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Clothing Optional

By David Feela

Though I've never been in it over my head, a good many friends have told me about a spot near Rico where the water comes steaming out of the ground, a natural hot tub. Supposedly, the gentleman who owns the property allows bathers to come down a path to the river's edge, use the metal changing shed if they choose to, and then sit in the hot mineral water without paying a cent. It's easy to find, if you know where to look. But always, at the end of each testimonial, someone mentions that clothing is optional. I'm never sure if my friends are challenging me to go there or warning me to stay away.

Now that summer is over and the blush of fall has faded toward winter, I feel like clothing has become more important to me. I reach out to touch all the fleecy jackets as I walk past them in the store aisles, I check my socks for holes, and a chorus line of hats comes down off the hooks in my closet. As another friend of mine once remarked when extolling the seasonal change toward cold weather, you can always put more clothing on, but there's a bottom line when you start taking it off.

I don't consider myself a prude when it comes to the human body, but if I sit in any kind of water long enough I start to resemble a prune. Prude. Prune. Little difference in most people's eyes. Just two words whose roots are tangled in the idea of getting old.

A younger woman told me her story about visiting the springs. She said her favorite time to visit the Rico spa was during the middle of winter - better yet, when it's snowing. The thrill for her came from alternating between the heated pool and immersing herself in the cold river. Back and forth, hot and cold. Summer and winter. Yin and yang.

She'd taken her younger son with her once and, of course, they wore swimming suits.

After having the place to herself for a while, a strange man came up the path, obviously intent on climbing in. They exchanged civil greetings, at which time he asked her if she knew that clothing was optional. She replied that yes, she knew it, but under the circumstances she'd prefer it if he'd use a suit.

He seemed to have no problem with that until she shifted her attention away from the stranger and back to her child, who was smiling and observing the adults involved in conversation. The next thing she knew the man was stepping over her head to get into the pool and as she glanced up she said, "I was amazed to be staring up at the Liberty Bell." Though she laughed while she told me the story, at the time she'd gasped and reiterated in a stern, motherly tone: "I said I'd prefer it if you used a suit!" She wasn't going to play Betsy Ross to any impromptu struggle for independence, and the man swiftly climbed out of the water, dressed, and left in a huff.

This fall I scouted out the location and found it unbelievably beautiful. I am referring, of course, to the natural setting and not to any colorful locals sunk to their necks in frivolity. Now there's a word for dressing up the occasion: Frivolity: (of a person) carefree and superficial. Summer is gone and I miss it. I'm back at work, dressed in my teacher outfit, ready to teach somebody something about language, but my heart's not in it. I'm starting to feel as if the days are a dark sweater I wear to bed, all itchy with schedules and appointments. It would be nice to shed some of that weight, even if the bottom line amounts to my bottom.

Here's good warning for the rest of you. This winter I'm heading for Rico. Arrange your schedule if you must, but I'll be there around the solstice, when the year starts turning back toward summer. Naturally, clothing is - and I'll probably end up in hot water for saying this - always optional.

David Feela is a teacher at Montezuma-Cortez High School. View his webpage at www.geocities.com/feelasophy.