Laundry Day
by Andrew Wyeth
How many of you readers remember the scent of clothes and sheets dried outside in summer? That fragrance is something you never forget. All the fabric softeners in the world can’t duplicate it. In our busy world clothes dryers are something we all use. I can’t imagine hanging clothes out to dry at my stage of life. However, while we are living in London, our flat has a nice washer/dryer combination unit. British machines are very difference from American ones. This one is smaller and takes much, much longer to run a cycle. The dryer often leaves clothes slightly damp. Luckily the flat is well equipped and we have two small folding laundry hangers where I can hang things out to finish drying. I don’t mind doing this at all. It reminds me of my childhood when we always hung laundry outside out of necessity. Even in cold, cold weather.
The following poem was written a few years back for a prompt on PoetsOnline (see http://www.poetsonline.org) about laundry. While several poets chose the metaphorical allusions of hanging one’s laundry out or dirty laundry, the prompt evoked in me a sharp image of having to scramble to pull half-frozen clothing off the line before the snow came.
ON WINTER WASH DAYS
On winter wash days, those on the cusp
of warmth, we hung out the clothes
with numb fingers, feeling the curtain
of clouds closing in.
Those were the days when the sun
often hid, and the cold never left at all.
Fabric froze hard, and dresses
and shirts grew solid and stiff.
Rows of sheets, towels and clothes
waved wildly, like pages of a book
flapping in the wind.
In late afternoon, we took it all down,
clothespins snapping shut as each piece
was pulled, placed in the wicker
basket and taken inside.
The darkness closed in early
those mid-winter days, the
evening star sometimes rising
before the icy moon.
(c) 2009, Mary Kendall
A Poet in Time 
Fresh sheets on a bed straight from the clothesline was the best smell I can remember growing up. The exception might be my mother’s homemade rolls fresh from the oven:) What a great combination to remember. Thanks for reminding us all with such a lovely poem. You are the best!
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Dear Y, between my poem on winter wash and the one on burnt toast, I have it covered for sensory poems this week! I’m delighted you liked both of them. Your comments are always cherished.
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Beautiful as always and as always, your words evoke memories. Have read this dear poem over several time and each time an new memory emerges. Mine are not too distant as we hang almost all our laundry in the sunny breezy summer Maine weather. The exception is towels-as we prefer fluffy to stiff although the stiff ones (sans softener) are more absorbent.
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Ah, Sheppy, I can picture the laundry blowing in the Maine air. How perfect! 😊
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Since we have several months of monsoon here in India, we hang wet clothes inside on three long bars close to the ceiling in the hall and on folding clothes drying racks in the spare bedroom. The flooring is patterned stone blocks so the water doesn’t hurt it. My mother used to hang wash on lines in the basement in winter or rainy weather. In the U.S., I had a washer and a dryer.
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Many thanks for sharing, Suzanne. 😊
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Love it!!! Makes me think of spring! I do know the weight of heavy clothes causes me to re-tighten the lines from time to time! 🙂
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🙂 Thanks for sharing, Randy. You’d love the frozen clothes!!
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this poem evoked many memories:)- fresh scents, cold hands and heavy sheets!
great job,mary!
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J, it’s always lovely to read your responses to a poem. I’m glad this one resonated with you. Thanks for sharing. Missing you, my friend. ~ Mary
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Love the poem. It brings back memories and makes me want to get my clothesline up…as soon as it stops raining:)
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Ah, the luxury of the clothes dryer on rainy and snowy days. It is good to appreciate old traditions, isn’t it? Thanks so much for commenting. Best, Mary
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I still hang washing outside whenever I can. It’s a symbol of home to me. (Maybe it’s also a symptom of being British!)
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Liz, there is something very comforting and “homey” about the act of hanging out wash. Thanks for sharing this. 🙂 Good wishes, Mary
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Beautiful! Until I left the South, I was the outside clothes hangar and it gave me sacred time by myself and it is true, the clean wonderful smell can only be found by hanging one’s clothes out to dry!
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Thanks for your comment, Jennifer. That scent never disappears from memory, does it? Best wishes, Mary
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