I mentioned in my last post that I grew up in Vancouver. That is not entirely accurate. I actually grew up in North Vancouver halfway up Fromme Mountain. I know, I know…anyone reading this from North Vancouver will say “Actually it’s Mount Fromme.” True, but as kids, we called it Fromme Mountain. At that time there was very little development above or around where I lived. Everyone had acreage, the forest encroached on our back yards, we saw bear and deer and raccoons regularly. I grew up in a neighbourhood of large Dutch families. This meant lots of kids to go exploring with and often with a bag of that delicious salty Dutch licorice.
When we climbed up past the tree line, we knew that if we hiked far enough (about 20-30 minutes) we would come to the nudist colony. We would hide behind trees and try to catch glimpses of the naked bodies but, being too afraid to get too close, we rarely saw much of anything. This didn’t stop us from hiking back down and bragging to everyone that we saw someone’s dingdong or someone’s boobies. Not everyone would hike up there but those that did acquired a special place of honour in our large group of friends.