I know there are folks whose delicate sensibilities are offended by the sight of my laundry (gasp) hanging in the sun, and to those of you I apologize most sincerely. You might live in one of those neighborhoods where "association" restrictions forbid such aesthetic abominations. The kind of association that mandates the maximum height allowance for your Kentucky Bluegrass, and how many offspring you may bear. I do not live in one of those neighborhoods.
My laundry area is in my basement, accessible only through a bulkhead. When I emerge from that dark space with a basket of just-bleached linens braced against one hip, the sun feels brighter and the air is suddenly more fragrant - sweet and spicy with lily of the valley, scrub pine, blueberry bushes and perhaps if the breeze is just right, a hint of saltiness from the ocean which is just down the road a bit as the crow flies.
I hang each item, wooden clip to corner, in neat rows until all are in place, and I offer my efforts to the sun. Drying laundry in this way requires a certain degree of precision and attention that is not normally granted such a mundane task. Perhaps it is the ritual itself, which has otherwise been lost to the now mechanical process of laundering, that appeals to me as well. I can envision my counterpart 50 years ago, 80 years ago, 100 years ago - worlds apart culturally I suppose, but with this simple task in common. We both reach down to a basket and back to the sky - clipping, stretching, clipping. In silence, focused.
My reward for the extra minutes spent on this task is a cotton shirt, a pillowcase, a sweater infused with the scent of lily, pine, sea and sun. There is no sensory experience that can compare.
I will walk past my bed countless times today, sun-dried sheets tucked in, folded down and exhaling that remarkable scent. I will anticipate the end of the day when I can finally enfold myself in it, lay my face on the cool pillowcase and sleep surrounded by that simple sweetness.
I remember hanging laundry with my grandmother. I can smell the flowers and feel the sunshine. Thank you for taking me back to that place.
ReplyDeleteThanks Kathryn. That's such a nice memory to have triggered - I'm glad the post helped you go there. : )
ReplyDeleteKelly, you lucky, lucky girl!! We are experiencing the worst of spring weathers in SUMMER here in the Pacific NW. I yearn for crisp sheets that smell like grass. Soon, very soon...
ReplyDeleteOh dear, I'm sorry to hear that Carmen! We had a very wet and cold start to summer last year, so you have my sympathies. Here's hoping for better weather soon!
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