Minnesota Prairie Roots

IN THE BRIGHT SUNSHINE of a frosty last day of November morning, I clipped towels and sheets onto the clothesline. It’s a task I love, for many reasons.

There’s something remarkably soothing about the rhythm of pulling laundry from a basket and then methodically clipping it onto a line. It’s a rather mindless task, although I do consider placement, hanging heavier items in the spotlight of the morning sun.

I love how this draws me outside, to appreciate the beginning of the day. To see the sky, the trees. To hear birdsong, mostly in warm weather. To feel the wind, the warmth of sunshine and the bite of the almost-winter air.

Admittedly, hanging laundry outdoors in below freezing temps requires some fortitude. As I hung laundry Thursday morning, I felt my fingers numbing against the cold of damp, wet laundry. I paused half way through to step inside my warm kitchen, to put on a pot of coffee, anticipating my chilled hands wrapping a warm mug.

Then I headed back outside, remnants of snow remaining on the lawn near the patio where my removable clothesline stretches. The towels were already stiff, frozen.

I continued hanging laundry, just like generations of women before me. Prairie women, pioneer women, hardy women who labored in the elements, who (unlike me) washed their clothing and bedding in rivers and on washboards. Yet, we each worked under the same sky, the same sun. We are linked in a sisterhood of women hanging laundry. I love that historic connection.

I love, too, the scent of laundry dried by the sun. Especially sheets. They smell of wind and sky and sun.

I seldom use my clothes dryer, relying on solar power and indoor drying racks to dry my laundry. My friends Jackie and Lisa do the same. They understand me, why I intentionally choose on a nippy November morning, to step outside, to methodically clip towels and sheets to the clothesline.

TELL ME: Do you hang laundry outdoors? If yes, why?

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling