Until recently, when I saw or thought the word “whitewash” it would have brought to mind the figurative context — as in covering faults of someone or something.
But now the first thing I think of is the physical meaning: Whitewash paint.
The tradition of using whitewash paint dates back to colonial times. Whitewash did a fantastic job of brightening the inside and outside of buildings, imparting mildew resistance, and letting them breathe because it didn’t form a tight seal the way modern paints do.
I recently completed building a new chicken coop for my recently expanded flock of layers. During deep cleans of the old coop painted with conventional paint, I considered how to make life for our feathered friends more hygienic.
I slathered homemade whitewash all around the inside of the new coop.
I didn’t know much about this medium, but read that it is antibacterial and repels bugs — sounded ideal for the interior of a chicken coop! Added bonus, it doesn’t have fumes or chemicals which can irritate chickens’ sensitive respiratory tracts.
Wanting to learn more, I turned to the internet. Of course, the internet being what it is, I had a hard time getting (what I felt was trustworthy) information on this type of paint.
There are multiple types of lime, which added to my confusion. If, like me, you know very little about these differences, here is a quick rundown of some types:
- Quicklime is made by burning limestone. Highly alkali, and highly reactive with water, it can be dangerous to handle.
- Hydrated lime is quicklime converted to a less caustic and thus safer product by adding water vapor or mist to create a chemical reaction – a process called slaking.
- Hydraulic lime has silica added during the burning process, and is also usually slaked before sale.
Authors of some blogs I read recalled childhoods watching the limewash mix heat and steam, allowing it to cool before applying it as paint. The heat means they were using quicklime. Other recipes I found said to use only lime putty — a term which seems to encompass a few options, excluding hydraulic lime.
Many recipes called for just hydrated lime, water and salt. But then I found some which said to add molasses and alum.
Just when I was thoroughly confused about the history, tradition and recipes of this paint, I found an article published in an 1858 issue of Scientific American.
It contained a recipe which said, “Take half a bushel of fresh-burned white lime, and slack it either with hot or cold water, in a tub or barrel. When thoroughly slacked, dissolve in the water required to thin the lime, two quarts of common salt, stir it thoroughly, add one quart of sweet milk, and it is ready for use to put on with a brush.”
The article goes on to say that this mix is appropriate for outdoor use, and to omit the salt for indoor use.
For the inside of my coop I did add salt to the water and lime mix I made, and I liked the result — it wasn’t my most beautiful work ever, but the coverage was good. Some dust transferred to my hand when I rubbed it after it had dried overnight.
This trial and mishmash of researched information has me wanting to experiment more with this inexpensive and natural paint. While new paints result in a more uniform final product, the historic whitewash seems to have it’s fair share of positive traits, worthy of continuing use.
