Clotheslines blow through culture again

The simple, nostalgic act of hanging clothes outside to dry, regaining popularity as an eco-friendly act, has become a full-blown political flap.

On one side of the line, proponents of the right-to-dry movement say clotheslines are a green alternative to dryers, which are second only to refrigerators and air conditioners as the top energy consumers in most homes.

"I call my clothesline my solar dryer," said Lisa Taranto, a green activist and director of the community Tricycle Gardens, who hangs laundry outside her East Broad Street home.

Opponents, however, see clotheslines as flags of poverty that create eyesores and devalue property.

"They're unsightly by most people's standards," said Jeanne Bridgforth, a Realtor with Long & Foster in Richmond. "It gives an atmosphere of decline. You don't sense you're in a well-heeled neighborhood when you see people hanging their laundry out to dry."

Planned communities and condos frequently have covenants that ban or restrict the use of clotheslines. In the Richmond area, restrictions vary -- from all-out prohibition, as in Charles Glen in Henrico County, to restricted use, as in Chesterfield County's venerable Woodlake and Brandermill subdivisions.

"We do allow portable devices [drying racks], just not permanent ones," said Brian Hoyle, community-standards manager for Woodlake, where racks must be brought inside once the laundry is dry.

With more than 300,000 community associations across the country, promoting clothesline use has been an uphill task for Alexander Lee, founder of the nonprofit Project Laundry List, which he started 11 years ago as a Middlebury College student.

"I frankly feel that [calling clotheslines eyesores] is a selffulfilling prophecy and we need to stop talking about it as . . . something that's ugly," Lee said.

The clothesline issue is being wrung out nationwide in legislatures, community associations and online. A group called Right2Dry is urging the Obama family to hang their clothes on the White House lawn to promote line drying.

During the last Virginia General Assembly session, Sen. Linda T. Puller, D-Fairfax, introduced a bill that would have prohibited Northern Virginia community associations from restricting the use of "wind energy drying devices" -- i.e., clotheslines.

The bill, which would have gone into effect next Wednesday, would not have been retroactive but would have applied only to new covenants. It passed the Senate 40-0 but died in the House of Delegates 60-40.

Puller said she hasn't decided if she'll reintroduce the bill next session.

This month, similar legislation became law in Vermont. Clothesline bills are in various stages of debate in about a dozen other states.

Slur aside, the eyesore question is at the core of most opposition.

Lee said he understands the aesthetic mores. "What's uglier -- water lapping at our front doors from global warming or somebody with a drying rack on their deck?" asked Lee, who has a network of clothesline activists across the country.

Bridgforth recently showed a beautifully restored historic property on Church Hill that was listed in the $700,000 price range. "I had such a hard time selling it because the people next door always had laundry hanging from their second-story back porch," she said. "It was just an eyesore." The house went to foreclosure and eventually to auction, Bridgforth thinks, because of the negative appearance around the house.

In Europe, laundry lines are common outside, but the use of electric and gas dryers have diminished their appearance in the U.S. With the green movement, clotheslines are coming back, Bridgforth said.

But homeowners using clotheslines face threatening letters and potential fines from their community associations. Clotheslines also can create tension between neighbors.

How can the issue be resolved?

"Finding a middle ground is going to be pretty darn hard," Bridgforth said.

Residents should consider their neighbors' view when erecting a drying device or maybe do their drying on indoor racks or lines.

"In the old days, wonderful old houses had drying yards that were screened off from public view," said Jennie Dotts, CEO of Old House Authority in Richmond.

Frank Rathbun of the Community Associations Institute said it's important for community associations to periodically review their regulations.

"A rule that made sense 20 years ago may not make sense today," Rathbun has said. "A rule that most residents wanted 15 years ago they may no longer want today. So we urge boards to conduct a periodic and transparent review of their rules. By transparent I mean this should involve the board and the residents in the community."

Margie Langston, who manages several Richmond homeowners' associations for Community Group Inc., oversees neighborhoods that ban clotheslines and others that allow them.

Langston, who calls herself a "passionate environmentalist," wrote a play a few years ago called "Out to Dry" based on an article she read about a community that was up in arms over someone's right to dry clothes outdoors. The play had a staged reading at Richmond's Firehouse Theatre and won a national contest.

"For a prop, I bought an umbrella-style clothesline to use on stage and later installed it in my backyard where I have used it ever since," Langston said. "I really love the simplicity of drying my clothes in the sun.

"I have yet to convince some of my boards of directors that this is a good thing, but I am an advocate of this cause whenever I can get a chance."

Contact Julie Young at (804) 649-6732 or .

Memories of a clothesline

My grandmother's clotheslines bisected a postage-stamp size backyard behind her 1920s bungalow in the shadow of Roanoke's Mill Mountain.

I'm told that I looked forward to laundry days as a child visiting her home. I'd watch her fill a large wicker basket with wet clothes out of the washer in the basement, then follow her outside to "help" hang them.

The first thing she'd do was take a clean cloth and wipe off the lines, walking the entire length back and forth a few times. I'd haul out the metal clothespin bucket and, for some inexplicable reason, sit down in the grass and clip the pins all around the rim like a little army of wooden soldiers.

As she hung sheets, towels and clothes, I'd decide whether to hand her a wooden spring-pin or the unhinged tubular type with the round flat head.

There are stories of housewives who hung their unmentionables on a center line hidden discreetly behind outside rows of sheets and towels. I guess my grandmother lacked clothesline modesty -- she let it all hang out in plain view, even her rather sizable granny panties.

When she was finished, I always ran through the wet clothes to get a few cold slaps on a hot day.

When I was growing up, every home we lived in had a clothesline. My mom still has one. She runs outside when she hears it start to rain and says things under her breath when she discovers a bird has flown over and left a deposit on freshly dried laundry.

When my family visits her, we sleep on sweet, crisp sheets and dry ourselves with slightly rough towels.

Contact Julie Young at (804) 649-6732 or .