From a 1970 Gazette article by Joseph Chase Allen:
Childhood memories retain the picture of the scrub tree, a relic of the past found quite close to the door of some farmhouse kitchen. It is a weathered skeleton of a scrub oak with half a dozen of its principal limbs remaining, every particle of bark removed. Its trunk sawed off above the stump, it extended its bare limbs to the four winds. On wash day garments hung out to dry decorated its limbs after the practice of a forgotten era.
As a once important institution, the scrub tree belonged to a period when Vineyarders were forced to “make-do” with what they had or could improvise. Such a luxury as a clothesline was unknown. Rope and cordage was difficult to obtain throughout a lengthy period. Those who needed a piece of rope depended upon obtaining a length that had been condemned by riggers fitting out a boat or vessel. “Tell father I will bring him a cart rope when I come home,” a youth who was a crew member aboard a whaler would write.
When eventually the family laundry was hung on a rope to dry, the rope was a rugged affair and the clothespins, hand-whittled, were six to eight inches in length, with a spread between the prongs sufficient to take the out-sized cable. But in an earlier time, the scrub tree was devised and provided by the husbandsman.
The scrub oak lent itself to the task with its low, bushy top and tough wood. Half a dozen of the strongest limbs were left upon the tree. Every knot and twig was removed and the wood carefully smoothed. The bark was peeled off, and once the sap wood was laid bare it was scoured and washed with lye until it was glassy-smooth and milk-white.
Young men preparing for marriage and the establishing of a home spent a great deal of time in preparing a scrub tree for the bride, this being quite as important as any piece of furniture. If the ground was low where the scrub tree was to be planted, a wooden platform was sometimes built around the tree so that the housewife might approach it dryshod.
The method of employing a scrub tree was simple. Garments with sleeves or legs could be slipped over a limb, one sleeve being used for the purpose, the rest of the garment hanging free. Light and flimsy articles could be tied in a knot around a limb, or secured with a piece of cord, if cord was available. It was not the handiest affair, but it had to serve. A housewife often became attached to her scrub tree and would not give it up, even after clotheslines became available.
Before that happy day arrived, ingenious men improved upon the scrub tree and devised the clothes reel. Four arms, extending from the worn-out hub of a cartwheel that was pivoted on a post, supported rows of wooden pins driven into auger holes in the arms. To these pins was attached a bed cord and garments were tied or twisted around the pins and the cord. The clothes reel was arranged high above the ground, the better to keep dangling articles from touching the earth. A platform, reached by a flight of two or three steps, was on one side of the reel. As the housewife hung out her laundry, she could turn the reel and reach every part without herself moving from her position on the platform.
It is not certain how or when the first clothesline appeared, nor is it clear what sort of material was used for them. The manila line, about six-thread, was in common use 75 years ago, but there was a twisted wire line also available. Another metal clothesline was formed of oblong links like paper clips a foot long, one side of each being doubled and with an up-twisted end of one part of this double side. Articles to be dried could be pulled, a corner at a time, between the double sides of these links, and by exercising judgment, could be spread as desired. All this eliminated the use of clothespins. These linked lines were formed of wire heavily galvanized. In spite of that, they would rust, and in consequence this type of clothesline was never popular on the Vineyard.
The last scrub tree seen by this writer was on an Island farm less than 50 years ago. But there was a clothesline nearby with garments hanging on it, convincing evidence of the passing of the scrub tree. It was still fulfilling a purpose, for there were empty milk cans resting upside down on the ends of the branches, drying and sweetening in the sun. Alas, there is no farm there today, and probably the last scrub tree is no more.
Compiled by Cynthia Meisner
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