Washing, Ironing, and Making Lye Soap

By Elton Camp

Washday actually meant a day. Work began early and didn’t end until the middle
of the afternoon. It was an arduous task that required family help, although the hardest
work fell on Miranda.

“Albert, Leamon. Build a far unner th’ warsh pot,” Miranda directed. “Hit’s time
t’ git started on th’ clothes.”

The boys trudged to the side yard where washing was done. The black wash pot
was turned bottom up to keep it clean and to prevent rust. Thick rocks encircled a bed of
ashes and charcoal from last week’s washday. On that base, they created a tepee of
wood. At the bottom went a few pieces of pine kindling. The sticky resin made it easy to
ignite. Progressively larger pieces of firewood they piled at an upward angle. When they
judged that the amount was adequate, they set it ablaze. When the fire had burned down
enough and began to produce intense heat, the two placed the heavy wash pot atop the
rocks and filled it with water.

This Wash Pot Has Not Been Used for a Long Time

While the boys worked, Bertha and Mamie moved the galvanized number two
washtub from the back porch into the yard near the wash pot. Repeated trips from the
spring were required to fill the rinsing tub. When movement of the water in the wash pot
showed it was about to boil, it was time for the clothes.

“Maw, hit’s ’bout ready,” Bertha called out.

Miranda emerged from the house with the family’s laundry. She added soiled
items, a few a time, to the hot water. With a heavy stick, white from long use, she stirred
the laundry and let it soak. Farm work resulted in heavily soiled clothes. When they’d
boiled long enough to loosen the encrusted soil, she used the stick to fish out the articles
one at a time. If necessary, she beat them on a large rock to loosen any stubborn dirt.
With her bare hands, she scrubbed them against the wooden rub board. It was difficult
work. Skinned knuckles from striking its ridges resulted most every washday. She made
no change of expression as the hot water reddened her hands. It was part of her lot in
life. Complaint would change nothing. She then rinsed the soapy articles in the cool
water of the washtub.

Rub board
As the fire burned down, the older boys cautiously shoved more wood
underneath. The fire popped and sparked. They had to be certain not to make ashes fly
into the wash pot to dirty the clothes. When all the clothes were soaked, rubbed, and
rinsed, it would be time to hang them out to dry.

When the wash pot cooled sufficiently, the two boys awkwardly toted it to the
porch and poured the still-warm water, bit at a time, onto its unpainted boards. Bertha
and Mamie used homemade brooms to scrub the floor. Hot water was hard to come by–it
couldn’t be wasted.
The cold rinse water from the washtub then served to flush the lye soap from the porch.
As the porch dried, it emitted an odor so strong that it could almost be tasted. The ground
around the edges of the porch became soggy and slick.

“Don’t track non’ o’ thet mud in th’ house,” Miranda cautioned as she hung the
clothes out to dry.

The boys returned the wash pot to its customary place in the yard. It seemed light
with the water gone. The girls leaned the empty washtub against the wall on the porch.
It would serve for weekly baths. The rub board they hung on a projecting peg.

The clothesline was strung along posts at the rear of the house. That location was
best to prevent road dust from passing wagons and horses from settling on the damp
laundry. Wooden clothespins held the items in place on the wire line. The sunshine and
light summer breeze took hours to do the job. In the winter, clothes might freeze before
they dried. If so, laundry day might extend into a second day. When dry, the clothes
were hard and stiff, but had a clean, refreshing aroma.
 Clothesline
Shirts, pants, aprons, underwear, sheets–everything in the laundry except rags–
Miranda starched and ironed. She was fortunate enough to have two heavy, black, metal
irons. On the top of each was the raised number six. She heated them on the top of the
wooden cook stove. When the one she used became too cool, she returned it to reheat
and ironed with its companion. Bertha sometimes helped, especially when the ironing
continued into the next day.

The Iron Was Heavy and Hard to Use

Lye soap was used on washday, for dishes, and for personal hygiene. Farm
families made it themselves. Only two ingredients went into it: lard and lye. Lard was
rendered and saved for the purpose at hog killing. The family dumped cool ashes from
the fireplace and stove into a wooden hopper or bin outside. They were the source of lye.

Ashbin

“Bin’s gittin’ purty full,” Milas remarked. “Mirandey, best git th’ soap a goin’.”

He issued the decree and then moved on to other matters. The onerous task was
her responsibility.

“Mamie. Bertha. Y’u girls holp. I need t’ larn y’u how’t make soap anyways.
One o’ these days y’all ’ill be gettin’ hitched.”

The girls had helped their mother with the process many times, but repetition
honed their skills. A time would come when they’d no longer have her guidance. The
three poured bucket after bucket of water into the ashbin. When the liquid lye appeared,
they siphoned it to mix with lard. They combined the two ingredients in the wash pot
over an open fire. The right ratio of the caustic lye was essential. Too much caused the
soap to burn the skin. Too little and the soap wouldn’t harden.

Making Lye Soap

“I heered thet ef y’u drap a aig in, an’ jest th’ tip shows, y’u got hit right,” Mamie
speculated.

Miranda made no reply to the old wives tale. She knew by long practice when the
concentration was correct. It was needless to waste an egg.

“Keep th’ far a goin’ an’ keep stirrin’ wif th’ paddle. Tell Albert I sed fer him t’
keep y’u in wood.”

The girls swung the wooden paddle back and forth and around in circles for
hours. Their arms and hands ached. When the paddle stood straight up, the soap was
deemed ready to be poured into metal pans where it would dry and harden.

“How long’s hit gonna take?” Albert inquired. “We’s runnin’ short on soap ez tis.
Y’u girls hurry’t up.”

The process couldn’t be rushed. Two to four weeks were required, depending on
conditions. If a family ran out of soap, a neighbor usually had some to barter.

When the soap was ready, Miranda cut it into small bars for use. It was brown
and, when dry, a bit crumbly. The soap emitted a pungent odor that could have been
nauseating hadn’t she long ago become accustomed to it.

Bars of Lye Soap