Shake out the sheet. Yep, that’s all it took. Shake out a sheet and a memory falls out. Now every so often I seem to shake thoughts of my sister June out of this and that. So there I was making the bed with clean sheets. The sheet billowed and just like that I was back on the farm with my sister on the other side of the bed, telling me what to do. I could once again smell the sweetness of the bedding hung on the line to dry.
Mother aired everything out when spring came around. I’m not sure how often quilts and comforters were washed, but they did their time on the clothesline each spring. After flapping and “airing,” the Loxley girls’ duty was to fold the bedding. I vaguely remember June teaching me how to fold a blanket. “Okay, Pam, hold the two corners,” she said. Now at this point I must point out that June is seven years my senior and was a lot bigger than me.
I held the corners, but sure as the sun rises, my end of the blanket was dragging on the ground. “Okay, just hold them, I’ll come and get them.” Now she sounded a bit irritated, so I did as I was told. She pulled her end down to my end and grabbed all four corners folding the blanket once more. “Hold these,” she barked. I held two more corners while she returned to her position as the much shorter blanket. A blanket was twice thick and a handful for a little girl. “Hold it up!” Well, things weren’t looking up. I did a lot of standing, and she did a lot of grumpy noises finishing up the job. Thus, my lesson in learning to fold bedding.
Bedding is quite the keeper of memories. I remember sleeping beneath family-made quilts, taking in each square Mom Johnson made. A quilt of family history made from the clothing of my aunts, my mother and perhaps even my grandma. The green, tied-comforter covered me every winter. I snuggled down beneath it on those cold nights when body heat was all you had to start with. The chest which held some linens smelled of cedar mixed with moth balls, and the big closet smelled of family. It held all of our clothing, bedding, shoes and play clothes. It was a well-loved room.
I shook out the sheet. I stood in the bedroom in Oregon and was shaking out a sheet on Neff Road. A flood of the past rained down on me, embraced me and welcomed me once more. I heard my sister telling me to shake it out just right. “Don’t let go of the corner! Okay, Pam, let’s try it again.” Ah, yes, shaking out the memories.
Pamela Loxley Drake is a former resident of Darke County, Ohio, and is the author of Neff Road and A Grandparent Voice blog. She can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. Viewpoints expressed in the article are the work of the author.