Mary Jo Stegall camped in and did just that. Back in the day, there were Saturday night baths and Bev Lemanski The coldness of the lake and going in for the first time is a memory that stayed with Ellen Hydornwho had a special little soap dish she used for her lake baths. Janice Moore laughed as she related an incident when some of the girls went for a walk off limits and close to the water.
Before we continue
In the sun on the rock in the middle of the lake, we lie on our backs and eat blueberries. We do this every day at 5 p. We immediately get in the car and head to the lake, where we proceed to strip our clothes and jump in the water. I think about this one day on the rock in the lake—we call it Blueberry Island—as I smush a berry against my chest. I make a joke to my friends about something irrelevant, and we laugh.
Would a newcomer to our little group of swimmers feel like there was a stigma to wearing clothes? Would they be uncomfortable in a bathing suit?
A reverse-streaking, if you will? Bathtubs are wonderful and warm, but a body submerged in a body of water so much bigger than itself say, a lake! Beyond skinny dipping, I love being nude.
hood fantasy of mine involved living in a nudist colony, though pre-pubescent me always wondered what happened when someone was on their period actually, I still wonder about this. This is no surprise to any of us—wearing clothes is perhaps the first clause of the social contract we all tacitly. Clothes can even be fun.
Still, nudity. More fun. When I was younger, at our backyard pool in Los Angeles, we would always swim naked.
When puberty came along, all of that changed, and we began putting on tankinis without thinking twice about it. But I always missed being bare.
Once you start covering up, you never really go back. Nudity is reserved for shower time with yourself, small moments with a lover, quick changes in front of a friend. It becomes so private and so capital S Sacred that the idea of going naked on the beach at Coney Island would likely elicit a whole slew of tickets, Snapchats, and stupid tabloid pieces about New Yorkers gone wrong.
I eat another berry from the bush while I think about this.
Now more than ever, kids need camp
I would never eat berries in the city—if I find them in parks, they are bright red and most likely poisonous. Acid rain, you know. Where the point of the outing is the water and the berries, splashes and each other. Sunsets over the mountain and lo of earnest sentimentality, stripped down nude to a foundation that lets us breathe through hidden gills underwater.
When all the camp counselors go skinny dipping
So very different from our regular world. I like it long and free, like this.
Me as slivery fish. But my clothes are waiting on the rock by the forest, and the sun is setting over the hill to my east.
Us summer camp: survival lessons in new england