I remember when the only washing we got was the evening before Sunday church. By that time the skinny black snakes had grown around your neck. You know, the ones from sweating and playing in the dirt.
Remember when to wash behind your ears was more important than washing under your arms. I never did understand why.
By the end of the week, the rust around your ankles was so thick you had to soak your feet in a pan of water first. But, but, but, only after the water was used to "cleanse" more delicate portions of your sister's and your own skin. You know, Mother only heated ONE teakettle of hot water for everybody to share, including her.
Those were the days before the word GERMS was invented. Lord, Lord, the word "calories" came even later.
It did my soul good to watch my two grandsons having a smashing good time peeling the sticky pine bark from logs of a green pine that we cleared to get the power to the cabin. If you ever got a bit of pine rosin on your hands, or stuck to your windshield, you know how sticky the stuff is. These kids peeled that bark off and enjoyed the slippery and pungent sap. (I don't know if their clothes ever got clean again)
Well, out in the woods there is no warm water and soap. To tamp down the stickiness, in order for them eat a sandwich, they simply rubbed a little red mud on their hands. Papa's solution. Dirt is clean!
Works for them! Works for me! Did they die yet? Not likely.
A little dirt is good for the digestion process. It helps grind the food. Just ask a chicken.
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