Memories drift back to way back when
Monday was the day to wash clothes
There was no indoor plumbing
Nor even water from a garden hose
All the water was carried in buckets
From a pump out in the back yard
Most everything was done by hand
And washdays were really hard
Smoke filled the air with ashes and soot
From the fire under the big wash tub
Grandma whittled slices of homemade soap
In boiling water, then started to scrub
Her hands were gnarled and calloused
From scrubbing on an old wash board
In her long, cotton dress and apron
Hard work seemed her only reward
Grandma's frame was slight and bent
Wispy, grey hair pinned up in a bun
Her skin was so worn and wrinkled
From many hours working in the sun
The washing, rinsing and wringing by hand
On our dear Grandma took its toll
Many hours later clothes flapped in the wind
On a clothesline propped up with a pole
In the old house, a pot of pinto beans
Cooked slowly on a cast iron stove
Served for supper with a pone of cornbread
Farm life was no treasure trove
After supper, Grandma sat on the porch
With her mending and an old sewing tin
A few hours of sleep before the rooster crowed
Another long, hard day would begin
Grandma was a hard-working woman
With her loving and simple ways
And I know that I'll be seeing her again
In God's Heaven, one of these days
Kathleen McCoy Eldridge©
August 5, 2006
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