Bare Feet: The Final Freedom

Even though I’d be a self-conscious wreck at a nudist colony, may I say I can still totally understand the lifestyle.

There is just something so annoying about clothing in general, and something so liberating about walking out the door like this.

I have a much deeper appreciation for fine days than I used to. When you take care of critters that live outside year-round (and you lie awake nights thinking of them during deep northers and snowstorms) summertime means something more than flowers and the damn birds chirping at 4 a.m. It’s a release from the constant low-level worrying that comes along with being a good stockman: is everyone getting enough to eat? Should I start tossing alfalfa twice a day? What if the wind kicks up now that it’s ten below? What if the chickens’ water heater goes on the fritz again? Should I give them some more hay in the coop to nest in…?

So summertime means a lot more to me now that I get to shed the fretting right along with my clothes. Makes me think of one of my mom’s pet phrases…”skip and go naked.”

I may not be naked (at least all the way) but I will be skipping.


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