May was a big one for me. For 422 months of my life I had overlooked the humble washing line, but no more. I began May without a second thought for the aforementioned piece of household equipment but have completed the month emotionally attached to a piece of plastic covered wire. Who would have thought your mid-thirties could be quite this wild? Life is continually surprising.
How and why has a washing line been so good for my mental health?
Delayed gratitude
One day you’re young and spending your spare time searching for extraordinary cultural experiences…and then you’re internet browsers deep in washing line blogs, comparing Viledas, to Brabantias, to Leifheits.
I first set eyes on the Minky Retractable Duo Reel Washing Line, Grey, 2x15m in early 2022. I committed to the purchase but said Minky arrived but lived a sheltered life, boxed and on a shelf in our basement for over a year.
I wrongly assumed that Tom or I would have the skills or the inclination to fix this well-researched contraption to our exterior wall. A year on, and one local handyman employed later, Minky made their grand garden debut. Good things come to those that wait they say.
My washing line has reminded me to concede on things I cannot or do not want to do.
Outdoor space
Our garden is small and so has to be mighty flexible. Sometimes a car parking space, sometimes a seating area, home to a few movable potted plants and now this impressive bit of retractable clothes drying technology.
My washing line has reminded me that outdoor space is a privilege.
Vitamin D meets self-sufficiency
It’s been a long, cold and wet winter. We’ve been saying it to supermarket cashiers, hairdressers and friends for weeks. My washing line erection coincided with the first sunny days of the year. Line up, sun out, damp dark days a distant memory.
Not only have I been getting a buzz from soaking up Vitamin D as I “peg out”, (yes I’m coining washing line phrases now), but I feel incredibly smug turning my back on our tumble dryer.
We’re now a super-efficient self-drying household, we’re saving electricity in a cost of living crisis, we’re climate activists making use of natural resources. For the 12 sunny days a year at least.
My washing line has reminded me that sun is good for my mood and my existential dread can be stemmed slightly by hanging out a load or two of washing on a line.
Sensory sensation
Days with a seven-month-old baby can be long. With a lot of time to think, an anxious brain can be punishing, saying you’re doing too little for the tiny person that has landed in your charge. I know I don’t want to pay to sit in an airless village hall with other parents as an overenthusiastic class leader thrusts colours and textures in our face, but I still can’t help but question whether I’m stifling my baby’s development with my selfishness.
Hanging out the washing has reminded me that a menial household task is mind-blowing for a baby in a carrier. It’s free entertainment, can last an impressive twenty minutes, and you don’t have to take your shoes off or make small talk. Thank god.
My washing line has reminded me see the extraordinary in the everyday.
A new community
Now my eyes have been opened to the world of washing lines, I spot them everywhere. Just last week, I spied a line in the side return of a friend’s garden. With a bit of clever fence post pivoting, they’ve masterminded an enviable zig zag, a dynamic display creating an illusion of duo reel from a single Minky. I’ve had previously unexplored chats with Mum about her line set up which features an impressive foraged pole for added height and breeze. Boy what a conversation starter.
My washing line has giving me membership to an elusive club I didn’t realise I wanted to join.
If you need me this summer, you’ll find me in my tiny garden hanging out my pants.
The brilliant zebra featured at the top of this piece is by artist Helga Stentzel who has also created clothes line horses, cows, polar bears and dinosaurs.