A Good Washing Day

I find comfort in doing the laundry.

What an incredibly dull thing to say. But during lockdown here in regional NSW I appreciate the consistency of the daily cleanse – a chance to grab hold of a ritual that washes away the dirt of the day before, the cupcake crumbs, Nutella-smeared elbows (don’t ask me how), muddy knees and white singlets stained with spaghetti… they’ll need another soak. But that chance to wash, rinse and hang out the clothes, renewed, refreshed, is something that feels right, controlled, clean. Something I can do while we watch the heaviness of the world unfold around us, through glass windows and perspex screens.

Bodies of water refreshed us as kids, too. There was so much joy to be found in it – running through the backyard sprinkler, dodging bindis or nudging my brother into the path of a particularly big one. Boxing Day barbies among the gums on the banks of Wattle Flat and, two weeks later, sporting our new Christmas boogie boards on the shores of Kings Beach, Caloundra… this time dodging blue bottles. Sure, the shark alarm would sound and people would gallop out. But five minutes later, given the nod from nearby lifeguards, the fearless would frolic back in, stomp on the waves and kick seaweed at siblings. The suggestion that ‘You’ll never go back into the water’ from the 1975 classic Jaws, clearly forgotten by us all, the hypercolour-clad, zinc-faced, late-80s water bandits.

But somewhere along the way, that childhood joy in water shifted. Drought dove deep into this outback earth and lingered – longer, then longer again. And while my young family and I don’t live on the land, we breathe the same dry air in our small town and have learnt to cherish what is now so scarce. Children sit cross-legged in classrooms, learning that water is precious, something to be prayed for and protected. No sprinkler runs for now.

Then the tides turned again, borders slammed shut and our gaze shifted to the ocean – giant, watery walls that roar, separating my UK-born husband from his parents, my children from their grandparents, and humans the world-over from their precious people too. Crashing waves brought such comfort to childhood ears, replaced now by something that sounds fierce but quiet, cruel but lost.

We know we’re lonely, but not alone. We know there’s comfort to be found within our walls and we’re grateful for our fortunes – our health, our home, our glass windows and perspex screens that help us to connect and teach. But I miss the simplicity of splash-ready water, when it was something that nourished our bodies and souls, something that nurtured the surrounding plains and livestock, something we adventured across for hugs and spectacularly ordinary moments with people we love.

So for now, I choose to get back to the washing. There’s always time to throw on a load, to wash away the dirt of another day and begin again tomorrow.

Image: Jennifer Drew @adventuresofjen