Wash Days, now and then

 Lately as I load my washer or my dryer I reflect on the ease with which I can perform this task.  After sorting I throw a batch into the washer, add some detergent and any additional stuff that the load might warrant. Shut it, twist and poke a few dials or lights---and go about my business, wherever that might take me.  In an hour, give or take, the machine gives a few beeps to alert me that it has completed all the cycles and awaits my leisure to remove the contents, with the drying as the next step. It may be hours before I respond and move on. 

What a wonder this is!!   I don't have to go very far back in my ancestry to see huge changes.  Actually, I don't even need to go back at all, because I started my married life in a farm house that had a twin tub washer, wringers attached.  But even those were a far cry from the days of my grandmothers' days for laundry.   Wash tubs, bluing, heating water for the tubs, scrub boards, making their own soap (another long process in itself),  wringing clothes by hand,  hanging it all on the clothes lines with clothes pins, and likely I have skipped a few things that were needed because I have no literal experience. 

The choices of detergent, softener, additives are endless now.  Each product promising wonderful results. A person doesn't even have to estimate the amount of detergent, or whatever,  needed, it can all come in a  nice little cake that does more than one thing to give lovely laundry.

A few things have remained the same.  The laundry does not sort itself, still a manual job.  The rules still apply that if one tries to combine white clothes with colored clothes, they will not remain white.  And linty things don't mix well with others.  There still has to be some effort put forth in the drying.  It can be put in the dryer and that only requires a few more dials to choose to receive the desired dryness for the specific type of load.  One can still hang clothes on a line outdoors and there is a fresh scent to those cleaned items that is not duplicated in the dryer. 

Then there is the "putting away" that stays a manual job.  Folding clothes, placing in drawers, putting clothes on hangers and then in closets.  Ironing was a huge item on the task lists for the homemaker of the past. Just imagining the need to iron those floor length, detailed dresses with bounces and flounces on the 1800's, 1900's-- no, don't imagine, and they did it without the aid of electricity!  No wonder there was a need for the profession of "laundress" to have wonderful appearing garments.   

Fabrics have changed and contributed greatly to the ease in all three steps--washing, drying and the finishing up.  Rarely is there a need for ironing now.  It would be a whole new topic for this blog.  I recall melting a few items in my teenage years, best not recalled.

Facing the Unknown Reflections

 I learned recently that I have 15 ancestors buried in the Bridge Street Cemetery in Massachusetts. All my life I have known that my ancestral roots went back to the Puritans of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, but was surprised by this many.  My 7th Great Grandfather, my 8th Great Grandmother,  Great, (how many?)  grand aunts and great grand uncles. The earliest birth date for any of these 15 is 1638. Other cemeteries were listed on the site that I have not yet pursued.  One listed was Bloody Brook Mass Grave---just the name tells a story with few detail, and the results.

There are some in the Windsor, Connecticut Colony and Hartford.  I haven't looked at this cemetery site very closely. It has just came up on Family Search,  Maps indicates early relatives all across the nation, some even in the south.  

I can't help but reflect on how these individuals made the decision to sail into what was totally the unknown, and that one thing they would know was that life would be hard, that there were many dangers in that land across the ocean. Their ships were such small sailing vessels. It was like placing a tea cup at the place of embarking and expecting the cup to arrive in a harbor far to the west, with not even a chip on its surface. I have seen the one of those ships on display at Plymouth in Massachusetts.  What courage they had to have, what dedication to their cause!  I am sure there are more ancestors during this same time period who died on the voyage across the Atlantic and their graves were the watery deep.  

Since I have two family lines that go back into the 1600's, I realize that those graves that are located in the southern part of our nation might well be my Quakers rather than the Puritans.  The Quakers early years were in the Carolinas and Virginia, often islands off shore.  

There is a date in July that is celebrated as Pioneer day, referring to those who crossed the country coming to the west.  I have always felt a tad disconnected on that day, but thinking of these ancestors of the 1600's, one can't get more sense of pioneering than the legacy they left for many of us descendants still living in the land they sought and somehow survived.  

Elastic Winter

 Our winter seems to be stretching way out of bounds.  But maybe seasons don't have set boundaries? Is it just our imagination and terms that we have been given to title the cycles that roll through our lives approximately every 12 months.   Is it only winter than can seem long?  I can't think of any complaints about a long fall, or a long spring.  The heat of summer does bring yearnings for some cooler days, but that only means fall, not winter.  Personally, I have always liked living with four seasons, even in this winter of my own life. I am not wanting to move to warmer climates when the cold days arrive. 

This span of cold, snow, wind and wet has been a rare one.  I am old enough to recall the famous "winter of '49" and experienced it as a kid in Wyoming, so my perspective of the rigors of those months have a totally different slant than these of when I am aged and dealing with those added challenges.  The winter of '83 was spent in Idaho, with a little different circumstances--young parenthood, six children, farm wife.  Challenging, intense, but manageable with the right equipment, and an occasional thaw. 

Now this one, winter of 2022-23, so far about 6 months in length,  much snow, heavy wet snow, not quite daily, but several days each week.  And the need for the moisture brought  being acknowledged and appreciated. There have been some drought years. We have had help from family and neighbors in dealing with some of those things like continual shoveling of walks, driveways, of getting our garbage cans to the pickup spot and retrieving them, etc.  When it is such an unending struggle to manage the snow, wondering where else to put it as the scraped piles get higher and higher, the drifts deeper and deeper it becomes hard to maintain the positive attitude.  

It is beautiful, the sparkling waves of white.  Crystal ice hangings, but not the slippery and sliding surface underfoot, threatening falls and possible broken bones and bruises. The nights of the full moon on snowy slopes, glowing in that blue light, often with a coyote choir accompanying the mood.  The feeling of joy when one wakens to discover the snowfall, untouched yet by a footprint or tire mark.  There is that wonderful feeling of peace in the silence after a storm has moved on, up and over the nearby mountaintops, leaving them gleaming when the eventual sun breaks through.  I am ever amazed at all of the beauty that has been provided for us as residents of Mother Earth, no matter the season, or even the time of day.

Now it is mid April,  and some days are warming, and the earth is being nourished with the melting water.  Still, we are expecting more snow.  Stretching, stretching.  Just a glimpse of green blade of grass or even weeds boosts the hope of a growing season to come, part of those seasonal cycles. Winter is not forever.