Our Mother hung our clothes out on the line
All year round
In the winter, clothes frozen on the line would be brought
in and hung in the kitchen over our indoor line where the heat from our wood stove
would finish the drying process
Our Mother loved the smell of the clothes fresh off the line
If you asked her why she would say, "Because they smell like the wind."
She loved the wind
Always when leaving the house as she stepped outside
Her first act would be to stop, sniff and taste the air
Sometimes she’d sniff, taste and move forward without a word
But other times she’d make us stop and pay attention
With a Mother’s authority she’d say, “Stop.
Smell that. The winds of change have come.”
As a child, I simply accepted that sometimes the wind shared
things with our Mother. As a teenager, I must admit to finding her way and manner of
approaching life at times embarrassing and I longed to have my sweaters and jeans smell like Downy,
the fabric softener all the other Mothers seemed to be using at the time.
But I marvel now
And I see the substantive gift she gave us
In her insistence in hanging the wash year round
In her rituals
Her stopping and tasting the air around her before
moving forward, her digging in the earth every spring and summer and planting new life
Environmentally respectful, yes.
But it was more than that for her
In amongst the flow and flap of sheets and clothes on the
line
In amongst the garden rows of freshly greening life
In the pause just beyond our door
Our Mother was showing us faithfulness
To her Creator
To her own nature
She was showing up…listening
Wanting to Commune with Spirit
And trusting that Spirit was wanting to commune with her
At the clothes line
At her doorway
In her Garden
In her
Joy, in her Struggle and in her Pain
The Holy Spirit was alive to our Mother
In the elemental
In the Earth, the Air, the Fire, and the Water
