One thing I like to do is laundry, along with washing dishes by hand, and I recall my grandma's chores on the farm, of which there were many, and no help from grandpa thank you. The washing machine was outside the back door in it's own shed and it was a real hands on job for sure....it had the wringer on top and as a city know-it-all chick back then, I was intrigued by this contraption of convenience for my granny as she pre-scrubbed with lye soap the collar and cuffs (made by her no doubt)of grandpa's everyday shirts and by everyday I mean he wore the same shirt every day and everyday she barked at him to let her have the smelly thing. He had a few nice shirts that he wore to "Sunday go to meetin" and sometimes granny would catch him wipen his nose on the sleeve because he said she forgot to put a clean kerchief in his over-alls. Yes he wore over-alls to church.....most farming folk in them parts had church over-alls for the Lord. (Back to the wash day story) Granny hauled up the cool well water to fill the tub, then with a long stick shove the grimy clothes down in it making certain not to overload it, then plug it in and watch and wait until it was time to, one at a time, pull the clothes up and through the wringer and into a galvanized tub on the ground. After that she'd unplug the machine, drain out the water and re-fill it with clean water and repeat the wringing cycle. She had a double line clothesline, the length of the house with a bajillion clothes pin in her two pocket apron she'd fashioned out of a heavy fed sack that she then hung around her neck. The summer heat of July I recall, dried them stiff and fresh and she used to say she had no use for starch as the good Lord put a stiffness in farm air for a reason. So I love to do my laundry the city folk way but during the summer months my sweaty grungy gardening clothes are hung out to dry on my clothesline and with my homemade clothespin holder slung over my head I dream of and long for those days again.
There were promises of a short visit to the smoke house with a hickory switch if'n we didn't mind our P's & Q's. Once in awhile I got to peek in there and knew it weren't no place no how that I'd like to visit. So I listened to my elders and did what ever they said.
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she's gone fishing
One thing I like to do is laundry, along with washing dishes by hand, and I recall my grandma's chores on the farm, of which there were many, and no help from grandpa thank you. The washing machine was outside the back door in it's own shed and it was a real hands on job for sure....it had the wringer on top and as a city know-it-all chick back then, I was intrigued by this contraption of convenience for my granny as she pre-scrubbed with lye soap the collar and cuffs (made by her no doubt)of grandpa's everyday shirts and by everyday I mean he wore the same shirt every day and everyday she barked at him to let her have the smelly thing. He had a few nice shirts that he wore to "Sunday go to meetin" and sometimes granny would catch him wipen his nose on the sleeve because he said she forgot to put a clean kerchief in his over-alls. Yes he wore over-alls to church.....most farming folk in them parts had church over-alls for the Lord. (Back to the wash day story) Granny hauled up the cool well water to fill the tub, then with a long stick shove the grimy clothes down in it making certain not to overload it, then plug it in and watch and wait until it was time to, one at a time, pull the clothes up and through the wringer and into a galvanized tub on the ground. After that she'd unplug the machine, drain out the water and re-fill it with clean water and repeat the wringing cycle. She had a double line clothesline, the length of the house with a bajillion clothes pin in her two pocket apron she'd fashioned out of a heavy fed sack that she then hung around her neck. The summer heat of July I recall, dried them stiff and fresh and she used to say she had no use for starch as the good Lord put a stiffness in farm air for a reason. So I love to do my laundry the city folk way but during the summer months my sweaty grungy gardening clothes are hung out to dry on my clothesline and with my homemade clothespin holder slung over my head I dream of and long for those days again.
There were promises of a short visit to the smoke house with a hickory switch if'n we didn't mind our P's & Q's. Once in awhile I got to peek in there and knew it weren't no place no how that I'd like to visit. So I listened to my elders and did what ever they said.
