Twisted socks and jeans full of sand and hay dust smelling like manure, sweat and faint hint of something I can’t name. That’s what laundry looks like for a growing ranch family.
There are a number of reasons I’m grateful to be born in this century, but near the top of the list is this: I don’t have to do laundry in a creek with a washboard and a bar of soap.
Because if that were the case, I’m fairly certain I’d own about two dresses and call it good.
Every laundry day, I thank the man who invented my fancy electric washing machine with all its bells and whistles that make our far-from-simple mound of laundry doable. I have no proof of this, but I’m convinced ranch life laundry is a step above your ordinary washing.
Ranch moms know the only way to keep a wardrobe with a few unstained shirts is to have “work-play clothes” and “nice clothes.” I sometimes wonder if that strategy actually adds to the work. On a typical day, a busy little boy manages to get marker, lunch, and glue all over his nice clothes, only to come home and change into work-play clothes that collect grease, manure, and mud. And then, being so responsible, both outfits find their way into the dirty clothes pile.
But somehow, we still manage to save a few shirts for town days.
It’s a little ironic that I’m the one requesting so many wardrobe changes. We dreaded the toddler days when outfits were changed hourly, but now I welcome it if it means preserving the few school shirts we have left. If we catch things soon enough, we might even get a second day out of one.
There might not be any hard and fast rules for ranch laundry, but there are definitely a few necessities. It must have been a ranch wife who convinced the laundry detergent gods to create things like Febreze and OxiClean, because we need far more than just soap to deal with the stains and smells that come with ranch work. Add in that little spray bottle of pre-wash magic, and a few items might actually survive.
There isn’t much difference in the level of dirtiness between big ranchers and little ranchers. The real difference shows up in the presentation. If there is any possible way for a shirt, pair of pants, or sock to be twisted inside out, it will be. Shirts and hoodies are manageable enough, but socks are a different story entirely.
They’re usually sweaty, stinky, and crusty, with a high likelihood of an ambush of sand, hay, and tiny rocks spilling out as you try to turn them right side out.
The seasons don’t bring less laundry, no matter how much I hope they might. Winter means layers—t-shirts and hoodies stacked on top of each other. You’d think at least one of those layers would stay clean, but somehow they all end up just as dirty. Summer brings long-sleeve, collared shirts to keep the sun off, which take a little more effort to keep presentable. I’ve never understood why every shirt can’t be wrinkle-free. There isn’t a rancher alive with time to iron that many shirts, and if the cows don’t mind the wrinkles, neither do I.
It’s really only the town shirts that get pressed.
Just as much as I wish for a season with less laundry, I always hope for a season with less mess. But it never quite works out that way. Winter trades mud for grease from shop work. Calving season brings its own kind of mess that doesn’t need much describing. And even out on the range, the dust has a way of working itself into everything.
Mom’s ranch clothes are a bit of a wild card. If I’m out on the ranch all day, I’ll put on my work jeans like anyone else. But if I’m going back and forth between the house and outside, I usually stick to my comfy leggings—despite my husband’s reminders that they aren’t proper work apparel. I like to point out that coveralls were made for exactly this purpose, but even I have my limits. So on the hotter days, I go rogue and risk the leggings.
It may not be practical, but it’s comfortable—and it still ends up as another load of laundry.
Checking pockets is a given for any mom, but on a ranch it feels especially important if I want to save my washer, my laundry, and my sanity. From nuts, bolts, and fencing clips to tagging markers and paint sticks, there are plenty of things that should never make it into a washing machine.
And then there are the treasures—little collections gathered throughout the day and tucked away for safekeeping. If I miss those, there’s a good chance they’ll disappear into the washing machine’s black hole, never to be seen again. I try to avoid that kind of heartbreak when I can.
Despite the dirty laundry roulette we play every wash day, I wouldn’t trade this ranch life for easier laundry. Every stain, every worn-out shirt, every load that takes a little extra work comes from days spent working, learning, and living out here together.
Turns out a pile of dirty laundry isn’t just a chore. It’s proof of a life being lived.
But I’ll still take the fancy electric washer over the washboard.
