Imagine you moved into a large house and were told that you have free run of the whole place--except for the room on the left at the top of the stairs. That door would be always locked. What room would then occupy your thoughts more than any other?
I was seventeen. It was 1966. We had moved to Sultan, Washington the previous summer, my Dad, a minister, being assigned to that parish. I heard rumors that there was a nudist camp near Sultan, but I didn't yet know where. Then came an article in the "Everett Herald" about nudism. It mentioned the Lake Associates nudist camp on the Sultan Basin Road, and also Fraternity Snoqualmie, a large nudist camp "four miles south of Issaquah." That's all I knew, but it was enough. I had never been to Issaquah, a town 43 miles south of Sultan, on Highway 90. I would find it.
I continued to enjoy the warm, sunny day. It wasn't long before the novelty of nudity wore off, and I simply felt, for lack of a better word, released. Curiosity turned into appreciation. Trespassing, amidst hundreds of strangers, I felt incredibly free. I was now completely relaxed about my body. These beautiful people accepted themselves, and me. That distracted tightness seen so commonly in the faces of people on the street was not seen here. People seemed real, open, relaxed, happy. Even that first day, that first real nudist experience, I eventually disregarded the fact that we were naked, and was just encouraged by a joyful presence of humanity I had never seen before.
Later in the day, I took a walk around the grounds, walking back up the parking lot and around the vacation trailers. A nude mother stepped out of one and asked me, "Have you seen my kids? Lunch is ready and they're off somewhere." She assumed I somehow knew her kids. I acted like I did, but told her I hadn't seen them, and walked on while she peered from her doorway down the hill and over the crowds. I had lived a life full of inhibitions and embarrassment, was now lying and trespassing in order to overcome it, and this lady's worry was that her kids were having so much fun that they'd be late for lunch. This was a beautiful and wonderful place to be.
Dale says it just about perfectly. It's about freedom, relaxation, enjoying being yourself without having to put up any false barriers or pretenses. It's about not being judged and getting to know things about others that really count - not just what they're wearing, or what cars they drive, or what jobs they have. It's about who you are, and how you relate to everyone and everything around you. It's liberation, in the purest sense.