Wringer Washers, Well Water, And The Old Outhouse

These modern times are rife with all of its new technologies, innovations, and conveniences. Many of us seemingly cannot get enough of them, and clamor for the newest release of the latest, greatest, newfangled, re-creation of the same thing. Sometimes I feel like my head is spinning just trying to keep up. Increasingly I find myself longing for those simpler times that existed in what now seems to be a faraway place, but in reality are only memories to me. Back before the internet was a part of our everyday lives, and yes, children there was a time before that, when many things that today we take for granted, were only starting to be available to many of us, especially in the rural areas.

Something that is unthinkable in an age when the phone to many is more important than their own appendages, and something that I have rarely thought about, but is a fact of my childhood, there was a time when not every house had a telephone. For those that did, a great number of them were what was called a party line. Now if you are totally in the dark about what a party line was, just imagine trying to call or text someone today, and no, texting was not available then, and having to wait until the nosy neighbor down the road got finished sharing the days’ gossip with whomever might be listening. Trust me, if you wanted to keep something a secret, you never told it over the telephone. Come to think about it that actually might be a good idea for today, might keep down a lot of the nonsense that is so prevalent today.

However, what to me is one of those defining moments in my life would have to be the day when my grandparents finally got “city” water and put a bathroom in their house. Now I know that many of you may think that lacking all of these modern conveniences had to be something from the nineteenth century, but I am here to tell you it was not that long ago, that not every house, even if they had running water was equipped with toilet facilities. In fact, less than fifty miles from where I sit right now, as few as twenty- five years ago, there were people who still lacked running water and electricity in their homes.

Gather round and let me tell you right now, you have not lived until you have done your business in an old wooden outhouse. Now I really mean that facetiously, because they were dark and smelly and if you looked up, were a breeding ground for spiders. The grayer I become, the more I long for simpler times, but taking a trip to the outhouse is one I hope I never have to experience again. In fact, the thought of going, especially in the dark, is the stuff that nightmares are made of. The few times I have been to an outdoor event, where they had those portable toilets, only resurrects those unpleasant memories. Actually, come to think about it, my grandparents’ outhouse smelled better.

Now that I have gotten that bit of childhood trauma out, and no, I was not a traumatized child, not all was bad. In fact, life was good. Even today, I miss running in to Mama Queens’ kitchen and taking down one of those old Tupperware cups just to get a drink of water from the faucet. That water was so cold coming out that you did not need any ice and the flavor was so good I still remember how it tasted, even today. While I know my grandfather, if he had a choice, would have had an indoor bathroom many years earlier, but the old well was prone to run dry if overused, and until the county brought water up that old dirt road, there was just no way he could risk running the well dry. However, I have to hand it to him, even when the “city” water was hooked up he still kept an outdoor hydrant connected to the well, and there was always a pitcher in the Frigidaire with well water in it.

Recently I was throwing a load of towels into our modern washing machine and for a brief moment had a flashback to one of my earliest memories from childhood. Many Saturday afternoons were spent at my grandparents, and my mom would help my grandmother with things around the house. One of those, for you who know my mom, was the washing. Now, for those who have no clue what I’m talking about, or for you have wondered through an antique store wandering what it was, my grandmother had one of the old wringer type washing machines.

Fortunately, unlike many of them, this one was at least electric. If you have never seen one, they worked very similar to our modern day washing machines, in that they had an actuator that turned the clothes back and forth to get the clothes clean. However, that is where any comparison to modern day equipment ended. Mounted atop the big round tub, were two wooden rollers that ran from side to side. After the clothes finished washing, you had to take them out one at a time and manually feed each piece through the rollers. Clothes that went in full of water came out the other side wringed out and as flat and stiff as a piece of paper.

Once that was completed, the fresh smelling laundry was placed in a basket, then carried outside to be hung out to dry on the clothesline. As a small child, there is no more exciting place to play than running through the rows of freshly hung laundry. In hindsight though, I should have been more careful, I’ll never forget the look I got after yanking one of my grandmothers’ sheets off the line and to the ground. Even now if I stop and think about it on a windy day I can still smell the aroma of fresh laundry hanging on the line.

You know, the so-called good old days were exciting to watch as a child, and I am sure that if all of our grandparents had a choice they too would like to have had many of the modern conveniences of today. For me though, more and more I find myself feeling a little nostalgic and even sentimental as I reminisce about times and things that now are only a memory. Gone are those days that after work was completed, the entire family would gather under a big old shade tree behind the house, sit, and talk for hours. Never again will I be able to run through my grandparents’ house just to get a drink of ice-cold water, and at the same time smell that aroma that was a combination of her frying potatoes and baking cornbread in the oven, nor will my grandmother chase me out from her clotheslines again.

Even now as I sit here remembering, a tear starts to roll down my cheek, as I realize no matter how great modern conveniences are, they can never replace those things that are now only a little boys memory. Perhaps if I sit here long enough and close my eyes, I can smell the fragrances contained in the breeze as it would drift in through the windows on a warm spring night. If I really concentrate, maybe then I can even taste the cool water again that flowed from my grandfathers’ well house. In my lifetime, most of us will never have those experiences again. Thankfully, forever contained in my mind are the memories of being a little boy, when we still had wringer washers, well water, and old outhouses.