Photos provided by Mountain Air Ranch

I’ve always been curious about this lifestyle, envious of the care-free attitudes that I assumed nudists possessed. As a constantly worrying neurotic, that sort of liberation appealed to me, the way that we grown-ups romanticize and covet the innocence of childhood.

Having separated from my husband nine months ago, I haven’t been naked in front of a man in a while. That may seem like an odd thing to say here, but it feels strangely, almost painfully, relevant. During that time, I’ve been doing some curious things, whether as a natural way of processing my grief over the loss of my marriage or as a personal challenge to prove that I can do more than I believed possible. I don’t understand or trust many of the things I’m doing right now, but if getting naked in public can spark a snippet of self-compassion or healing, I’ll take it. Plus, my work as a writer has me occasionally baring my soul to strangers, so why not my body?

Even though I know the men here don’t care about my naked body, I do. They may have dropped the sexual connotation that most of us associate with nakedness — or at least they’re better at compartmentalizing it — but I, however, still come from the world where naked means something else. Being in that revealed, exposed state in front of so many people — especially men — is jarring. At least at first.

I brought along a friend because I didn’t think I could go full-on nude alone, and I needed the extra encouragement. Josie has a breezy, easy-going hippie vibe, the antithesis to my neurotic hang-ups. Who better to experience naked karaoke night with? Because yes, it was naked karaoke night at the Mountain Air Ranch.

I didn’t come into this a fullfledged naked-in-public virgin. Two weeks earlier, I inadvertently stepped onto a nude beach in Miami and figured, why not? I even had my first completely naked conversation with a stranger there. Talking with Manhattan Dave was surprisingly comfortable, other than when I caught him looking down. (Don’t look down, Manhattan Dave! I’m new here.)

But this was no beach. For one, it was freezing outside, and for another, this was a social situation. Not people alone on their towels or taking solo dips in the ocean. The whole point of the Ranch is community; it’s just that that community has a predilection for hanging out in their birthday suits. That was the hump I was trying to get over — being naked not just as a novelty, but as a way of living.

Before leaving our room in the lodge, Josie and I ingested a little (OK, a lot of) liquid courage. (The Ranch doesn’t have a bar or restaurant, so we most definitely BYOB’D.) We stressed out over what to wear for the walk up to the clubhouse where naked karaoke was in full swing. In the end we decided upon short robes, winter jackets and snow boots over our nudity. A good look.

Upstairs at the clubhouse, a man clad only in black socks sang on the brightly-lit stage. I don’t remember the song because, you know, naked man clad only in black socks. Surprisingly, I unzipped my jacket, untied my robe and unlaced my boots, and, with a towel spread out under me, sat down totally, completely, maybe even gloriously nude.

It was like getting a shot at the doctor’s office — it only stung for a few seconds. Among the dozen or so mostly nude people, I didn’t feel out of place or self-conscious for long. And let’s give credit where credit is due here — it helped that the lighting where I sat safely in the audience was dim.

While easygoing hippie Josie kept her robe on the entire time, this little neurotic felt relaxed fairly quickly. I didn’t volunteer to sing any solos — come on, even I have limits — but I wasn’t obsessing over how I looked naked, and I soon found myself not really noticing the performers’ nudity either. After the show was over, I was feeling so comfortable that I even started some conversations.

Ernie W., a retiree involved with the karaoke, told me that in the summer months, they get 80 people crowded into the clubhouse, singing onstage.

“It’s kind of like a throwback to the ’60s,” he said of the Ranch. (And yes, I conducted that interview completely naked.)

Steve and Nan S. had never been nudists when they found the Ranch last summer via a search for an affordable place to park their RV while Steve traveled for work.

“We were here a day and a half, and she says, ‘I’m home,’ ” Steve said. “They’re the friendliest people you’ll meet in your life. It’s the most comfortable place.” (And yes, again, we’re all talking totally naked.)

There’s more to do at the Mountain Air Ranch than naked karaoke. The Ranch features 10 miles of hiking trails, bocce and tennis courts, a pool, hot tub, steam room, playground and children’s playroom complete with toys and an air hockey table.

It’s a large property with a vintage summer-camp feel, but not in the way that’s trendy right now. Mountain Air Ranch just is, and always has been.

I got the impression that they don’t want gawkers and spectators intruding upon their naked community. The word community, after all, means a group of people sharing common characteristics or values, so if you’re not willing to at least try that common characteristic (nudity), maybe it’s not the place for you.

“Everybody is so peaceful,” Ernie W. said. “Like a peaceful tribe living on an uninhabited island. Until the settlers come in.”

The settlers. The clothed. The world that most of us live in. Ernie said that the Ranch occasionally gets angry visitors at the gate, protesting their naked lifestyle. It’s hard to fathom for most of us, isn’t it, the living in the nude?

Today, writing this fully clothed on my couch, I wonder. Am I a settler? Or could I be a member of their tribe? I don’t have a final answer, but I have this: At the end of karaoke night, when everyone got on stage to sing “God Bless America” to close the program, I was right there with them, in the buff, with a smile on my face.