Back to the Warsh House

The knifemaker's aunt makes a trip the Warsh House every four days and today was one of those days. That leaves a set of work clothes ready to wear in case something happens and the visit cannot happen. 

It so happens a loyal reader sent a poem about clotheslines that made for good reading. Clotheslines, as some may know, are clothes dryers that are **gasp!* outside!  The reader made the point that the knifemaker's aunt and her generation will probably be the last to know what a clothesline IS.  In some places (with Homeowners' Association rules), clotheslines are illegal. **Double gasp!**

Remembering Mom's Clothesline 

A clothesline was a news forecast, To neighbors passing by,

There were no secrets you could keep, When clothes were hung to dry.

It also was a friendly link, For neighbors always knew

If company had stopped on by, To spend a night or two.

For then you'd see the "fancy sheets", And towels upon the line;

You'd see the "company table cloths", With intricate designs.

The line announced a baby's birth, From folks who lived inside,

As brand new infant clothes were hung, So carefully with pride!

The ages of the children could, So readily be known

By watching how the sizes changed, You'd know how much they'd grown!

It also told when illness struck, As extra sheets were hung;

Then nightclothes, and a bathrobe too, Haphazardly were strung.

It also said, "On vacation now", When lines hung limp and bare.

It told, "We're back!" when full lines sagged, With not an inch to spare!

New folks in town were scorned upon, If wash was dingy and gray,

As neighbors carefully raised their brows, And looked the other way.

But clotheslines now are of the past, For dryers make work much less.

Now what goes on inside a home, Is anybody's guess!

I really miss that way of life, It was a friendly sign

When neighbors knew each other best... By what hung on the line.