What does the well-dressed farm wife wear? Heck, I wouldn't know! My book chapter titled “Farm Fashion” followed the evolution—or degeneration—of my wardrobe in the transition from City Girl to Farm Wife. The title of my book, From High Heels to Gumboots, says it all. Now that I’m retired from the City Girl job and am a full-time Farm Wife, my wardrobe has evolved—or degenerated—further toward the casual end. Most days on the farm I look downright tacky; but, I’ve been told that I clean up well!

Here are my “good” and “farm” jeans.

The “good” jeans are laundered in cool water, put in the dryer for only a few minutes, then hung on a slacks hanger to finish drying indoors. My “farm” jeans are laundered with Bill’s farm clothes, then either hung on the clothesline in good weather, or tossed in the dryer for a full drying cycle. If you overheard Bill and me talking about our “dirty” load of laundry, you might wonder, “If all the clothes being washed are dirty, why do you call this one a ‘dirty’ load?” The answer: A load of farm clothes is the dirtiest of the dirty clothes! Dirt, mud, manure, afterbirth, blood—both bovine and human, gasoline, diesel fuel, grease, oil, hydraulic fluid...sometimes all on one pair of jeans. It doesn’t get any dirtier than this!

In a post from last winter, “Winter Farm Chore Fashion Chic” (posted 2/14/2014), I characterized my winter chore and walk outfits as “Farm Wife Barbie meets Army Surplus Refugee.”  My summer chore ensembles aren't much better:
·   farm jeans, or shorts for indoors;
·   old t-shirts with sleeves cut out;
·   socks, preferably with less cotton and more synthetic fibers to wick moisture away and prevent blisters; and,

·  sturdy running shoes for walking, or gum boots when working cattle in the corral or when the evening walks may be muddy.

I recently conducted a t-shirt audit to weed out those that were thin to the point of indecency or had holes in them. Most of these are from my competitive running days of some 20 to 30 years ago. I ran a lot of races and the pre-race packets usually contained commemorative t-shirts. Most were of a quality 50/50 cotton/polyester blend. Now, most of the cotton has worn away and only a thin layer of polyester remains. The holes started as small snags inflicted while being taken prisoner by torturous barbed wire fences, and increased in size with wearing and washing.

My t-shirt qualitative analysis criteria was simple: Would I be embarrassed to be caught wearing this shirt if a neighbor dropped by unannounced? A score of “Heck, yeah!” meant the shirt was far beyond repurposing as a rag. This shirt received a unanimous “Heck, yeah!” and was retired after that evening’s walk.

This statement is from my essay, “I Am a Farm Wife” and was inspired by a chapter in my book, “Reuse, Recycle, Repurpose—The Farmer’s Trilogy.” June’s Junque is an excellent example of two-thirds of this trilogy: reuse and repurpose. Recently, Bill put the recycle part into action.

On our farm, anything made of metal that can’t be reused or repurposed is piled on a scrap heap to await a trip to a recycling center near Topeka. Last week, Bill decided it was time so he loaded the junk metal on a small trailer.

No, the trailer wasn't part of the junk being left at the recycling center. Even though it may look a little rough as a result of a tree falling on it several years ago during a windstorm, it’s still a reliable and important piece of equipment on our farm. It can haul 60 square bales of hay, the Ford 8N tractor or the mini-truck—but not all at the same time.

The items destined for the huge recycling magnet were:
1.   a broken mineral feeder for cattle;
2.   frame and springs from an old hide-a-bed couch (The springs couldn't be repurposed as a yard art trellis or, believe me, they wouldn't be on this pile!);
3.   old pieces of roof guttering;
4.   lots of old rusty baling wire (The pile was over seven feet tall before Bill mashed it down!);
5.   a bundle of even rustier woven wire; and
6.   stuff I couldn't identify.

But wait…what was this on the bottom underneath all this junk? They looked like steel cylinders and were painted “John Deere Green.”

Those cylinders apparently came off a piece of farm equipment. Anything “John Deere Green” has huge yard art potential. Why didn't I know about these? No way were they going to the recycling center!

I grabbed one of the cylinders and tried to pull it from under the scrap pile. It was heavy and only came partway out. I dug through the pile and found a bolt sticking out near one end that had caught on another piece of junk. I finally liberated my potential yard art treasure and laid it on the ground. There was a second cylinder, as well as longer pieces connected together. I trotted to the house and told Bill I had scavenged items from his load. He fished out the other cylinder before he left. The longer pieces were too tangled up in baling wire to take off the trailer.

Here are my “John Deere Green” pieces of future June’s Junque. I don’t know yet how they will be repurposed. I’ll just wait for a burst of junque inspiration. That’s the fun part!

When Bill returned from his trip to the recycling center, he told me the cash he received for the load was just short of $100 due to me scavenging his load!

Yes, really!

I was born in the mid-1950’s. My dad was a self-employed plumber and electrician who worked long hours six days a week. My mom was a stay-at-home mom. I am the oldest of four kids and that accident of birth set me up as the target for Mom’s Housework Apprenticeship Program (HAP). I didn't volunteer, I was drafted. 

I became eligible to enter the program the summer I was six years old. The first skill set was Introduction to Dishwater. Many would follow: Speck-Free Dusting, Porch Sweeping, Basics of Vacuuming, Floor Scrubbing, Spot-Free Bathroom Cleaning, Lawn Mowing and Laundry. 

The Laundry Apprenticeship was divided into sections: Proper Sorting, Clothesline Preparation, Clothespin Selection, Techniques of Hanging, Wrinkle-Free Ironing and Folding. Notice the Laundry program didn't include operation of the washer and dryer. We didn't own the latter. The former was a wringer washer which Mom operated because of the danger the wringer imposed. Besides, how could I successfully complete the apprenticeship if my arm was permanently flattened and the bones crushed from being pulled through the wringer?

The main event on Laundry Day was staged on our enclosed back porch. Besides the wringer washer, the operation required two rinse tubs: one for the first rinse and a second one for the final rinse. A few drops of bluing, a whiteness enhancer for grayed or yellowed white clothes, were added to the final rinse. The wringer apparatus on the washer swiveled to be repositioned between the washer and the first rinse, then between the two rinse tubs and, finally, between the final rinse and the clothes basket. Our enclosed back porch was pretty crowded on laundry day with just enough space left for Mom. Fearing she might change her mind about teaching me to operate the wringer, I didn't hang around underfoot, but waited in another part of the house until I was summoned to hang out clothes.

For Mom, hanging clothes on a clothesline was a science. White clothes were hung in the sun, while colors were hung in the shade, if possible, to minimize fading. We used two types of clothespins, spring-operated and one-piece straight pins, each of which was used on certain types of clothing. Some items were hung separately—underwear, shorts and slacks—using two pins; while others—sheets, towels and T-shirts—were strung together by slightly overlapping the corners and securing with a pin. Our clothesline was a masterpiece of laundry day efficiency!

The clothes were brought in as soon as they were dry to prevent further sun fading and weakening of elastic in waistbands. Underwear and towels were sorted, folded and put away. Sheets and pillow cases were put back on beds (mandatory hospital corners!). Most outerwear was made of cotton which required ironing to remove wrinkles. Mom didn't yet own a steam iron so some clothes were dampened with water from a sprinkler bottle— a Pepsi bottle with a sprinkler head set in a hollowed-out cork in the bottle opening. The dampened clothes were stored in a large plastic bag in the refrigerator until the next day. Some clothes were ironed immediately. 

Now, I use a clothesline on warm days when the temperature is at least 60 degrees. However, towels go in the dryer because we like soft towels. Despite using fabric softener in the rinse cycle, towels hung outside are still scratchy. What we refer to as our “good” clothes, those we wear in public, go in the dryer but only for a few minutes. 

One word of advice about hanging clothes outside when you live on a hilltop and the forecast calls for winds gusting in excess of 30 miles per hour: Don’t!

Shortly after we were married and living on a hilltop near Valley Falls, I learned the futility of attempting to wrestle a king-sized waterbed sheet on the clothesline on a windy day. This sheet was the type with the fitted and flat sheets sewn together at the bottom. When spread out in a single layer, there was enough yardage to outfit a fraternity toga party! One windy day, after I’d struggled for several minutes to drape this bedding behemoth over the line, a wind gust whipped it around me until I was wrapped tighter than a mummy. Since the sheet was nearly dry anyway, I shuffled to the house, unwound myself and crammed it into the dryer. 

One recent morning, when I hung clothes outside a nice breeze was blowing. But a couple of hours later, a powerful gust rattled the house. I looked out the kitchen window and saw underwear turbo-jetting across the yard. I sprinted out the door in hot pursuit, fearing our undies would end up in the next county before I caught up. Grabbing the rest of the clothes off the line required two of us: one to hold the clothes in the basket and the basket on the ground, and one to take down what was left of the clothes.

Did reading this account of my Laundry Apprenticeship exhaust you? It may seem primitive to those of you from Generations X, Y and younger. But Baby Boomers feel fortunate that we didn't have to heat a cauldron of water over an open fire and use homemade lye soap and a washboard to scrub clothes clean. Or, haul dirty laundry down to the creek and beat it on a rock. We count ourselves lucky, indeed!

As a kid, I didn't appreciate the home-making skills Mom taught me. Now, I consider those skills priceless! Thanks, Mom!