Earliest memories of our home on the hillside contain the weekly banners of fresh laundry billowing from the clothesline on the small rise above the house.
My piano teacher, who lived down in the vale , once mentioned how the sheets reflected so clean and white in the sunshine.
Mama utilized that old ringer-washer every Thursday for years. It was complimented by two rinse tubs.
The first load was the kitchen towels and linens, followed by other whites and lights. By the time dads work clothes agitated, the water was gray and suds less.
The tub was finally drained, dried out, and pushed back into the corner. (And so was mama.)
She used soap ( Fels Naptha) so she could drain all her efforts into the back yard and keep it green during the summer months.
She collected plates, cups, and saucers from one of her boxed soap purchases. The surface of the dishware was a bright gold color that wore off easily to reveal a milky white glass interior. (There was just the right amount of slant on the dinner plates to keep certain foods high and dry. I never wanted the red beet juice to contaminate my mashed potatoes! Did you? )
I remember the day Dad finally surrendered his opposition and gave her the go ahead to buy a modern wash machine.
But, I was more impressed by her first electric clothes dryer. It had a slanted front with a glass door that was just the right height for me to watch the tumbling load inside.
Even with this wonderful gadget at her fingertips, mama still preferred the outdoor clothes lines. On sunny days it was an announcement in full regalia to the community below that it was wash day on the hill.