Hanging the Washing
I have such lovely memories of hanging the washing on the line with my nana or mother back in the UK. The smell of fresh crisp air with a slight breeze is etched in my mind, along with the specialness of sharing such an intimate moment of domesticity . Inevitably there would be the gentle rain shower and we would all scream “rain” and rush outside and frantically get the washing off the line. Even that was special as we all laughed trying to rush and get the wooden pegs off as quickly as possible. Back in the kitchen puffing and panting someone would put the kettle on and we’d sit and watch the rain drinking our tea. As soon as the rain stopped the ritual of hanging the washing out would start over, again.
In Texas we had a washing line but between the heat making our clothes as stiff as cardboard we had a resident squirrel who did not approve of the washing line and chewed it down repeatedly from HIS tree.
In Ohio I was able to use my washing line but if it rained it RAINED buckets so usually the washing was grabbed off the line and hoyed into the dryer and then I’d have a cuppa.
Ohio washing line
In Arizona FORGET it. No rain, but too hot and too dusty. I miss having a washing line. Maybe I will get one just for the winter months or early spring.
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