One thing I think about, especially on early summer mornings, is wash day at my grandma’s house. 

It was always on Monday, and there was a system she had. If my brother and I – or better yet a bunch of cousins – were around, we all helped.

This would have been the early 1970s, but grandma still had the old wringer-washing machine with two wash tubs, both with cold water. One was for rinsing out the soap and the other was for an extra rinse. The wringer-washer itself was kept in the garage, and later on her screened-in back porch.  

The washer was actually electric and would agitate and wash the clothes.  When the agitation was completed, the clothes would be rinsed in the cold water, then grandma would fish out clean clothes and feed them through the wringer, which is where us kids came in.  

As grandma fed towels or sheets through one end of the wringer, we’d be on the other end to pull the clothes through. Sometimes, we would even get to stand on the feeding side, which was thrilling because it was somewhat dangerous. 

I was always afraid I’d get my fingers too close to the wringer, which I eventually did. The wringer began to squeeze the tips of my fingers and I knew for sure I would lose my arm.  Luckily, there was a release lever to pull, and I’ve never seen my little grandmother move so fast.  

Needless to say, I was a believer after that day and most likely was content on the other side of the ringer.

Sheets and white clothing were washed first, followed by towels, washcloths and then colored clothing. 

Grandpa’s factory or farm clothes were washed last, as well as the engineer hats he wore.  She starched those hats and placed them over a big coffee can to dry.

I think the best feeling was helping grandma wash on a nice summer day when there was a breeze. After we’d successfully survived the wringer-washer, we would help her lug the baskets of laundry out to what seemed like miles of clothes line, between the yard and the barn lot. There was a system to hang everything so that none of the clothes fell down or got dirty. 

If you ask the grandkids what they remember, it would most likely be all the bedclothes. Sheets would be draped over two clothes lines, and the various sheets and coverings from multiple beds in the house would link together to form long, great smelling, cloth tunnels.  

Grandma didn’t mind if we ran through the tunnels, as long as we didn’t have dirty hands and touch the sheets with them.  

Grandpa finally convinced his stubborn wife and bought her an electric dryer that she used in the winter time. Later on, after grandpa had passed away, she got a new washer as well. She never thought the new washer got the clothes as clean, because it didn’t agitate as much as the old wringer washer.  

I think there were plenty of times she opted to use the wringer-washer even after she had the new one.

One of the best memories I have from my childhood at grandma’s was the day a big storm blew up out of nowhere. She had a house full of various offspring (she had three boys and three girls), their spouses, and her grandchildren, of which she had 17.  

When the storm blew up, I remember my older cousins, mom and my aunts running out to the line with grandma leading the way.  Clothes were yanked down as quickly as possible and everyone and grandma’s spotless laundry were safely inside the carport when the rain began. 

As a kid, I found it terribly action-packed and exciting.  

Later that night, another storm came through and the electricity went out. We sat around listening to the older folks tell stories and talk about how nice the rain had cooled the hot summer weather as candles flickered and the breezes blew sheer curtains into the living room.

Although it was the early 1970s, these seem like tales  from long, long ago. Which heck, I guess they were, in a way.

But they are memories of great comfort and simplicity.  

How lucky many of us were to have been exposed to practices and systems of the past, seemingly linking together one era to the next.

I’d give just about anything to run through a good smelling sheet tunnel again.  

Wouldn’t you?