12 Summer Chores Every South Carolina Kid Dreaded in the ’70s

Ask anyone who grew up in South Carolina in the 1970s about summer, and they mention the good stuff first.

The bikes, the creek, the Popsicles that stained your tongue blue.

Then their face changes, because they remember the chores waiting back home.

These are the ones South Carolina kids dreaded the most.

Sweeping the Yard

Plenty of South Carolina yards in the ’70s had more sand than grass, and somebody had to keep it tidy.

That somebody was you, armed with a stiff broom and a bad attitude.

Swept dirt yards were a point of pride across the rural South, raked into neat lines like a carpet made of clay.

You dragged that broom until the ground looked combed.

Then a stray dog or a scratching hen undid an hour of work in about four seconds.

Shelling Butter Beans

Nothing killed a South Carolina summer afternoon faster than a five-gallon bucket of butter beans.

You sat on the porch steps, thumb already sore, while the pile somehow never shrank.

The grown folks made it look easy, popping each shell open in one motion and gossiping the whole time.

You split a thumbnail on the tough ones and lost count around the four hundredth bean.

Every South Carolina kid learned that “just help for a minute” was the biggest fib in the house.

Hanging the Wash

Before every South Carolina family had a dryer humming in the carport, the clothesline did the work, and you were the crew.

You hauled a basket of wet clothes across the yard and pinned up each piece in the sun.

The trick was getting your daddy’s work shirts up before your arms gave out.

In that Lowcountry humidity, a load could hang all afternoon and still feel damp by supper.

Then a surprise thunderstorm rolled in, and you sprinted to grab every stitch before the sky opened.

Mowing in the Heat

South Carolina summers don’t wait for a cool morning, so the grass got tall and you got sent out anyway.

The push mower had one speed, and starting it took a dozen pulls.

You cut straight lines across a yard that seemed to double in size every trip.

Sweat ran into your eyes by the second pass, and the smell of cut grass and gasoline stuck to you all day.

A cold RC Cola waited inside, and you earned every swallow of it.

Weeding the Garden

Almost every South Carolina household kept a vegetable garden, and the weeds came back faster than you could pull them.

You knelt in the red clay and pulled crabgrass one fistful at a time.

Sandspurs found your knees no matter where you put them.

The rows stretched on, okra towering overhead, and the sun beat down on the back of your neck.

You swore off vegetables for life, then supper proved you a liar.

Shucking Sweet Corn

Fresh corn showed up by the truckload in a South Carolina summer, and every ear had to be shucked by hand.

You peeled back the husks, and the silk got everywhere, down your shirt and stuck to your sweaty arms.

There was always one ear with a worm in the tip that made you fling the whole thing.

The pile of husks grew taller than the bowl of clean corn for the longest time.

Supper that night dripped with butter, though you didn’t admit out loud that it was worth it.

Washing the Car

Saturday morning in South Carolina meant a bucket, a hose, and your daddy’s car sitting in the driveway.

You soaped the whole thing down, and then he found every spot you missed.

The well water came out cold enough to make you jump when the hose kicked on.

Half the fun was the water fight that broke out, and half the trouble came right after it.

You dried the chrome with an old towel until it threw the sun back in your eyes.

Feeding the Chickens

Plenty of South Carolina families kept a few hens out back, and those birds ate before you did.

You scattered the feed and gathered the eggs while the rooster guarded the coop like he paid the mortgage.

One mean hen always waited to peck your hand the second you reached under her.

The smell reached you before the gate did, especially in July.

You learned to watch your step, because chickens keep a messy house.

Stacking Firewood

Winter felt a long way off in a South Carolina July, but the woodpile still had to grow before fall.

You hauled and stacked split logs in heat that pressed down on your shoulders.

Splinters found your palms through work gloves that never quite fit.

Wasps liked the woodpile as much as you hated it.

Every log meant a warm January night, though nobody could sell you on that in the moment.

Beating the Rugs

Before every South Carolina living room had wall-to-wall carpet, you cleaned the rugs outside the hard way.

You hung one over the clothesline and beat it with a broom until a cloud of dust rose off it.

That dust went straight up your nose and set off a sneezing fit every time.

Your arms ached after the third rug, and there was always a fourth.

The rug looked the same to you, yet it somehow passed inspection.

Ironing the Pillowcases

Wrinkles were the enemy in a lot of South Carolina homes, and the ironing basket never emptied.

You pressed shirts, then handkerchiefs, then pillowcases that no living soul would ever see.

The iron hissed steam and left your fingertips pink if you got careless.

Sunday clothes got the most attention, because church was no place to show up rumpled.

You stacked the finished pile neat and prayed nobody added to the basket behind your back.

Burning the Trash

Long before curbside pickup reached every South Carolina road, the burn barrel out back handled the garbage.

You carried the trash out and fed the rusty drum while the smoke followed you no matter where you stood.

The fire popped and hissed, and you poked it with a stick as your one reward for the whole job.