Back in the 1960s, you might go for a drive and see a clothesline in the yard of every house you passed.

My mother, aunts, grandmother and neighborhood women all had clotheslines. It was a chore that did not feel like a chore, but a proud accomplishment knowing your sheets and clothes would bring in the most wonderful scent of the outdoors.

To the observer, a clothesline appeared to have been no more than a mechanism to finish the job. But to Nonna and her female friends on Talman Street, it was a place where prayers were said and miracles occurred.

Early in the marriage, my grandfather constructed a long, beautiful clothesline in the yard. It stretched long and proud, all the way from the house to the top of the hill in the back yard.

Many a day, I watched Nonna’s clothes swaying in the wind as blue skies and fluffy white clouds smiled from above.

It may be surprising to learn that Nonna’s clothes were hung in the wintertime, and brought inside to a warm cellar where a wood stove gave the sheets a fragrance of oak and maple, guaranteeing the most comforting of sleep.

Each season gave the clothes a different aroma. This was one reason women loved to hang their clothes outside. But for Nonna, this was not the main reason.

Nonna had placed wooden chairs in a circle directly below the clothesline. After the clothes were hung, Nonna invited the neighborhood women to come sit and bring their rosary beads.

The presence of the gathering was one of peace with an exquisite view overlooking the dark-blue waters of the Shetucket River. On a clear day, you could see all the way to the top of St. Mary’s church.

The women spoke of children and recipes and husbands that could not be tamed. The last few minutes were spent saying the rosary and asking the Blessed Mother for help.

The spouses of the women did not understand the importance of the sacred circle.

Until one day, after the women were gone, Nonno and a few men decided to sit on the chairs, drink beer and smoke Toscano cigars.

At first, the talk was about cars and trucks and repairs needed in the home. The tone changed when one man said, “So, this is where our women gossip.”

Nonno joined in with the sentiment of the group. “Sure. It’s their own little Peyton Place.”

What happened next was an experience that Nonna was hesitant to discuss until his last years on earth.

The sky had been sunny and clear all day. Maybe that is why the men did not expect when a bolt of blue lighting flashed above their heads sizzling with electricity. Within the blue light was the figure of a Lady.

Mouths dropped, but no words came.

After a few minutes, one man spoke. “I think I better get home. I had too much to drink.”

Nonno looked skeptical. “You only had one beer.”

Needless to say, the men left, and no one spoke about the blue lighting.

It was during the last years of Nonno’s life when he confessed to Nonna his lesson for having a loose tongue.

Nonna always found the right words.

“Nunzio, sometimes God corrects us gently. Other times he must drop a thunderbolt above our heads,” and laughed.

“Be careful. Next time it might be a brick.”

Concetta Falcone-Codding is a 1971 graduate of the Norwich Free Academy and is the author of “The Lonely Nest.” You can contact her at [email protected].