar walls could talk, they could tell you of the pants stretchers we inserted into the menfolks' work pants before hanging on the line.  What wonderful inventions those were!  It saved lots of ironing, and the guys liked the nice sharp crease in their clean cotton work pants.  The men's pants and socks were always the last thing washed, because they made the wash water the dirtiest.  Yes, one washing machine full of water, adding extra soap now and then, washed all the clothes for our family.  When the laundry was done, I'd unhook the drain hose from the washer and the water would run across the floor and down a drain in the corner of the cellar.

As soon as the sheets were dry, I'd take them off the line and fold them carefully, breathing in the fresh scent of clean linens dried in the fresh air and sunshine.  The space made room for the rest of the laundry to be hung up to dry, including rows of individually hung underwear for a family of seven, bath towels, wash cloths, hand towels and tea towels.

Since clothes were cotton back then, Tuesdays were spent ironing.  Mom taught me to iron Sunday shirts when I was eleven years old.  We dampened the clothes before ironing so all the wrinkles would iron out and sprayed starch on the collars and cuffs. 

Is anyone besides me thankful for the automatic washers and dryers we enjoy today?  I frequently thank God for my washer and dryer -- even though my washer, only 8 years old, has been rusty around the top for a couple of years.  They just don't make 'em like they used to!

Sometimes I miss the satisfaction of seeing sheets and towels flapping in the breeze and the smell of clean laundry dried outdoors.  But I'll never miss those Japanese beetles that also found our fresh laundry attractive! : o)

Copyright © 2012 Elaine Beachy