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[Bunjov AT aol.com]

Well, you have a taker - but only in retrospect.
In Magdalena, Sonora, in 1963, there was no such thing as Pampers - or a  lot 
of other stuff. We had brought with us a supply of the long, gauze-like  
cloth diapers, and it was a given that they would be washed and re-washed.  
That's 
just the way it was done.
It required going out at dawn each day and lighting a fire under the big  pot 
on the patio and scrubbing them clean on a tin washboard. They were hung  
over a rope between two trees.
Bummer was that there was a car repair shop next door, on the other side of  
a tall masonry wall, where once in a while they'd have an 'incident', and 
black  soot floated over the wall and I'd have to start all over again.
Ahhh...those were the days.
Sandy
Mid-Mojave
 
 
In a message dated 9/26/2008 7:43:48 A.M. Pacific Standard Time,  
genegerue AT ruralize.com writes:


On  Sep 26, 2008, at 9:21 AM, <eureka AT hctc.net> <eureka AT hctc.net>  wrote:

> We were talking last night about life without
>  electricity, and both decided we could make do, if we had
> to, except  for one thing: hauling water up from our
> pioneer well would do us  in.

My brother, Don and I recently visited the log cabin built for  Starker  
Leopold, son of Aldo Leopold, author of A Sand County  Almanac and  
considered by many the father of natural resources  conservation. The  
cabin is in Caney Mountain Refuge, about six miles  from Heartwood. The  
cabin site is magnificent, atop huge rock  formations and looking out  
over heavy woods and creek bottom.  Starker was hired to be the first  
manager of the refuge, which is  nearly eight thousand acres and where  
most notably the Missouri deer  and turkey population was built up from  
very few animals in the  forties.

We discovered the negative of living in such an inspiring  site. A  
spring box was poured of concrete to collect water from a  hillside  
seepage. To get to the spring box there is a long set of  stone steps  
down from the cabin. Carrying water up for drinking and  cooking would  
mean carrying buckets up those seventy or eighty steep  steps, an  
elevation I would guesstimate about seventy  feet.

My first impression was that this glorious place would be a  total  
delight in which to live. Then the daily reality sunk  in.

Nostalgia is nice. Electricity is better.

Who on this list  would happily wash clothes by  hand?

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