Copyright 2025 by James Breitbart, all rights reserved
[1,688 words]
* * * * *By the time I finished my freshman year of high school, I was
pretty used to moving. My Dad works for a hotel company, and he
specializes in taking over resorts that used to be high end but have
gotten run-down and restoring them to their former glory. I was born in
San Francisco, but we only lived there for a couple of years before
moving to the Marsh House in New Hampshire. When I was nine, we moved
to Atlanta where Dad took over the Biltmore Hotel, and then two years
later we moved out to Talbot Island Resort in Florida. We lived in one
of the beachfront ‘cottages’ on the property. I
would miss being able to walk directly out the back door and onto the
beach, but I told myself that I would enjoy relearning to ski.
The next place we were living, Jefferson Springs, was home to one of
Virginia’s few skiing areas, along with a Jack
Nicklaus-designed golf course, spa, equestrian center, and newly
constructed water park. Dad had been flying back and forth for the past
year and a half to supervise a massive renovation of the 100-year-old
building, and it was ready for its grand reopening a week after our
school in Florida let out.
On the last day of school, we had one last cook-out with our friends in
Florida and said our goodbyes. The next morning, we loaded our
furniture into a U-Haul and set off. Dad drove the U-Haul, and my
brother Sean, a year older than me, alternated driving our family Grand
Cherokee under Mom’s close supervision. We spent a couple of
days in Atlanta catching up with old friends and then made the drive
from Atlanta to Jefferson Springs. I drove for the last leg of the
journey, after we turned off the interstate and wound our way up the
Shenandoah Valley, until we finally reached the small town of Jefferson
Springs. I followed Dad as he turned just ahead of the main building, a
vaguely Y-shaped brick structure crowned by a square tower. We drove
uphill, past the bottom of the ski slope and into a discreet
development of time share cottages, one of which had been reserved for
our use. Somehow, Dad had managed to snag the one with the best view,
and the sun was just setting over the valley when we pulled out. I
silently wondered if Dad had arranged it that way to make us happier
about the new digs, which were, like everywhere we lived, modest
compared to the resort that surrounded us.
We piled out of the car, eager to stretch our legs and relieve our
bladders. My younger brothers Eric and Ethan ran into the house, eager
to see their new room, and Sean and I followed. The house was a pretty
simple layout – a foyer with a laundry room on one side and a
kitchen on the other that opened into a living/eating area with a gas
fireplace, and French doors opening onto a covered porch and that
stunning view. Mom and Dad’s bedroom was on the left, with
its own little side porch. Eric and Ethan’s room was on the
right facing the road, and Sean and I were on the right with our own
window overlooking the valley. Under Mom and Dad’s
supervision, we unloaded the U-Haul and got our beds set up, so
we’d have somewhere to sleep that night. We were all getting
hungry, and the younger boys were getting a little antsy.
“Can we order pizza?” Ethan begged.
“I’ll do you one better,” Dad answered,
“the new restaurant in the hotel has invited a select group
of townspeople to eat there before the official opening, so they can
test out the kitchen. Our dinner for the night is comped.”
“Awesome!”
“Do we need to change?” I asked. The nice
restaurants in this change typically had a dress code. I was wearing
shorts and a t-shirt, and was still barefoot, having left my flip-fops
in the car.
“No,” Dad explained, “as part of our
refresh we’re trying to modernize the place. The dress code
is getting a major overhaul.”
“Cool.”
We all started walking toward the main hotel. It was starting to get
dark, and the fireflies were coming out. We walked into the main lobby
of the hotel and turned down a white colonnaded hallway. My bare toes
sunk into the deep floral-patterned carpet as I followed Dad. With no
guests yet and the workmen gone for the evening, the building was
eerily quiet, but we could hear the sounds of conversation up ahead. We
turned a corner into the restaurant’s waiting area, where
people were milling around waiting to be seated. Most of them were
better dressed than we were, although I did notice one boy about my age
who was also barefoot, despite his relatively formal attire of khaki
pants and a polo shirt. Before I could get a chance to wonder why he
was dressed that way, Dad introduced me to the man who was obviously
his father.
“Terry! Good to see you. Boys, this is Senator Crowe. He was
a huge help getting the legislation we needed for this
project.”
“Well, we’re just so glad your company is
supporting the economy out here,” Senator Crowe responded,
“this is my better half Melanie, and my boys Jesse and
Jordan.” He pointed to each of his sons as he introduced him.
The barefoot one was Jordan, and Jesse looked a couple of years older
than him. Dad responded by introducing the four of us.
“Excuse Jordan’s attire,” Senator Crowe
said, “I promise we bought him shoes, but he’s got
some silly bet.”
“I bet my friend Logan that we could go barefoot all
summer,” Jordan explained.
“Cool,” I responded.
“Will Logan be at the springs tomorrow?” Dad asked.
I had been vaguely aware that the resort took its name from a hot
spring on the site, allegedly discovered by Thomas Jefferson himself,
but had Dad had been cagey about what exactly one did at the springs.
“Yes, sir.” Jordan answered.
“Boys,” Dad told me, “we’re
going to go down to the hot springs tomorrow morning for a
soak.”
“So do we gotta unpack our bathing suits?” Ethan
asked.
“Don’t worry about that?” Dad chortled,
“we’ll be going in naked.”
“Huh?” Before I could interrogate that statement
any further, the maître ‘d called the
Crowe’s name. After they left, I turned to dad.
“What do you mean we’re going in naked?”
“The minerals in the springs wear away at bathing
suits,” Dad explained, “and the fibers clog the
drains, so it’s traditional to go in naked. That’s
part of our plan for the resort. We’re making the entire
campus clothing optional.”
“So we have to go naked in front of everybody?”
“You’ve never worried about being naked around the
house.”
“Yeah, but that was just with family,” I protested,
“not some kid I just met!”
“He’ll be naked, too,” Dad reminded me,
“and it’s not unusual up here. The tradition has
been to bathe in the springs naked since Jefferson discovered them
– and probably the Indians were going in naked even before
that. So the people up here weren’t as resistant to my plans
to take the whole resort clothing optional as you might have
expected”
“The whole place?”
“Yep,” Dad explained that part of the reason this
resort had fallen on hard times was competition from other resorts with
essentially the same amenities in the region – the
Greenbrier, the Williamsburg Inn, Kingsmill, and the newer places
springing up in Charlottesville – a couple of hours closer to
Washington, D.C. Even with a renovation, Jefferson Springs
wouldn’t be competitive at the price point the company
aspired to. But there were no clothing optional resorts anywhere near
that price point. Until Jefferson Springs reopened, nudists had had to
be content with no-frills campgrounds and places like Haulover Beach.
With the reopening of the resort, they would now have a five-star
experience to enjoy in the buff, and Dad hoped they were going to come
from all over the world. I listened nervously. It sounded like Dad was
expecting a lot of naked people at the hotel. Did that mean he was
going to expect us to go naked in public too?
After dinner, we walked back to our new house, our path through the
darkness lit by streetlights. It was pleasantly cool, a sharp contrast
from the sticky Florida humidity. I suppose that was a big part of the
reason people started coming to this place. As soon as we got home, Mom
announced that it was time for everyone to get ready for bed. I
suddenly realized that I was sleepy from the combination of several
hours driving and my heavy meal.
Sean and I went to our room and started rooting through the boxes that
contained our clothing, looking for our pajamas. We dug through piles
of shirts, shorts, school uniforms, and socks, but it seemed like the
pajamas must have been in the very bottom box. Finally, Sean gave up.
“Hey, Joel?”
“Yeah?”
“You want to just sleep naked?”
“I guess we’re going to be naked in front of
everyone tomorrow anyway.” I took off my shirt and took off
my shorts, leaving them on the floor. Sean did the same. It was far
from the first time I’d seen him naked. We’d lived
in fairly close quarters all our lives, and modesty had never been
allowed to interfere with efficiency in the bathroom. When we were
younger, we had even played naked sometimes after taking our baths or
coming in from swimming, but dropped it when we got old enough to
develop modesty. Ethan, the baby of the family at seven, still went
naked around the house sometimes, although we couldn’t tell
if he was doing it because he actually liked it or because it annoyed
the rest of us.
I got under the covers and turned out the light. It did actually feel
nice to sleep naked, but I was nervous about what the future held in
store.