Laundry is my all-time favorite domestic chore for one simple reason: I hang it outdoors to dry.

Growing up in the desert southwest, I always helped my mom hang laundry on the line. In that sunny, arid climate, the first items were already drying by the time we finished hanging everything.

Since leaving Arizona as an adult, I’ve always had a clothesline wherever I lived. It never occurred to me that this choice was eco-conscious, but apparently, using a clothesline now earns points for helping “save the planet.”

Although drying clothes outside is common around the globe, in America the vast majority of people opt for dryers over clotheslines. 

Many communities even have regulations that restrict outdoor clotheslines, despite their energy-saving merits. One friend told me her HOA doesn’t allow them because they look “tacky.” Ouch. 

Given that I live in the country and my clothesline borders the pasture nearest the house, this routine chore comes with built-in scenery. I’m often treated to visits from deer and other wildlife who have grown accustomed to my presence. There are almost always birds singing, and depending on the season, an ariel parade of butterflies.

I doubt hanging out laundry would be as rewarding in an urban setting, never mind those cool photos of narrow Italian streets with laundry hanging on lines strung above the road from building to building.

The hanging out part is my favorite, but there’s also the satisfaction of taking down, folding and placing each item in the laundry basket. 

I never owned a dryer until I bought my current home, which came with one. I use it on rare occasions, but no dryer sheet can genuinely replicate the scent of fresh air and sunshine, even when it’s euphemistically labeled “Summer Breeze” or “Mountain Air.” 

My mom insisted on having a clothesline until she moved to assisted living. I inherited the last of her clothespins, which fell apart over the years, but a single faded yellow one remains. I don’t want it to break, so I don’t use it anymore, I just keep it clipped on the end of the first line.

Mom has been gone six years this June, but every time I hang out a load, I see that clothespin and think of her. It’s not just the scent of sun-dried laundry I appreciate, but that she also cherished this simplest of chores.