It is upon us. The season when my integument (skin) is in grave danger of being removed while I still breathe. Sandpaper season. My husband once jokingly dubbed it crispy underwear season. There is nothing that matches the heady scent and the feel of crisp cotton bedsheets dried outside in the fresh spring air. Or the “pleasure” of towels that aim to remove a layer of skin while attempting to dry my delicate carcass. Or underwear that needs a breaking-in period before it resembles something intended for comfort. Ah, the joys of sandpaper season.

Since my husband retired, he has been doing most of the laundry. It’s a huge help, and I really appreciate it, usually, but maybe not so much this week. You see, we hadn’t yet fully discussed what should and should not be subjected to the elements to help save the planet and reduce electricity use. Sheets and pillowcases benefit immensely from an excursion to the backyard and smell amazing afterward. But beyond that, there are limits. We risk experiencing sandpaper season rather than viewing it as a hypothetical from a distant remove if we make unwise choices.

We live in the country, and nothing thrills me more than seeing the freshly laundered sheets flapping like flags on the twirling umbrella-style clothesline. My heart soars as they flutter and dance in the fresh air—before the local farmers begin spreading odiferous substances on their fields. There is that.

Alas, what I didn’t realize this week until they were well on their way to crispyhood was that the towels had joined the sheets for an outing. That would have been a good topic of discussion before the risk of injury escalated. The next morning, I paid the price for that lapse. Crispy underwear wasn’t an issue, but crunchy towels most certainly were.

In your moment of need, have you ever grabbed a freshly laundered towel that has enjoyed such an outdoor adventure? One that hasn’t experienced a little spin in the dryer for a few minutes to soften upon its return? Depending on the fabric composition, you can scrunch it and hear sounds like Rice Krispies floating in a bowl of freshly poured milk. There isn’t usually blood after a post-shower rubdown with a towel dragged in from the wild. However, for those of us with sensitive skin, it rivals a visit to a dermatologist to remove the outer layer.

Spring stretches into summer, and summer into autumn, so there is much delight ahead before the cold winds freeze the sheets on the line. In the days before most homes had clothes dryers, my mother used to hang sheets all winter and bring the frozen boards inside to thaw and finish drying. I can’t imagine how her hands felt as she pinned the chilly, wet, dream drapes to the line. It would have been even worse trying to dislodge the unwieldy, frozen slabs when finished and hauling them inside.

We now only have sandpaper season for part of the year, but it’s worth the occasional injury to breathe in the scent that no chemical formulation can mimic. After all, I’ll have all winter to heal.

Brenda Erb Roberts