Having
grown up in Iowa, I enjoy the smell of the outside, particularly in the early
morning. As an adult now living in Texas, I typically rise in the early morning
and open a window, allowing myself to breathe in deeply. If it is overcast and
threatening rain, I enjoy the heaviness of the air mixed with dew on the grass
and trees. If it is to be a sunny day,
the air seems lighter and crisp. Either way, those smells of the morning air,
in the quietness of early morning, become part of me.
Later
in the day, one of my family members assuredly will come by and shut the window.
They will cite allergens or humidity as a reason
to close it and run the air conditioner.
Such is the way of modern life. Sealed
in, safe and hygienic.
When
I was quite young, perhaps 5 or 6 years old, I would visit my grandparents on their
farm in Bedford, Iowa. Once a week, my grandmother would wash the clothes
outside in the shed when it was first light. She did this to spare herself the
heat and humidity of the Iowa summer. After the clothes were washed, she would
run them through a wringer to remove the wetness.
The
clothes were then hung on the clothesline, one by one with wooden pins. I’m certain my grandmother viewed this chore as
a routine part of life on the farm, but I saw it as a dance. My grandmother always wore a loose cotton
dress while doing the wash outside. She would stoop and take hold of a shirt,
shake it twice, and pin it to the clothesline, seemingly in one fluid motion.
The
clothes would dry slowly, as if enjoying being there at that point in time. Hours later, when the clothes were dry, my grandmother
and I would remove them and place them in the wicker laundry basket. We did this slowly, methodically. I would be
on one side of the clothesline and my grandmother on the other. As I unpinned a shirt I would breathe in the
smell. To this day, I can recall it. It was somewhere between that crisp Iowa air
and the sunshine, like an open window.
