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Picard Connects

The Starship Enterprise has just landed on Earth in the year 2063, while chasing and destroying a Borg ship. Both have transferred back in time to get there. In a missile silo, they have contact with an old spaceship, one that Picard has seen at the Smithsonian centuries later. He places his hand upon the metal outer sheathing.

Data (the man made man): Sir, does tactile contact alter your perception of the Phoenix?

Captain Picard: For humans touch can connect you to an object in a very personal way, Make it seem more real.

Data gives touch a try in his usual curiosity.

(“Star Trek VIII: First Contact”)

Touch does make something real. There can even be a compulsion to reach out and touch someone. People get touched emotionally. People pinch themselves to make sure that they are not dreaming.

Touch is our nature and our birthright. When we touch and are touched by the world, the world feels more alive and real.

By just removing clothing, the entire experience of the planet becomes greater. To step into water nude, or to feel a gentle breeze across the entirety of the body, the heat of the sun, and to be entertained with all of the associations, the messages and knowledge of the moment through the body and sensitivity of the organ called the skin, we are more alive. Again, this is a birthright. To take this away is a wrong.

The holidays are making time difficult to find, so as to publish the stories of our journey through the Manti La Sal National Forest. Progress has been made, although slowed, but sure. The photo is from that drive. A passing cloud is felt, as well as seen.

 I am on the forum of FreeRangeNaturism.com often, if you would like to converse.

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Tortolita’s Back Door: Part 2

2025-01-03

We are hiking in the Tortolita Mountains. The first part of the story it here:

…We explore several minor wash canyons that cross the trail.

To continue, you’ll probably have to go down to the button labeled page #2, until I can get “Classic Editor to work again.
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Tortolita’s Back Door

2025-01-03

We’re taking a back road off of a dirt road that travels along the Pima County line’s north side. It should lead us to a mountain bike trail that heads into the Tortolita Mountain County Park.

It is familiar, it used to be in what I considered my back yard, a big backyard. I have taken this trail from the south many times, it is easy to find, a shot just past the windmill landmark.

See “Naked to the County Line”:

This time we’re coming in from the north, through a foothills of misleading dry flood washes. It is not clearly marked. The last time, I misread the landmarks and ended up in an entirely different area.

During that hike, we looked and looked for possibilities for the trailhead, or the correct wash as seen from a satellite photo. We thought that we found it as the sun set. Now, I hope to find it again.

To continue, you’ll probably have to go down to the button labeled page #2, until I can get “Classic Editor to work again.

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Tucson Gardening

This is another article of mine that was published fairly recently in “N” magazine, the quarterly of The Naturist Society Foundation. When we set up the new communal sweat on my property, I took it upon myself to provide a meditative, healthy atmosphere for the community’s members to wander in, while they languished between sauna rounds. It is also a gathering space for fundraisers, memorials, and other social events pertaining to The Tucson Family Sweat Alliance (TFSA). It is where DF and I live a significant portion of our clothes free life under the sun. I’ve added a few additional illustrative pictures.

Desert Gardening

Here in Baja Arizona, creating a Garden of Eden to live in has unique challenges. We have over 300 days of sunshine in Tucson each year, but precious few days of seasonal rains. That’s great for living naked, but a challenge for our flora.


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Naked among the Killer Bees

I wrote this article/story for a recent issue of “N” magazine, the quarterly for The Naturist Society Foundation.

Life Among the Killer Bees

What seems so many years ago, the news carried frightful stories of “KILLER BEES!” We braced for the dangerous, murderous, aggressive immigrants invading our borders from the south. The product of a South American lab experiment gone awry in 1957, it would be only a matter of time when these fearsome bees would destroy our native populations and their natural diversity. No one, especially our children, would be safe outside. There was fear.

In those years, I lived peacefully in my quiet strawbale house in the beautiful desert foothills of the Tortolita Mountains, near Tucson. Daily, I walked out my door to wander nude, observing the seasonal changes, in bliss or meditative appreciation, out into the pristine 80 acres of neighboring hills and mountains.

Continue to page 2….

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Sleeping on the Bear’s Back II

Bears Ears #36

2024-06-06

This morning, I lay in the tent watching fast clouds. A thought pops up. Ute, a tribe that I always associated as one of the plains tribes. This is Ute-ah, Utah! Duh! The evident finally occurs to me. There is a rich history of the Ute.

Another restful day, we find that the trail across the road from us is a road to another look out. We walk down it maybe halfway, just to enjoy the morning, carrying nothing, unrestricted, unscripted. Even the flip flop shoes come off at a point in the road. We’ve decided to walk it all…later.

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Sleeping on the Bear’s Back

Bears Ears #35

2024-06-05

We’re up here in Manti-La Sal National Forest, in the Bears ears National Monument. The morning has been casual, late rising, reading.  We have a breakfast, then it is time for lunch.

A boy, a young buck scampers around, only about 50 feet away from camp. He decides to have a green snack and stops. This isn’t the female who directed us to this spot in the woods last evening. This guy is decorated with emerging antlers. We stand and watch, then, moving quietly, easily; we grab cameras. This gentleman is fearless.

We snap a few as we creep forward. He backs away eventually several feet to match our move. We know his boundaries.

Relaxed, after a restful afternoon, we decide to walk.

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Hunting turkey

Bears Ears #34

06-06- 2024

The animals around here in these mountains are not so jittery nervous. We first noticed the deer’s behavior as we found a great camping spot and her pal’s attitude as he browsed the through our campsite the next morning. They trust us and I feel like that is something to respect. We share this place, as a kind of fellowship.

This morning, as I sit at camp, a curious squirrel comes up the road, stopping maybe 20 feet from my chair. It sits up on hind legs. A fluffy mass of tail, seemingly as big as the rodents entire body, whisk in serpentine circles in and out. It looks as if curiously weighing the notion to see what the truck, stove and other objects are about.  Around here, they look similar to the Arizona mountain squirrels, but the ears don’t have the comb-like flags at the tips. These critter’s triangle ears are tight symmetrical fur, arranged like a G.I. crewcut, square straight lines, lean. Its silver form takes off in a gallop from where it came from, playing with others down the road. I have been watching them comically gallivant there for a while.

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Right Between the Ears

Bears Ears #33

2024-06-04

It’s time to gather provisions and gas.  We’ll be heading up the road that cuts right in-between the Bear’s Ears, on top of its head and then onto its back. We’ll be lounging and exploring in the Manti-La Sal National Forest for a week or so.

In Blanding, Utah, I spend too much time for my liking. I’m stuck shoring up home insurance issues over the phone and checking internet texts and messages, after several days of no service. It has been a pleasure to be out of electronic contact, but this is the price. That process of waiting takes us to the visitor center, where I am able to spend some good time with a new hostess. She once lived up in those hills with her mother. I shamelessly grill her for insider’s information.

Just before we leave to backtrack to where we were this morning, which is 45 miles of carnuding. I pull off of the road at that sign that says ominously “Next services 121 Miles.” We strip, stuff away our clothing and resume down the now familiar road, to out west. For now, the wind blows through partly opened windows and the vent, circling, sensuously dancing all over naked bodies.

We find the road that will take us into the mountains. It is soon dirt. After a pickup truck passes,  I get out to switching into 4×4 for stability. We are alone here at the base of this mountain. I turn off the motor. Now in silence, I look up into the steep walls before me. They circle around us. The vast Canyonlands are behind us now. This is the beginning of an entirely new terrain and set of unknowns to set off into, naked. There is a sense of adventure, a new beginning and freedom.

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Acceptance

Friday June 20th 2025 opens up with my eye lids.  I find myself back in the mountain forest under blue skies. Last night’s smell of smoke is gone, replaced by a sense of clarity. All is seen through the net tent, as the sun is getting us up, out and about, acting like a parent sending us off to school. We conked out last night early. A glance at a cell phone tells us that we have slept for more than 12 hours. “How’d we do that?”

“Maybe there actually are fairies with magic powders in the woods.”

“Huh?” “Better check on your pot of gold!”

It is day, everything is telling me, actually shouting at me, the message about the displacement of the calm and peace of the night. I hear the wind blowing high in the trees above, and nearby, the rustling leaves of the young aspen that are determined to someday populate this field of short grasses and dainty flowering greens.

I climb out of the tent stiffly, making my way to my appointment. I find the route through the brush to the office, a pleasant spot that is still slumbering in deep shadows.

As I stand, I notice nibbles on my calves and ankles. Those Utah no-see-ums flash out of my memories. My mind grinds out, “If so, we’re movin’.” But they seem to prefer the shade…

…I sit fully naked in my folding chair, absorbing the warmth of the morning sun, dusty Earth on the soles of my bare feet. There are occasional critters that I launch with a flick of my finger. A fly stops by, I’m thinking, “just to irritate me.” I breathe in, puff my cheeks and then blow out directly at it. It is gone, done with me. I’m reminded, I take note to brush my teeth, swish some water, re-hydrate.

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