The Beauty of Clotheslines

When we moved into our house, I was delighted to see a clothesline set up in the backyard. It was in need of some care- new line and new paint- but nothing that would hamper my using it occasionally. Others in the neighborhood had them to, but the only one in use was down the street at the home of an elderly woman who appears to be the very epitome of frugality. Which I also sort of dig, as an example of what I'd like to be rather than what I actually am..
So, the very first chance I had, I began doing laundry, and for those things deemed too difficult to dry efficiently with the dryer, I hung them outside and enjoyed watching them flap in the breeze while I was outside picking pears and peaches and raspberries, and tending our vegetable garden. I'm such a hippie. I should also mention that I would dry Elijah's cloth diapers on the line, and I must say, there is something aesthetically pleasing about seeing a line of cloth diapers drying in the sunshine, stained or not!
Of course, I hadn't thought about what my neighbors might think about my clothesline. Luckily, in my neighborhood, people really don't seem to care, and if they do, they don't voice their opinion. But I've heard about people not approving of clotheslines elsewhere. In fact, there are organizations concerned with this very issue- Right to Dry! is the war cry. Richard Monson of the California Homeowners Association says that having a clothesline in a neighborhood can lower neighboring properties values by 15%, and that 'seeing people's underwear drying on the line" is "unsightly". How he would have handled seeing women's underwear flapping in a victorian breeze is up for question. Something that was a fact of life has been added to the pornographic image catagory by the ultra-prudes in our society once again. For a little extra proof, in the book Home Town Tales, author Philip Gulley talks about his 3 stringed clothesline and how it has hampered his ministry.
'People come by to visit, and we sit outside underneath the shade trees while our family underwear flaps on the line. My slender sons have tiny Mickey Mouse and Tigger underwear. In comparison, my underwear are large and ratty. They beat the air like flags. My fellow Quakers steal glances at them and shudder. It's hampered my ministry with them. I stand in the pulpit and preach about such lofty, wondrous things as salvation by grace, and they ignore me. They've seen my underwear.'
Back to the Right to Dry organizations, many of them have been set up to fight against those homeowner associations, with whom, I have no desire to ever tangle with. I'm not of the frame of mind that purchasing property includes the requirement to ask some bozo if I can grow tomatoes in my own yard, or hang my clothes out to dry, or plant pansies in the front window boxes. If bought with my money, it should be my decision. End of story.
So, I relish using my clothesline. It has 4 strings, and I'm thinking of training some morning glories along the sides this year. We'll see. I like the fact that doing a good job of hanging the clothes prevents the need to iron, and prevents them from wearing out so quickly. And I like the surprising speed with which the job is done on a good windy day.
We've become so dependent on machinery to make our lives more simple- but sometimes that machinery just chains us down. Makes us hide who we really are. Makes us hold ourselves up higher than we ought to. Makes us forget that we are all people behind those ratty boxers and brassiers hanging on the line.

I love clotheslines and all that they stand for: beautiful and proud, art installations with clothes, the flags of our life. So join me as I hang my clothes. Save energy, take time to whiff the blue breezes, feel the sparkling yellow sunshine, beautify Poughkeepsie and hang a clothesline. In Venice, when one woman wants to compliment another it is said: "She hangs a beautiful line."

-Marian Dioguardi to the Mayor of Poughkeepsie when she voted to restrict clotheslines to the backyard only, September, 2007