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Big Brothers

Some little kids learn about the “birds and the bees” from one of their brave parents who are reluctantly compelled to reveal the secrets of life. Not me! No! After all, who needs to hear the intricate details of “birds and bees” from parents when you have big brothers?

I am fortunate enough to have three big brothers who know all the facts of life – and beyond. They are so wise, they even decided to share their wealth of knowledge with their baby sister. Now I don’t remember why they voluntarily divulged such details unprompted, but they seemed to take great delight in it.

My sister just two years older than me had the same big brothers but they didn’t share the news with her. I guess it didn’t matter too much anyway because their story did seem a bit ridiculous. Well, she wanted to know where babies came from, too, so she ventured to ask Mama who, after all, did have six kids. My sister asked, “Mama, how do babies get here?”  My wide-eyed mother responded, “The same way little pigs do.” So, there it is – the facts of life – the story of the birds and the bees.

Since my sister thought she was so smart to know the truth, she squealed like a pig and decided to share it with me. Believe me, I was surprised! How does a scrawny six-year-old tell her older sister that she has been duped – and by her own mother? It was up to me to set her straight. I gave her the facts as told by my brothers, but she didn’t believe me any more than I believed her pig’s tale. 

If any of you need to approach the delicate subject of telling your kids of the “birds and the bees” just let me know. My big brothers are still available – for a small price. 

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A Boy’s Favorite Tree

The little boy played in the winter snow as the day neared an end. Soft flakes that looked like silver glitter in the fading sun floated aimlessly to the ground. The call came, “Supper time!” It took no time at all for the kids to run to the house, wash up, and get ready for supper. The warmth of the fire and wood cookstove drove the chill from the squirmy little bodies and the sawmillers that sat around the long dining room table. 

Excitement was in the air. It resonated throughout the log cabin in the heart of the mountains. Christmas was coming! A few decorations were hung, special treats were made and set aside, and whispers seeped through the walls to fill the kids with great anticipation of gifts that would be under their Christmas tree. 

As the little boy got ready for bed, something caught his eye. The dark of night was interrupted by twinkling lights. He peered out the cabin window that looked out over the kitchen sink. The moon had made its appearance. Just beyond the chicken coop was a wondrous sight. The white boughs of an evergreen hung lazily under the weight of freshly fallen snow. The ultimate Christmas tree! It seemed as if every flake reflected the colors of the prism. The lights sparkled like miniature diamonds lighting up the world of a little boy on his path to manhood. 

When the little boy grew into an old man, he reminisced of his growing up years in the Montana mountains. Even then his favorite Christmas tree was white with colored lights. You see, whenever he saw the colored lights sparkling against the white tree, he was transported to a time filled with warmth and unconditional love. Maybe that childhood tree was the greatest gift of all for it continued to bring light, love, and joy for a lifetime.

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Clothesline

During a recent trip to visit our kids and grandkids, our youngest granddaughter came to the house where we were staying. I wanted to take her on a walk down a path through the woods that led to a little creek. As we started across the yard, something caught her eye.

She asked, “What is that?” I said, “You’ve never seen one of those?” “No.” To her it looked like a strange contraption, and she couldn’t figure what its purpose was. There were two posts shaped like Ts about 20 feet apart with four wires stretched the full length. To someone who had never seen such a thing, I guess it did look a bit odd. I said, “It’s a clothesline.” She responded, “What do you do with it?” I proceeded to explain to her the use of a clothesline and told her about all the years I used one. 

My granddaughter saw something strange she had never seen before, but I saw more than two posts and four wires. I was transported to another time where I saw a bag of clothes pins draped over the wire, and pins clipped to my shirt. I saw stiff frozen blue jeans that hung like wooden planks from the line on a cold winter’s day, the breeze struggling to move the heavy weight. I saw a little boy sucking his thumb and holding onto a scrappy silky pillowcase as he stood under the lines. I saw freshly laundered sheets flapping in the breeze. I saw rows of long rectangular diapers blowing in the wind. I saw my mom as she attached another garment to the line, her apron waving gently, pins stuffed in the pockets, as she reached for another wet shirt. I saw clothing hanging limp and heavy in the hot humid weather when it took all day to dry.

I saw a clothes basket under the clothesline in which a bald-headed baby boy sat playing with some toys. When the clothes were dry, we returned with two baskets, one for him and one for the dried clothes. I folded them as I took each item from the line. By the time we got back to the house, the laundry was done, and I had a happy passenger.

Even if I could describe life without a clothes dryer to a generation who knows nothing different, I would still have a hard time describing sleeping in a bed made up with fresh smelling sheets that have blown in the sunny breeze. Nor could I explain that bleach doesn’t necessarily come in a bottle but rather in a brisk breeze on a cold sunny day, the laundry bleached to perfection.

At one time, the clothesline was a necessity. It sure was nice when we got a dryer in the house especially on rainy cold days. I wasn’t too keen on taking frozen jeans off the line and standing them in a corner of the house to thaw. 

Though dryers are nice to have, I sure would like to have a clothesline again, if only to hang clean sheets along with a few memories of another time.