De Anza: Four Days and a Thousand Miles

2008-08-01

In the summer of 2008, DF and I went out to De Anza naturist resort, during the ANRR Convention. This presented some first for DF. She had not spent so much time around other people without clothing. We wore nothing, but shoes, for the five days. Like the last time that I was out there, we drove out nude. We had only the towels we sat on to cover with. We draped the towels at the Border Patrol stops and to drive through fast food. We wrapped them around or DF slipped a sundress over her at rest areas and gas stops to get around.

It is always a refreshing experience to drive onto the property naked, wave at folks naked, pull up to the registration naked, and walk into a public place of business naked. It can be disconcerting for those new to this. DF was a good sport, fascinated by the experience and taking to the lack of clothing in public like a duck takes to water.

After a Four Hour Carnuding

We did at least one hike every day.

Hiking in the rocks and through them is fascinating.

It was hot in the afternoon, so we did morning and evening hikes.

The resort borders government land. So, on trails that lead off of the property, you can go on for many many miles nude, if your feet and water hold out.

We hiked on the old train tracks.

The railroad ran just off of the property for years. It has left a fine track. There are remnants of construction scattered about the area.

Dynamite Impact

It looks like something that might have a band of cowboy outlaws hiding in waiting for an ambush of the mail train. There are still tall wooden bridges and tunnels as it makes its way through this tough desert landscape.

The first evening hike, we climbed up the great hill, a seeming pile of sculpted granite. We climbed on the rocks.

For the most part, they welcome bare feet and we found lying on them to be very comfortable.

We grooved out.

There were a lot of spiritual things going on for us.

We spent time in prayer and meditation on the huge rocks, listening to the desert.

We sat in observance of the numerous remnants of the unfortunate Native American population gone with the cruel advancement of white men.

We were checking the energy around some of these Native American remnants.

We imagined how and why native people used certain areas and rocks for obviously spiritual/religious matters.

There is a spot under a huge rock with a slit under it that looks like a big vagina. A person could crawl into it and be reborn of it, if it would open. There are holes by it for pounding and pulverizing materials to make paints and herbals.

Pictographs at Vagina

When it rains, the big thing drips. Now, imagine how the notion of fertility would enter into that, or perhaps a coming of age ceremony, or rebirth. Check out the picture and imagine a shaman using the pot holes to create paint and someone symbolically at the mother earth’s vagina and the rituals.

There is another place where the rock curls around like a wave curl, where it naturally hollowed out. You can stand in it; it looks like teeth from the inside.

Imagine the symbolism of that one. We figured out how they walked through and behind a rock, perhaps as a processional. It was definitely used for ceremony of some kind. There is a picture of me standing in the mouth.

Next to me you can see the significant pictograph of stick people that they created at that scene.

Pictographs Inside the Jaws

On the first morning, as we walked toward the clubhouse from the little motel room, freely and exposed, I asked DF how she was doing with the new experience. She looked at me and said she felt like she had forgotten something in the room each time we left our room to go somewhere. She couldn’t place in her mind what the item was. I smiled and reminded her that it might be her missing clothes. She just grinned.

We attended a couple dances with a live band at the resort. The music was great, very dance-able. At the first one, DF was wearing a white Indian thin gauze shirt for a cover up. She had never danced naked with people watching. It felt a bit disjointed for her. Dancing is a bit of showing off and culture gives us the conditioning that naked dancing is more of an exhibitionistic thing. During the dance frenzy, she saw other women nude and realized it was okay to get naked. She loves being naked…well, like anybody. She smiled her enjoyment which she often does dancing. As she moved to the music, she tugged at the sides of her garment and then whipped it off over her head. Now dancing in her shiny golden brown best, she swung it over her head twirling it around on her finger and then threw it away making aim. It ended up landing atop the piano. Afterward, she chuckled, “I always wanted to do that.”

Dancing naked is about dancing in liberation, of clothes, of hang-ups. It is about being in body fully, without inhibition, in rhythm, with spontaneity, celebration, joy and love.

Some Clowning

On another excursion, we hiked and explored an abandoned train wreck.

It felt very naked to walk freely in the train. It is a familiar public place in other circumstance. The rows of blue seating were still intact, waiting for the next passengers. I remembered traveling on trains like this across the country.

The train is a wreck on a dead end track.

We swam in the swimming pools, both indoor and outdoor.

We languished in the Jacuzzi.

Poolside Lady Borrowed my Hat

We watched a variety show, ate…did everything available nude for four days. After a while, DF stopped saying that she felt like she had forgotten something each time we left our room to go somewhere.  Nude was now the norm.

Yup, a great vacation, carnuding a thousand miles and nude five days straight with little hindrance.