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Laundry Day at the Logging Camp
One of my chores at Blind Channel was doing the camp laundry. The linen supply was pretty sparse but luckily did extend to a clean set of sheets for the ten bunks set up in the building.
My own laundry was done on a daily basis due to having diapers to wash. The camp laundry was done once a week. On laundry day, I checked the sky to try and gauge the day's weather, if I deemed it a fair weather day, I would trudge up to the bunk house and strip all the cots. My arms full of mountain of sheets, I would walk back down to the cookhouse, dump them on the floor and haul out the wringer washer. The wringer washer was located on the front porch. It was filled by a hose connected to the kitchen sink faucet. I would dump detergent and some of bleach into the tub and wash all of the sheets and pillow slips before draining for the rinse 'cycle'.
One fateful day, the sky looked fairly good and I had finished the wash cycle. I opened the drain faucet. For some unknown reason, it didn't drain. I checked the drain hose for a plug but it was clear. A dilemma. Undaunted, I recalled my father's advice on the principles of siphoning. I uncoupled the sink hose and stuck one end in the washer tub. On the other end I began to suck remembering that once the water reached the end of the hose, I must immediately make sure it was lower than the water level in the washer. I was concentrating so much on the principals of siphoning, I lost my focus on the siphon sucking and was rewarded with a mouthful of filthy, soapy, bleachy water. YUCK! The bleach overpowered the other elements of the swill and my mouth was lightly burned as I gagged from the unpleasant taste. Unfortunately, I forgot about dropping the hose to the ground and had to siphon suck one more time. The second time, I was fortunate enough to succeed. The wash water drained out and I filled the tub with clean water for the rinse. I used three loads of rinse water and now had siphoning down to an scientific art form.
With laundry baskets, full of clean sheets, I went out to the makeshift clothes line that was strung along the beach between two poles. I hung the sheets up and the breeze off the ocean began to pick up. The sky became dark and I hoped the sheets would dry before the rain started. I headed back to the cookhouse to fix lunch for my son. As I was spooning pablum into him I heard raindrops hit the kitchen window. Damn! I hurriedly put my hungry wailing son back in his crib and ran out to rescue the sheets from another rinse cycle. As I was unpegging the first sheet, a brisk gust of wind billowed them out into horizontal rectangular sails. As the gust died the clothesline snapped and the clean laundry dropped onto the muddy beach. Gingerly, I picked each one up checking their soiled condition. Each sheet had at least one large soiled spot on them. After I finished feeding my son, I filled the washer again with hot clean water and did another rinse. By then, the rain had abetted but the wind was still blowing. I checked the clothesline. The rope was badly frayed in several spots. I decided I would not risk another break and draped the sheets over the bushes.
Due to all of the delays, my morning of wash had now advanced into late afternoon. I gave thanks that there were clean sheets available for the bunks and decided to leave the wash to dry overnight. I scurried back up to the bunkhouse, quickly made the beds and rushed back to begin dinner. After doing the dinner dishes I checked the sheets just in case they were dry. No such luck. I went to bed exhausted with the unpleasant aftertaste of wash water still circulating around my taste buds.
The following morning, after breakfast I went back to the bushes to bring in the laundry. The sheets were still a little damp from the morning dew but fairly dry. I gathered up the first sheet and began to fold it. I felt this tickling sensation on my arm and when I looked down saw, to my horror, two earwigs crawling up my forearm. I dropped the sheet and went into paroxysms of earwig loathing. Once I had recovered from my earwig revulsion, I picked up the sheet and shook it thoroughly. Earwigs went flying off in all directions. Each bush dried sheet and pillowcase was infested with these revolting bugs. For the remainder of the day, my flesh crawled with imaginary earwigs marching up and down my skin.
I never confessed my aversion to earwigs to the camp crew but pleaded with the gypo boss to get a new clothesline. He went one better, he also repaired the drain pump on the wringer washer by the following week.
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