It is a Birthday. It begins casually, leading to a brunch on a sidewalk café in an eastside strip mall. The food is good, but all of the hanging plants and wrought iron won’t escape the fact that we’re eating in their big parking lot.
Afterward, I use a door panel and the other cars next door in that parking area, to get out of my pants and into my hiking kilt. With the addition of toe shoes, I’m nearly ready.
We are near the base of scenic Mt. Lemon Highway, a long meander up into the Catalina Mountains. It starts in desert and finishes in alpine conditions at 9200 feet. Our destination is a beautiful 20 mile drive from the restaurant.
About half the way, we pull off into a familiar small parking lot on the side of the road, at around 7000 feet. This was the trailhead for our Lower Bug Springs Trail hike a couple of years back. With birthday celebrations in the order of our day, we have decided to do this shorter easier trail in the compressed time that we have. DF wants to feel nature, the solitude, the sensual nudity and be in touch with a grounding spiritual experience. It is her day, her celebration.
For years, I’ve been experimenting with barefoot living. I’ve pondered what the Native Americans in this region did with their thousands of years of experience. How did our naked ancestors work it out? How is it possible in various terrains, to be chasing down prey on foot? How does a body naturally adapt?
It is healthier for posture, locomotion, knees, etc., but what about all of those abrasive, sharp, or biting pieces along the path one takes. I could get by in a forest, generally, especially if my feet were conditioned to be used bare foot, but what about the spiny hot desert?
Traveling in the desert barefoot is just pressing your luck. It is not if, but when, catastrophe happens. I have had short discomfort on one end of the scale. Prickers and sharp rocks happen. The other end of the scale was being laid up for six weeks from a deep toxic cholla thorn embedded in just the correct nerve.
An elderly friend with no feeling in his feet, was under home healthcare because of the first degree burns that he unwittingly sustained one afternoon. He was in his garden in his backyard, on concrete and rocks, while barefoot. He just didn’t realize that his flesh was literally broiling.
So, how did the ancient locals do it?
The Native Americans around here all have had important cultural traditions in long distance running for hunting, sport and travel.
I visited the University of Arizona a couple of days ago. I found the evidence. While most Native cultures around here were pretty much nude, there were shoes to protect feet, at least while running hundreds of miles across wilderness desert.
Living in a grouping of huts, gathering shrubbery carefully, squatting for seating, all may be done naked all over, but there are times when that just isn’t practical.
I was pleased to find this exhibit. It confirmed many questions that I have been carrying about feet. This is a far cry from the rubber tire treads huarache shoes of the Tarahumara of today.
The practicality of the weather and a distinct lack of cloth to be found has brought the general conclusion that clothing wasn’t a daily occurrence. Skins and cotton were available. Evolutionary adapted dark pigment helped protect the locals. My experience over decades has shown me that wearing clothing is ridiculous most of the year.
The first eight chapters of the barefoot living series can be found in the table of contents. The publishing date is there, just look it up from the archives listing on the side of the main page.
I am on the forum of FreeRangeNaturism.com often, if you would like to converse.
We have been visiting/hiking the ‘ol walking trails in the Tortolita Mountains, northwest of Tucson, where I used to live. Now, we are going to investigate the strawbale home that I built and the destruction of habitat where my stealth trail and Havarock sat. Both near the spot that Javalina kept as a safe home. I know that a road and building pads have been introduced. I don’t know how extensive.
The series in this website“My Private Place for Naturism” is about my experiences in this place.
Most of you may realize that about two years ago, I moved back into Tucson proper from my desert home in the Tortolita Mountains. Today, DF and I went back for a visit and to hike into the mountains. We’re hoping that it will feel fresh for us.
It is mid- February, so the desert is just coming out of winter. However, thanks to climate change, today the higher 70F’s have hit with an absolutely cloudless sky. It is a perfect day in Tortoltila.
“I found being naked to be a humbling experience . . . There were no clothes that could make me feel like I was anything other than who I am: A being created by God, whose purpose is to find, and do, whatever He created me to do. . . Being naked isn’t a means of attaining inner peace. But: Being naked can direct a person towards the source of inner peace: God. . . What I will do, is allow the humility that being naked made me feel to direct my heart to the only one who can satisfy my deepest, most desperate desires. . . you’re not a freak or a pervert if you want to be naked. God meant for you to be naked. . . I see the desire to be naked as a desire to return to God — a desire to reclaim the relationship with God, the relationship with our fellow human beings, and the relationship with the world, that was lost as a result of Adam’s and Eve’s sin.”
Over the years I have come to the conclusion that suitable clothing should be worn for activities and that if the suitable attire is not to wear any clothing, then that is what should be done.
I am on the forum of FreeRangeNaturism.com often, if you would like to converse.
Bodies are like temples. They are most sacred. They are as sacred as a church, or any man made object. The following are my many thoughts on the matter. By the end, if you put them together, all or part, they say temple. Each paragraph might stand alone with bullets, but I chose to just let it flow
I’d say that it is a birthright to be naked because it is as using a temple, which is at one with nature, in mind and spirit.
It is important to love and respect the body. It deserves to be treated as the miracle that it is. It is our vehicle to explore incarnation, to live life. It is a gift.
No matter what, no body is nobody.
This flesh and blood is an object of great beauty and wonder. It is so very complex, what else could it be but a genuine miracle? Pieces of it are numbered in the billions, interacting, functioning together and ready for most situations. It all is just incomprehensible when one realizes how amazing it all is.
I’d say, most would, that this entire world is a gift. As so, it is spiritual. The body is born out of this. We try to explain and understand the intricate miraculous nature of the body, but always, we are still far behind in understanding its wisdom. Being in my body is a spiritual act in a magnificent temple. The Taj Mahal, Charts Cathedral, the Sistine Chapel can’t ever compare to the amazing place in which each of us dwells.
There’s an initial shock to sitting down into the water with the contrast of the sun baked rock.
The body lays back, taking in the creek water and pressing up onto the warm smooth granite surface. This baked rock is under part of the body, but some of it is submerged in the cool stream.
A small whoosh makes itself noticed, as cool water and wet body meet and make their peace. They work together until comfort arrives.
Laying in the rise of a rock is a contrast. The sun’s above, but cool water is below and around. It laps at my waist. There’s a splash, just a tiny drop really and it’s cool. It tickles my belly and my chest. They are just other bodily spots coming alive in surprise, a pleasant surprise.
About a month has passed since our last reported visit to Redington Pass during this exceptional Monsoon. There has been change.
Our monsoons last typically, but no way near consistently, for six weeks. This has been the wettest of monsoons in recorded history. We’re reporting the results of the seasonal rains.
A part of my naturism is the act of being nude and natural in a natural environment. How might the consciousness of a person who lived in more primordial surroundings full time, take form? We have natural senses, more than our civilized living allows us. Nudity greatly helps to bring that out, allowing the exploration of the less encumbered life.
When I’m nude, a better sense of my surroundings is had. I see with my skin. I’m in the moment more. This is meditative. These are the skills of a hunter/gatherer, an observer. There is less mental clutter to get through in a more silenced wood or desert, instead of the alarm from traffic, sirens, and loud people with their distractions. It is no wonder that consciousness is fragmented. It’s like shuffling through a house buried in unknown clutter.
I’m out there not as just a nude, but a naturalist as well. I want to know what the beings of the natural world know and how they know it. I want to see wildlife, observe, smell, follow their lives by what they leave as clues in the greater puzzle. If I can see through their eyes, some of their awareness, as opportunity arises; there can be change in my own perception of the whole.
As a Toad Might
There are also those often reported experiences of animals showing less of it, or being without fear of the nude human. Be it smell, the look, the vibe, the way that nakedness moves, or what; animals often act more comfortable around a nude human. Perhaps, it appears a different species than the clothed one, who murders and takes so much.
(please, be sure to check the stories of Redington earlier in this month’s posts)
Today, there is much less water than just a few days before .
The thing about Redington Pass is that there is little norm here. The water doesn’t always flow. There are often times of drought, when only pools can be found, and then those times pools turn to puddles, when life clings on, waiting for the next rain.
We were expecting more water today, because last night there was a nasty storm on the east side of our valley out by Barb’s house. She told us that it was like a “hurricane” for hours. That’s just over the hill from where we stand.
We saw on the way here, that two familiar mesquite trees are uprooted. Sand is all over the roads where water was flooding. A concrete block wall was knocked over, creating a pond in someone’s enclosed backyard. Water rushed in, but couldn’t rush out, flooding like the entire backyard was a swimming pool.
Apparently, there was no storm here at the pass. There is no evidence of flooding.
The Free Range Naturist 