Wash Day Storms

From the corner of the house to the garage, across the driveway to the back porch, back to the other side of the garage and back to the other porch post. Monday's wash lines were strung all across the backyard. Clothes poles and clothes pins waited for the white sheets and t-shirts to come up from the basement. Backyards were decorated with white clothes lines. First the whites, and then the colored clothes would start appearing in the afternoons. Dad's work clothes were always given a few extra minutes in the washing machine. The machine unplugged, they were left to soak in the washing machine warm water with a bar of his homemade soap .   

Mom took her nap while dad's work clothes soaked. Two full loads of laundry were first hung out for drying before the nap. Us kids had orders to play quietly, no yelling, no fighting, no game of " Red light/Green light ". My sister and I did a lot of fighting back then. Mom's warnings seemed more serious on wash days. The other six days we were more likely to go at it, and always felt free to call on Mom, blaming the other for the disagreement. 

Under the back porch with my cowboys was my quiet place, the front porch was my sister's quiet place. Being too quiet wasn't good either. Mom would call to us to make sure one of us hadn't murdered the other.  

One hot wash day a cool breeze set the curtains fluttering and mom came out the backdoor calling for me to get the clothes basket. Black clouds were rolling in from the west. Our next door neighbor, Mrs. Koos, was already pulling down Mr. Koos' pink long johns, letting the clothes pins fly as she quickly gathered in her wash. Go tell Mrs. Clemen it is going to rain, directing me to cut through Mrs. Mathew's yard. Air-raid sirens sounded as every lady on our block was getting their wash down and in their houses. Mom stopped for a second to look at our big elm trees in the front of our house, then raced through to get my sister into the house. I grabbed onto a sheet that was ready to take off with the wind.  Unable to reach the clothes pins holding it to the line, I just held it as a t-shirt took to the air. "Stay in there" mom yelled, rushing out the back door to get the rest wash down.  

Pulling the basket of clothes across the porch and into the kitchen, I watch mom race over to help Mrs. Clemen. Yelling back for us to get in the basement as she answered Mrs.Mathew who was telling Mom to use the sidewalk. 

Standing at the basement steps we waited for Mom to return. Not fighting, we just stood there very still, very quiet, waiting. Cathy, holding her Raggedy Ann Doll, looking up the steps. Me, wondering if mom was blown away. We just stood there looking up the steps waiting for the sound of the back door to open . 

Hearing Mom apologize to Mrs. Mathew and footsteps racing across the porch followed by the heavy kitchen door being closed and locked, we both called out.  Mom raced to the front door to make sure it was secure. Only when the doors and windows were shut did mom appear at the top of the basement steps.  She gave us each a tight hug and asked us if we were interested in a suggiebutt for lunch. Our minds were still on the storm though. Staying in the basement, Mom returned to scrubbing Dad's work clothes with Dad's homemade soap. Keeping eyes on the basement window, she went on with washing.  

Stormy skies and laundry hanging out - two of my favorite subjects. I think back on those days as I add a bit more black to the sky in my painting. Maybe I will look for that Raggedy Ann Doll and do a painting of it too.

Character Building in the Scouts

Ninety-five degrees and a sleeping bag to carry. Grasshoppers  keeping up with us as we kicked stones and told each other stories we believed to be true . Dicky, eyeing each stone we kicked in case they might be worth putting in his rock collection. He collected rocks and spiders. As Dicky looked for rocks, the rest of us had our stories to tell. Jesus told us of his visits to his granddad in Mexico. Donny told us about his fishing trips with his dad and the Musky they found with a beer can in its throat. Peter tried to explain his green tooth. I told them why I carried a sketchbook everywhere and told them why I let Ray Gasper take it away from me. 

We listened to facts about spiders and how big they are in Mexico. We recalled the winter hike when Joey fell  through the ice crossing Blackberry Creek. Changing his pants in the freezing wind, they froze solid. We toweled him off with our extra shirts. Then tried to bust his frozen pants by bashing them against trees. We laughed now, on that steaming hot day, back then though it wasn’t so funny. Joey was up ahead of us on the hike, telling his own version of falling through the ice.

We argued about which scout outing was the best and which was the worst. It was agreed Mr. Miller was the best leader. He took us to a rodeo once and a demolition derby, and stock car race. That day it was too hot for the leaders to hike with us, they rode in cars trying to keep us together, ready to give a ride to any baby who couldn’t take it. Only Dicky’s dad hiked with us. He tried to set the pace but there was a hundred yards between him and us stragglers.  We were having fun telling stories, kicking stones and seeing who could squash a grasshopper.

A field full of black and yellow spiders was a good place to rest.  Stopping to see which was the biggest spider for Dicky’s collection was a way to rest from hiking. The field we were in was full of those spiders that he liked. He could not make up his mind which one he wanted. His decision was made for him when Peter yelled, “Snake!” A bull snake, charging straight for us, made the decision for all of us. We denied being afraid, but that snake got us all back to the road and moving a bit quicker than we had been moving. The snake stories came as we hiked on. At about two miles left to go and no stories coming from anyone, the leaders thought it best we pile into the cars.

 At the campsite we were in no rush to unpack the tents from the cars. A promise of a cold pop when all the tents were up got us moving. Not the neatest roll of tents, some sagging in places, but they were up at least.

My Uncle John arrived with the cold pop and sandwiches. He was one of the leaders of another troop from another parish. They were driven to the campsite. Due to Dicky’s dad’s love for hiking, we hiked most of the way...  Uncle John passed out pop to all the scouts and that day he was a hero.  We laid in the shade sipping pop looking at Dicky’s spider in a glass jar. His dad arrived at the campsite late, he hiked the whole way.  Dicky rushed to show him his prize, no one else moved from their spot in the shade. A slight breeze was welcome as empty pop bottles fell from hands too tired to straighten those sagging tents.

I added a drawing of my Uncle to my collection of people I thought of as heroes .  Alongside my portrait of Abraham Lincoln, I placed my Uncle setting up his iron cooking plate. Not everyone would see it was my Uncle, but for me it was a drawing of a character builder. Someone to respect and admire.

Camping was like school, only classes were outside and all day. Making splints from saplings to fix a broken leg was one lesson. Learning how to stop serious bleeding was another. How moss growing on trees could point us home yet another. We learnt about how the rat snake (that none of us were afraid of…) was helpful, and we were told about the miniature Illinois rattlesnake, rarely if ever seen.  Poison Ivy was another lesson. Not good to use those leaves to clean oneself off with when doing business. A lesson one scout learned the hard way. We bowed our heads and said a prayer, it nothing to joke about. We were taught codes to live by, rules to keep, and respect for one another. No bullies in the Scouts.

     I got a merit badge for public speaking on that trip, to go with my merit badge for bird spotting. No one may have understood me but they applauded the effort. They did not give merit badges for drawing...