Wash Rags

As I have been writing these blogs, I have taken several trips down memory lane. Fond trips recalling days from my childhood and times on the farm. One in particular came to mind of a trip to the farm with my grandparents. At this point in their lives, my grandparents had moved to Aiken, SC but still owned the farm in McDuffie county in Georgia – the old homestead property. Granddaddy made the hour and half trip back and forth two or three times a week to work his garden.

My family lived in Savannah, Georgia so we were not quite as ‘country’ as we have been at other points in history. It was, of course, summertime. School was out and we were visiting Aiken with my mom. As kids we absolutely loved visiting Granny and Granddaddy. Granny would always cook our favorite foods. Granddaddy would take us fishing or give us pieces of the Juicy Fruit gum he always seemed to carry in his pocket. When it was time to work in the garden, they would load all us kids up in that old blue station wagon ( in those days we could ride in the cargo section in the back – no seat belts required) and we would head to the farm. Needless to say, this was not our most favorite activity. Now we enjoyed being outside and being able to run and play in the woods surrounding the field where the garden was planted, but who wants to work in the garden when you are on summer vacation. I mean really! We were kids! Weren’t there child labor laws! It was summertime! We shouldn’t have to work! But work we did.

My grandparents were two of the sweetest, kindest, most mild mannered individuals you would ever meet. A true southern lady and gentleman. But when granddaddy said work, you worked. So, there we were, in ragged shorts and t-shirts, skinned knees and sneakers, trying to learn the art of working a hoe. And we learned – whether we wanted to or not. So we hoed, and weeded, hauled water, and picked vegetables. We sweated and we worked and we grew. After hours, slaving away in the hot summer sun, perspiration covering us from head to toe – we would head back to the old blue station wagon, load up tools and vegetables and then it would happen. Granny would head to the front seat and pull out the plastic bag with the wet wash rags. We kids would line up and she would give us each a cloth and tell us to ,”wipe off our face and necks – clean off the dirt before you get in the car. You need to cool off. It’s hot out here working.” Now those wet wash cloths had been in that plastic bag, in the car, in the heat all afternoon while we worked. So they were hot and smelled like mildew. They were awful! But there was no getting in the car and heading home until Granny was satisfied we had wiped down. Grudgingly we would do as we were told then all the way home and until we took our baths that night in the big, old claw-footed tub – we smelled like mildew.

My cousins and I laughed recently at a reunion as we remembered those times – going to the farm in the old baby blue station wagon, working out in the field hoeing and picking, and having to wipe down with those wash rags before going home.

#garden #grandparents #work