Nu comme le jour où je suis né

Month: July 2015

A Tale of Garden Beets

It has been a good day though it did get off to a dreary start. I delayed meditation until almost 11 am when the sun finally came out. I chose to stay at home and enjoy the day and write more of the story rather than drive two hours to visit our naturist friends near Battleford.

In the afternoon while I was writing, our immediate neighbour to the west saw me while I was nude on our back deck. She walked into our yard and said “Hi” before returning to her own yard. I had assumed that she had retreated because she saw me nude and was uncomfortable with my nudity. However, she soon came back into our yard and asked if she could have some of our beets from the garden for some meal that she was preparing. I was still nude as I hadn’t expected. She then passed near me while I sat near the little table. When she left after time spent in our garden picking beets, she stopped to make sure that I let my wife know that she had thinned out her beets.

Raspberry Picking

Picking raspberries

The lawns are done. I did all the back lawn, as well as the trimming in the nude. Next I picked raspberries before heading to the store. I picked raspberries at our neighbour’s after a trip to the grocery store. To be honest, I wasn’t nude the whole time I picked raspberries. I wore shorts most of the time and only took them off long enough to get a few raspberry picking photos such as this photo shows. I put the camera back into the house then finished that chore while wearing the shorts.

Not long after, our neighbour from two doors down came over while I was writing at the little table on the deck. Of course, as usual I was writing without wearing any clothing. She wanted me to help with finding out bus information from Cancun to Merida, as well as with her Gmail account. She had also brought over her laptop for me so that I could rescue her photos.

As she said nothing about my nudity, it was a while before I bothered to put on a pair of shorts. My nudity is a non-issue as she has seen me naked many times. I finished off the afternoon BBQing some smokies for our supper while nude on the deck.

Pushing Boundaries

Removing fence panels

This afternoon, I decided to mow the lawn, fully in the nude for the whole back yard and clothed for the front yard. Then, I began to take off a few fence boards in our backyard, also in the nude, so that I could begin work on straightening the fence that our immediate neighbour to the west knocked askew when she backed into it with a truck sometime last year. I won’t be able to do all the fence work while nude, but it is more than I would have ever predicted in the past. Why? Why has it changed? Well to be honest, the only thing that has changed has been me.

Propping up the fence

The town has so few people in it during July that it isn’t really that much of a risk. That said, I did push the envelope just a bit more than was sensible without suffering repercussions for being nude in public – I was on the neighbour’s plot by the back alley for this last photo. Fence is now fixed and all is well.

Nakedness as a Disguise

Washing dishes

I chose this photo today because I thought it was teaching me something about myself. I was doing dishes yesterday evening when the photo was taken. I usually wash the dishes and I don’t mind doing so in the least. It has been something I have been doing since a very early age.

My mother was often suffering headaches, was often pregnant, and had her hands full with too many children. As her eldest child, I was the one who would step in by request, and by choice, to do what I could. I was one who had adapted to life’s early experiences by becoming a person who did what he could to please those around him. Nothing has changed over the course of my life, I still aim to please. Now, there is some consciousness involved in the behaviour of trying to please – yet there is a significant amount of unconscious processes involved as well.

No one makes it through childhood without being wounded in some fashion. I have talked before about being wounded by “not-enough-ness” and/or “too-much-ness.” Too much love or not enough love; too much of mothering or not enough mothering; every metric that you can think of can result in either too much or not enough. Of course, that doesn’t mean that we grow up with too much or not enough of everything – sometimes there is just enough. When there is too much or not enough, we develop unconscious and sometimes conscious strategies to buffer and mediate, and in some extreme cases, even survive.

As mature adults, we have learned to build walls to protect ourselves, walls that don’t come down simply because we become naked. Nakedness is a discarding of clothing. It is not a true disclosure of who we are beneath our skin. Discarding our clothing implies that we have nothing left to hide and thus not vulnerable anymore to unwanted exposure. Yet, nakedness is just another disguise that can protect that vulnerable wounded inner child within each of us.

Who Goes to a Naturist Campground?

As my last post indicated, we had been camping at Green Haven Sun Club. What it didn’t mention was that I had left home to go there while in a depressive state. I needed to have healing time, something that comes to me largely through sunshine, quietness, and nudity. I guess the best way to describe it is a mixture of alchemy and air. The sun acts like a cooking flame to reduce the rigidity of the psyche, to make it more malleable. The air acts as a coolant to help temper the psyche, ensuring that the “self” is strong enough to handle stressors. Regardless of the psychological mechanics, going skyclad works and I slip out of depression back into being a more positive and energised man. I know that doesn’t work for everyone, so I don’t exactly recommend it for therapy – at least not overtly.

At the campgrounds, I get to see quite a few people, and with my background in depth psychology, I think I have a bit of insight into the general mental states of those I meet. There are a few couples, older than us, who seem to be generally happy with their lives. typically it is the male partner who is most comfortable with being nude. Their female partners are comfortable, but a bit discrete in their nudity – reclining with legs open like their husbands is not a preferred position. There is no hiding, but there also isn’t a sense that they are fully comfortable.

There are a fair number of recombined relationships among the rest of the couples, people on their second or third marriages. The men are somehow quieter than the women, less overt. Alcohol plays a larger role and with it I sense a large cover-up that tries to deny any insecurity, a bravado that says. “we’ve got our shit together and could care less about who sees what!”

A few of European backgrounds move and present themselves with confidence as though being nude is not a factor to be thought of or overcome in the sense of identity. A family from England with their two daughters, a farmer and his wife from Belgium who have made their home in Canada for more than forty years are a couple of examples.

Then there are the single people who span from the age of seventy-five to early thirties including men and women. There is a sense of broken edges which might stem from issues of relationships to issues of physical health.

Regardless of all of this, there is an openness and a willingness to come together into a community with rare exceptions. As in every community, there are the outliers who are present but dissociated, people who do their own thing with little regard for the presence of others. The women are prone to use a wrap when in doubt. The men are less anxious, but are often seen with a housecoat or some sort of safety blanket near at hand.

From where I sit, I wonder what it was that brought them to a nudist campground in conservative country where nudity is almost a greater sin than any other law or moral code. What was broken in them that had them forsake the belief system of their families of origin. Conversations with almost all reveal that their nudity is kept secret or very silent from others in their lives. Life in the campground is definitely an alter-life, even for those who live there year round.

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