Our daughter Michelle hangs her laundry on a backyard clothesline.

It isn’t that she can’t afford a dryer. She has one; she just prefers sunshine to Duke Power. She and husband Derrick also have a few laying hens, along with a Welsh Corgi puppy that gets her kicks from herding stray chickens into their pen.

Michelle and Derrick are among a special breed of baby boomers who like to go easy on the environment. Thus far, the Corgi has kept the chickens mostly confined to their home yard, and I doubt that they’ll create any neighborhood tensions that can’t be soothed with a few complimentary eggs or maybe atoned for with the sacrifice of a frying-sized rooster.

Such throwbacks to a more rural lifestyle are not universally popular. A controversy is raging between rugged individuals such as Michelle and Derrick and suburban sophisticates who see chickens in the yard and clothes hanging on the line as threats to neighborhood esthetics, not to mention property values.

My neighbor is welcome to keep chickens on his place as long as they’re kept penned up and the odor doesn’t drift past the property line. The sound of hens cackling and roosters crowing is as comforting to me as the sound of a gentle rain tapping on the roof.

I lived in Virginia Beach when the city was growing like kudzu across the Tidewater landscape. People who bought “farmettes” out in the country objected to the odor of pig farms that were there well ahead of them. My attitude was, if the smell of pigs offends you, move back into the city and breathe the smog.

I can’t really use that line on the folks who move into gated communities and subdivisions under the sway of homeowners’ associations. These associations are breaking into a sweat these days over the threat of clotheslines in back yards. Their esthetic values conflict with the environmental values of people such as Michelle who want to cut down on the pollution produced through the generation of electricity.

I’m told that at least 6 percent of the electric energy we use is consumed by clothes dryers. That’s reason enough to applaud those who dry their clothes using clean, free energy from the sun.

And frankly, the sight of Aunt Minnie’s bloomers or Uncle Horace’s long johns flapping on a backyard clothesline never bothered me. To my generation, the clothesline was as much a part of home as the mailbox at the gate and the outhouse at the edge of the woods.

Housewives used to keep up with the news while handing out the laundry and exchanging social tidbits with the neighbor whose clothesline was just on the other side of a fence.

Kids used to make toys out of clothespins. I remember carving a piece of wood into the shape of a pistol and lashing a clothespin to the handle. Stretch a rubber band over the muzzle and secure both ends with the clothespin and you have a “rubber gun.” Squeezing the clothespin released the rubber band, and if it was made of strong rubber it could inflict a harmless sting on the bare skin of your target.

Clotheslines also were a medium for birth announcements. When you saw diapers blossoming on the line, you knew that the stork had paid a visit. (That was before Pampers invaded our landfills.)

Clotheslines recall precious memories. Most people of my generation remember when Mama’n’em would shoo us outside to grab the clothes off the line when a sudden rain came up. We can also remember aching fingers when we gathered in the clothes on a cold winter day when the sheets and garments were frozen stiff.

“I think sheets dangling in the wind are beautiful if they’re helping the environment,” said a New Hampshire lady whose condominium told her she couldn’t hang hers out to dry. Those colorful Springmaid sheets I remember from my days with Springs Mills would liven up any neighborhood. And on days when the laundry wasn’t hanging out, the clothesline made a handy perch for songbirds.

Homeowners’ associations claim clotheslines in the back yard depress property values. They are seen as signs that the owner is unable to afford dryers or the electricity to run them. They’re like window air conditioners in neighborhoods where central air is de rigueur.

Some states have passed laws that tell the associations to keep hands off the clotheslines. The environmental advantages outweigh the esthetic disadvantages. Others are considering similar laws. The homeowners’ organizations say the states are cutting into their freedom to control the ambiance in their neighborhoods. The clothesline advocates say the associations are cutting into their freedom to dry their clothes any way they wish.

I have to admit a sentimental bias toward the clotheslines. I like the homey flavor they give to a place, and I like the fresh scent of laundry dried with sunshine.

And some sights from yesterday are worth preserving.

After we moved into our present home, a son borrowed a John Deere tractor and used it to break up the back yard so that we could sow the bare spots with grass. After he finished, the tractor refused to start again. So the owner has let it sit there until he needs it bad enough to justify putting it back in running condition.

I’ve told him not to hurry. I like the sight of a tractor resting in my side yard, and so far none of the neighbors has complained. I’m thinking about stringing a clothesline between a couple of oak trees in the back yard. And maybe putting up a chicken pen.

Well, maybe not a chicken pen. You have to watch your step when you allow chickens into your yard.

Readers may write Gene Owens at 317 Braeburn Drive, Anderson, S.C. 29621, or e-mail him at WadesDixieco@aol.com.