Early Saturday Morning

Frejdis didn’t open her eyes right away. She laid there, spooning against Gunnar’s back, listening to the birds chirping in the pre-dawn twilight, and to Gunnar’s and Kate’s breathing patterns.

In time, she slowly opened her eyes. She turned her head, looking at the top of the tent. She heard a slight breeze blowing through the treetops, and every few moments something would hit the top of the tent. She kept going, turning her head, and allowed her body to follow suit, careful not to wake anyone. She swung her legs over the edge of the air mattress, and she sat up, listening to make sure her movements went as unnoticed as possible.

At her feet was her weekender bag. Being a nudist and having left her only piece of clothing in the family minivan, the items she had in her bag were few. Running her fingers across the top of her head, through her mid-back-length blonde hair, she decided on her course of action. She reached into her bag for her brush, notebook and pen, Bible, and a towel.

Shifting her weight quickly, she stood up, and quietly unzipped the tent flap. She stepped through and zipped it back again. Laying the towel on the seat, and the other items on the picnic table, she turned her attention to the grill. Using tongs, she added several charcoal briquettes to the embers from last night’s cooking efforts. She then prepared a pot of water with a filtered coffee pack and placed it on the grill, settling herself at the end of the table.

There she closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of the morning again, allowing herself to become one with it. She felt the wind blow across her naked body, let the chirping of the birds penetrate her skin. Her feet were flat on the ground, connecting with the cool earth, and she concentrated on her breathing, feeling at peace with her surroundings for several minutes.

Two things brought her out of her reverie: a loud snapping sound from the canopy of branches above, and the boiling coffee pot. She looked for the source of the snap but didn’t see anything. She got a cup and poured some coffee. Settling herself, she went back to enjoying a ‘natural’ morning, with the addition of a hot cup of coffee, and as it cooled, running the brush through her hair.

Paul thought he woke up to a snapping sound, now sitting upright on his air mattress, listening to the twigs and leaves bouncing off the top of his tent, and the wind blowing through the tops of the overhead trees. It only took him a moment this time to remember that he was nude, and nude for a reason. That reason was that he worked at a nudist campsite and had been there for almost a week now. He also realized that it was still dark. He hadn’t missed the sunrise. His cell phone started vibrating with the alarm he set the night before; he still had time.

He swung his legs over the side of the mattress and ran his fingers through his messy hair. After a moment, he got up, and relieved his bladder in one of the camp toilets he made the previous day. Checking the time once more on his cell phone, he exited his tent and headed up High Noon, not realizing that he had an audience as he zipped his tent closed.

Frejdis watched the young man who had looked after her daughter/niece so well the previous night, closing his tent and heading up the hill, guessing he was going to the bathroom in the Pump House. Something told her to follow him, so she got up, grabbed her Bible and notebook, and set her nearly empty coffee cup in a dirty dish tray near the grill. She had lost sight of him, but in the direction he was going, finding him would not be difficult.

Paul did not go to the Pump House, however. He went up the path toward the pool, passed between the poolside picnic tables and Laura’s serving counter, went around the far corner, and entered the open pavilion breezeway overlooking the parking lot, with a clear view to the east, and the soon to be rising sun. He sat on the table, his feet up on the seat, knees together, hands holding the table edge, his attention riveted on the horizon.

Frejdis walked up to the pool, but her path took her over to the Pump House. She went in by the door marked ‘Women’ and looked around. Paul wasn’t taking a shower; none of the showerheads were dripping. He wasn’t at any of the wall-mounted urinals, as he would be too easily seen. He wasn’t sitting on any of the commodes; since there were no individual stalls, again he would be too easily seen. With Paul nowhere in sight, she went out through the entryway marked ‘Men’, and saw him sitting on a picnic table in the pavilion breezeway.

From her perspective, Paul seemed to be just sitting there, looking out over the parking lot. She ducked back in to grab a camp towel for herself, having left hers on the picnic table seat at the tent. Even though she was walking purposefully, her unshod feet made absolutely no sound above the rustling wind and the caw of morning birds. All the noises covered her own; Paul never heard or saw her as she approached. Just as Frejdis reached the table, behind him and to his left, he raised his arms in the air, palms forward, looking like a human football field goal post.

It only took a moment for Frejdis to realize that Paul was going to pray. She followed his gaze to a stand of trees across the river. He timed his prayer to start just as the upper limb of the sun broke the horizon. Still unaware of her presence, Paul continued, his lips moving, with some of his words barely audible above the morning noise of nature.

Frejdis, always curious how other people prayed, leaned in to hear what she could. When she did, she noticed that the hairs on Paul’s back and neck were standing on end. She had this happen to her a few times in her life; when she prayed, especially about something she was passionate about, she felt as if the Holy Ghost had come upon her, wrapped around her, worked His way inside her, and guided her. She thought that Paul must be experiencing the very same thing. She leaned back, away from Paul. She took another step to the side, taking care to stay out of his peripheral vision, but taking all of Paul into her sight.

His eyes were open, but while they had a faraway focus on the rising sun, she could tell that he was clearly ‘looking inward’. She now noticed that his skin was flushed, especially his chest and back. Every few moments, his eyes dropped down, as if he had something in his lap that was uncomfortable. She was puzzled, as everything appeared normal and natural to her.

His lips were still moving, and several words were more audible then others. It sounded like he was praying for people he had met this past week. Frejdis was sure she heard her name, and others, including Gunnar and Kate. Hearing her name, and the names of her family gave her chills; if the Holy Ghost was surely around him, in him, part of him, Paul’s words would not be missed and go unheard.

Frejdis took another look at the sun. It was almost fully above the treetops on the horizon now, and from what she could hear, Paul was finishing his prayer. Movement at the edge of the parking lot caught her attention. She saw Howard coming through the tree line from High Noon, and angling toward them. As she was on the far side of Paul, she didn’t think that Howard could see her, and not wanting Paul to know she was there, at least for now, she quickly, and quietly, ducked back around the corner in front of Laura’s counter space.

“Paul!” huffed Howard in a hushed tone somewhere between a whisper and his regular speaking voice, in an effort not to wake anyone. “There you are! Let’s get an hour or two of rowing in before we set up for the annual meeting!”

Paul’s eyes returned to squinting against the brightening sun. “Amen!” he said, finishing his prayer before acknowledging Howard. He jumped off the table, feeling just a bit embarrassed about being caught praying. He knew, however, while Howard would likely make a joke about anything and everything, he wouldn’t joke with Paul about that. Howard, while not overly religious himself, respected those who were, no matter what form it took.

Frejdis peeked out as the two men walked away, then she stepped from the safety of the corner. She laid the camp towel down on the table seat, and, opening her Bible and notebook, prepared her own prayers for the Summer Annual Meeting, enjoying the sunrise, and the feelings she had from before.

Howard and Paul walked over to the unfinished access road that lead east down the hill from the inner parking lot, and across the topside of the neighboring farmer’s north field to the river. A plot of land about 25 yards wide parallel to the road was too sandy to be used by the farmer. Just south of this strip was a small orchard of apple and pear trees, about 50 of each, then a large garden area for vegetables of all kinds. What produce not used by the family was sold at the farmer's roadside stand. A hedge lined the southern edge of that field, with the barn, vehicle sheds, and farmhouse beyond.

About halfway down the hill to the beach where Howard stored his longboat, Paul realized something serious.

“Hang on!” he said. “We’re still nude! Won’t we be seen, or get in trouble, or something?”

Howard laughed. “No, not really! One,” Howard held up a finger, “it’s just a few minutes past dawn; still too early for most weekend boaters. Two,” holding up a second finger, “the commercial fishermen aren’t going to be interested in us; way too much work to do. And three,” using his thumb this time, “the Natural Resources Police are far too busy looking for illegal fishing, crabbing, and what have you, to give two naked men a citation for rowing nude. If they do anything, they’ll probably just shake their heads, or wag a finger at us. A female officer may drift her boat over to see us, perhaps!” He laughed again.

“It may also be that nobody will even notice that we’re nude, depending on how far away they are, how the light is, glare from the water. As for the boaters using the ramps at Turtlehead,” he pointed to the boat ramps and piers at Turtlehead State Park about a mile and a half across the river, “we won’t be so far, but far enough for them not to bother with us. Besides, we’re only going out about twenty or thirty yards, then parallel to the shore upstream about two, two and a half miles, and downstream about as far.”

When they got to the beach, Paul finally saw Howard’s longboat. It lay upside down on two old sawhorses. Paul saw that it was wide enough amidships for them to row side by side, with each rowing one oar two-handed, or with both sitting along the centerline, one in front of the other, rowing with two oars to either side. Today they opted to row side by side to enable conversation.

True to what Howard said, their rowing excursion was uneventful, except for one incident. A pleasure boat came out from a small inlet. A man at the wheel yelled down to the topless woman laying out on the prow.

“See, honey! They have the right idea. Why won’t you do that?”

She yelled back, “Why don’t you go first?”

He didn’t seem to like the idea, but as Howard and Paul looked up at him when they rowed past, he pulled his pants down, and mooned them.

Over an hour and a half later, the two men pulled the longboat ashore. As they were turning it over onto the sawhorses, Paul’s stomach growled, very loudly.

“You, too?” Howard asked. “Don’t worry. We’ll get all we can eat at the meeting. Folks here bring all kinds of good stuff up for the workers.”

Paul’s face had a questioning look. He and Howard were ‘the workers’.

“Oh, yeah!” Howard said, realizing this was Paul’s first annual meeting. “Some of the men come up to help me set up the chairs. A row is eight chairs, a center aisle four chairs wide, then another set of eight chairs, and maybe ten or twelve rows deep. Add a few chairs along the side for George, Martha, you and me. And twelve up at the head tables for the Board members.”

They walked up the hill and across the parking lot. As they approached the Pavilion, Howard looked through the breezeway, then over into the Quonset Hut that lined the inner walls of the Pavilion, opposite Laura’s. He didn’t see anybody, but it reminded him.

“Did you finish all your prayers with the chaplain?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?” Paul wondered, not having seen anybody this morning, except for Howard.

Howard raised his bushy eyebrows. “You! And the chaplain?” he repeated his question. “When you were sitting here, looking like somebody scored a touchdown. You weren’t praying with Pastor Frejdis?”

Paul’s eyebrows almost met his hairline. “Frejdis? A pastor? She was here?” he asked, looking around as if she was going to materialize. “She was here when I prayed, and was…?” His voice trailed off. He felt ashamed and embarrassed, but not for the reason Howard suspected.

“What?” Howard asked, having no idea what Paul was talking about.

Paul shook his head. “I didn’t know Frejdis was a pastor. I certainly didn’t know she was here. Where was she?” he asked.

As Howard stepped up onto the Pavilion floor, he pointed to a spot on the floor, right behind where Paul was sitting.

“I’d guess about there.” Realizing that she might have been too far back for Paul to see, he added, “Right about here,” again pointing to the spot he saw her.

Again, Paul shook his head. “I had no idea. I thought I was all alone, except for that feeling I sometimes get when I pray about certain things. Like someone is watching over me…...obviously not like Frejdis, but….maybe.”

“Well, okay!” Howard exclaimed, not wanting to cause a stir. He pointed to a cart full of foldup chairs, and, as other men joined in, began setting up for the meeting.

* * *

Continued in Part 2

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