WHAT I TREASURE
My washing line by Rebecca Howard
There’s something about a line of washing, blowing in the breeze, A lively, dancing suspension bridge harnessing the natural power of the weather. I’m known among my friends for putting my washing line to use no matter what the weather and, though I’ve been caught out many a time, I put my trust in this narrow cord on which I peg a daily load.
When my daughter was born, a friend introduced me to cloth nappies and the virtues of rewashing. She shared her satisfaction in seeing a row of uniform white terry squares hung out to dry. I was curious and, patting myself on the back for sparing the local landfill, I soon succumbed to the lure of a simple row of white orderliness amid the, otherwise, chaotic life with little ones. At the time, we had a blue plasticcoated line and a prop. Our post was crudely crafted from the discarded ‘For Sale’ post left behind by the estate agent.
Our cricket-loving boys were keen to point out that my winter forays across the lawn to hang the latest load were an unwelcome assault on their pitch, my footprints leaving a worn patch on their ‘outfield’. We now have a rotary line to give the lawn a much-needed break. Though I was, I admit, apprehensive at first, wondering whether the same drying results could be achieved by the closer, more compact style of hanging, I need not have worried. The previous occupants had thoughtfully placed the line hole at a sunny edge of the patio, near enough to the back door to enable slippered hanging out and far enough to catch some warming rays and an accompanying breeze. A bonus being that it packs away, leaving no trace of domesticity blighting the garden landscape.
The meditative benefits of pegging out cannot be underestimated. I take time selecting appropriate pieces to hang on the shorter lengths of line, while reserving the more voluminous items for the outer perimeter. I know of some who colour code their pegs, too, keeping them in matching pairs; an attempt to liven up an otherwise monotonous task. I feel I know my pegs well, some are strong, while some are more suited to delicate situations. Like friends; always dependable, keeping things grounded while all about is wild and unpredictable.
When the job’s done and a basketful hangs neatly, swaying gently to the tune of the wind, I look back and admire the simplicity of line and pegs, grateful to have the space to dry my washing in the way nature intended. What means a lot to you? Tell us in 500 words; thesimplethings@icebergpress.co.uk.