Remembering Wash Day

     Remembering wash day is not one of my favorite memories. In the days before automatic washers and dryers, getting clothes clean was a major task in most households.  Ours was no exception.  It all started early in the morning as soon as daylight appeared.  All of the preliminary tasks connected with the day began as soon as breakfast was over.   A fire was built under the big iron wash pot in the back yard, the pot filled with water, and a week’s worth of clothes was sorted.   A bench was set up on level ground.  It had to be long enough to hold at least three big wash tubs which were later filled with hot water from the wash pot:  one for soaking, one for washing, and one for rinsing.  Sometimes we had a fourth tub for a second rinse.   The equipment was assembled which would be necessary for scrubbing and cleaning the clothes:  a wooden paddle for stirring the white clothes in the iron pot, a scrub board for cleaning the really dirty spots in the knees of pants, etc., a full box of soap flakes, a bar of Octagon soap for extra help in cleaning the rings around collars and the knees of pants.  As soon as I was able to reach the washtubs, I was drafted into helping with the “washing”.  I never looked forward to the day, but was made to realize it was necessary if I expected to have clean clothes.  Mom always tried to get my brother to help too, but generally he caused more problems than was worth the effort!  He would just slosh the clothes around in the water and called it washing them.  As a result, he was allowed to leave and play with his friends.   I usually stayed until the very end, and my fingers were shriveled and snow-white.

     The white clothes were put into the washtubs first, washed in the hot soapy water and then put into the boiling hot water in the wash pot.  They were stirred with a wooden paddle until they were white and as clean as they possibly could be.  After about an hour, they were lifted from the wash pot with the wooden paddle, rinsed, squeezed free of water, and hung on the line to dry.  The colored clothes were next, and the dirtiest work clothes were washed last.  If we were lucky, the sky would remain clear until all of the clothes were crisp and dry and folded. However, sometimes we had to rush to the clothesline and grab the laundry and quickly fold it to keep it as wrinkle-free as possible.  Occasionally though when the rain caught us by surprise, we had clothes scattered all over the inside of the house so that they might dry.

     I was taught that there was an art to hanging clothes on the line. If we hung all clothes that were just alike on the line together, it made folding a lot easier later – towels with towels, sheets with sheets, underwear with underwear, socks with socks.  Nothing smells like clean clothes fresh from the clothesline.  The smell of fresh air and sunshine can never be reproduced.