in the morning
A short story in pictures
See how it could begin, how it could grow, and spend a day there.
Begin the storyIt’s read aloud as you go, and you can pause or turn the sound off at any time. Illustrations of possibilities, not a chosen site.
I want Uncommon Ground to become a substantial gay naturist village where people can make their homes, welcome visiting friends and enjoy a shared life on the land. That gives us a lot to explore: the homes themselves, the spaces that bring us together, and how we pay for and look after all of it.
We’ve been researching several ways to begin, including adapting a camp or retreat, expanding a property with existing homes, and building on suitable land. The picture is becoming more concrete, although we haven’t chosen a property or established a budget. Here’s what seems most useful to bring into the conversation now.
For the latest project conversation and next steps, read our meeting recaps. This page explains the research and open questions behind the plans.
A place to imagine how we could begin, how the village could grow and what a day here might feel like. The homes and landscapes are illustrations of possibilities. We haven’t chosen land, a design or a budget.
You can read the whole plan below, with or without the interactive story.
My hope is a substantial village, with people living here year-round, friends staying for a season or a weekend, and enough shared space to bring many of us together. We could grow toward that in stages. The first opening needs to be a place people would enjoy joining, with a clear plan for the work and money that later stages will need.
An existing camp might give us a kitchen, gathering spaces, guest rooms and land to enjoy from the beginning. We could adapt suitable buildings into homes and add more over time. We’d need to find out which buildings can support comfortable year-round living and whether the property can grow into the village we want.
A property with several homes could give people privacy and independence sooner, while we create shared spaces and places for visitors. The important question would be how those homes, the land and the future gathering spaces fit together, so that friendship is close at hand without everyone living on top of each other.
Starting with land gives us more freedom to arrange homes, gardens, workshops and commons around the life we want. It also means paying for roads, water, power and other essentials before much of that life is possible. A temporary pioneer camp could help us begin where it’s allowed, with permanent homes and larger gatherings opening as the site is ready.
A shared household could help some of us get started, and others may discover that a smaller community is what they want. I’d like us to be open about those differences while exploring the village together. We haven’t chosen a property or decided how many people will live here.
I want this to be within reach of people with different resources, including men living on modest retirement incomes. That means looking carefully at what it costs to get started and what each of us would need to pay once we’re living here. How we finance the property could make a big difference to those monthly bills.
There’s work involved in sharing a place like this, and we’ll bring different interests and abilities. Some of us may love cooking, growing food or repairing things; others will have jobs, care needs or other ways they want to spend their time. We need to work out which responsibilities people actually want and where paid help belongs in the budget.
I also want us to plan for getting older here. That includes accessible homes and paths, continuity of HIV care and other healthcare, and a way to get to appointments, shops and friends when we aren’t driving. Those things need to be part of choosing a location from the start.
I’d like the people who live here to have a real say in their home. We still have to work through ownership, how renters take part, and what happens when someone wants to leave. There are no agreed rents, purchase shares or financial commitments yet.
I picture a village with a common house where you can usually find someone to talk to, gardens and workshops, places to host music and larger gatherings, and quieter corners where you can be by yourself. Some people would live here all year; others might come for a season or a short stay. Visitors could add a lot to the life of the place, while residents would still need somewhere that feels like home when a gathering is in full swing.
Within that village, we could have different kinds of homes. You might want your own small home and kitchen, or prefer a private bedroom in a household that shares more of its daily life. Sharing a bedroom is another choice altogether, and we shouldn’t build a plan around assuming people want it. The amount of private space, the walking routes and the shared rooms all affect both the cost and how comfortable we’d feel living together.
Meals are a good example of something we can shape to suit the people here. Songaia describes a shared food program with common meals and a stocked pantry. We could explore something similar, pay for cooking on selected days, or have a more informal open table. I’d like someone to be able to bring their own food, save a plate for later or eat at home without that becoming a source of tension.
A camp or retreat could give us useful things from the start: a kitchen, a dining hall, guest accommodation and space for people to gather. It’s an appealing route because we might be able to enjoy those places while adapting buildings and adding homes. But a cabin used for summer weekends may need substantial work before someone can live there comfortably all year. Existing buildings only save us money if they’re suitable for the uses we actually need.
Imagine this beginningA property with several existing homes could make the residential side easier to begin. We would then need to find a good way to add shared spaces, guest stays and gatherings. A beautiful residential property with no room or permission for that wider life could leave us with a very different project from the one we set out to create.
Imagine this beginningBuilding on raw or lightly improved land would give us more freedom in the layout and design. The challenge is that water, wastewater, access, power and the first shared facilities can require a lot of money before many people have a home there. We’re keeping this route alongside reuse so that the compromises of an existing property don’t become the only possibilities we consider.
Imagine this beginningWe don’t have to finish the whole village before anyone arrives. An early group could help establish it, and a smaller residential opening could grow as later stages are built. For each stage, I want us to be able to show the homes and shared spaces people could use, the work still ahead and the money available to complete it. We should also know what happens if the next stage takes longer than expected. Moving onto a building site, opening permanent homes and hosting the first large gathering may happen at different times.
Possible stages, each depending on the homes, work and funding needed.
We’ve reopened the location search because the village gives us more to consider than a pleasant place to buy land. We’re comparing regions alongside actual properties: a camp with useful commons, a residential property with room to grow, or land where the whole layout could be designed together. Riverside, Tucson, Eugene and Durham are our current starting points for a focused property search, alongside alternatives with different seasonal lives and ways to begin.
The important question is whether a particular property can accommodate the whole mix of homes, guest stays, gatherings, food service and productive work. Permission for a campground or a group of houses answers only part of that. We also need to describe the naturist culture and intended activities honestly, rather than assume that calling the project a club settles the rules.
The location guide explains the places getting closer attention, their appeal and compromises, and what we have found about other suggestions. We haven’t chosen a property, and a stronger opportunity could change where we look.
One of the biggest lessons from the working budgets is how much the source of the starting money matters. Buying land and making it ready to live on is expensive, even when the individual homes are modest. If most of that money is borrowed, the regular payments have to cover the loan as well as running the village. Gifts or capital that can stay in the project for a long time could lead to a different monthly cost, depending on what repayment or return is expected.
We’ve been comparing smaller and larger openings, including what happens when they have the same amount of funding available before borrowing. More residents can share the cost of a kitchen, maintenance and other services, but accommodating them also costs more to build. A larger opening doesn’t automatically become more affordable. We need to compare the actual homes and services people would receive, along with the money available to create them.
Guest stays, events and businesses could contribute income, and they could be a wonderful part of village life. They also need staff, food, cleaning, maintenance and places for people to stay. We’re testing what happens when bookings are weaker than hoped and keeping those costs in the account before treating visitor income as help with residents’ bills.
I want people with fewer resources to have a real place in this. Some of us might choose to contribute more, through gifts or agreed support for living costs. We haven’t asked for pledges toward a home or chosen an arrangement — the monthly pledges on the support page keep the current work going and don’t reserve a home or set a future resident price. We need to explain what each payment would mean, including whether it buys a home, lends money to the project or helps without an expectation of repayment. If money is meant to come back later, the plan has to show where it could come from. We don’t yet have a resident price to offer.
Borrowing adds repayments to running costs. Guest income can help, but weaker bookings leave more to cover.
An illustration of the idea, with no real figures. We don’t yet have a resident price, rent or buy-in to offer.
It’s easy to picture friends cooking together or spending an afternoon in the garden. It takes more thought to make sure dinner, cleaning, repairs and essential transport are covered when someone is ill, away or simply wants a break. Our operating plans are starting to put hours and responsibilities against those tasks, including preparation and cleanup around a big gathering.
One arrangement to explore is for residents to keep their own jobs, pensions or other income while the village pays people to cover core services. Some residents might want those jobs; others might run a workshop, café or another business of their own. An income-sharing community would be a different choice, with much more of our economic lives joined together. Being interested in Uncommon Ground doesn’t tell us which of those arrangements someone wants.
In its Communities Directory account, Bryn Gweled describes the strain of managing its property through volunteer committees and considering whether to hire a manager. That’s useful to keep in mind alongside the more appealing work. Someone still has to keep the accounts, arrange repairs and organize cover. There should be room to contribute skills without quietly acquiring a permanent job, and the plan needs to work when the person who usually organizes everything is away.
Visiting volunteers could contribute a lot, but someone also has to welcome them, teach the work and coordinate their stay. Coweeta Heritage Center’s Directory account describes pausing very short volunteer visits until it had more help running the program. We should include that work in the budget before counting the help it might bring.
What happens this week? Try one or more:
Dinner, cleaning, repairs and rides still need cover when people are ill or away. Paid cover would need to be funded.
An invented week to explore the choices. It is not a staffing plan, a care promise or a work requirement.
For me, the appeal of the land is being able to enjoy it naked as part of everyday life. Climate will shape that experience. The Tucson weather normals show why Pima is appealing for milder winters and why summer heat needs serious attention. Louisa’s station record suggests a warm-season outdoor life with a real winter, while Ithaca’s points toward cooler summers and a much longer period when warm indoor connections would matter. These are regional starting points; shade, wind and the layout of a property can change how a day feels.
I can imagine enjoying a sunny winter room, a deep shaded porch or a garden path with places to stop along the way. We should explore which seasonal life people would actually want, including time spent indoors. A future visit could help us experience a quiet morning, an uncomfortable afternoon or a wet day for ourselves. Nobody should have to prove their commitment to naturism by putting up with discomfort.
I’d like the village to grow food, care for its surroundings and give people space to make and repair things. Gardens, orchards and workshops could be important parts of living here, and there’s room to explore permaculture, natural building and tools that make the work easier. We can begin with a manageable amount and expand as we learn what the land supports and what people want to do. The Directory includes communities that put working land in the care of particular growers. That could let farming become a serious part of our life without expecting every resident to be a farmer.
The working plan starts with dependable staple supplies, stored essentials, a garden we can maintain and backup for the services we most need during an outage. Growing more food could make us less dependent on outside supplies, but it also takes water, equipment and continuing work. We’re keeping track of those costs rather than assuming a garden or solar panels will pay the housing bills.
Dancing Rabbit’s building account in the Directory describes using natural and salvaged materials alongside conventional construction, depending on what was available and what worked. I’d like us to explore those possibilities without assuming that doing the work ourselves makes it inexpensive. A method needs to suit the climate, the people building it and the people who will maintain it. Comfortable, accessible homes matter as much as the appeal of a building technique.
Affordability, aging and care need to be considered together. A place that looks inexpensive could become difficult to live in if every appointment requires a long drive or paid trip. For someone who needs HIV care or other ongoing treatment, we would need to understand the actual care options and continuity of access, privately with that person and their chosen helpers. Getting home afterward matters as much as getting to the appointment.
Valverde Commons makes a useful distinction in its Directory account: its residents want to support one another as they age, while being clear that they are not healthcare professionals. I’d like that same honesty here. Friendship, shared meals and practical help can matter enormously, but any promise of regular care needs people, funding and an arrangement we can depend on.
The same care belongs in the housing and ownership arrangements. I’d like residents to have a meaningful voice whether they rent or invest, and to feel secure at home if their ability to work or join activities changes. We need to work through that in the agreements, alongside a fair way to leave. Getting to know each other through visits can help us decide whether to live together; once someone is at home, wanting a quieter life shouldn’t mean having to earn their place all over again.
A prospective member encouraged us to read the 2016 Communities Directory, including the stories and lessons around the listings. It has given us much more to work with. Communities have built shared lives around private homes, farms, retreats and businesses, with very different arrangements for money and decisions. Their accounts help us ask what we would actually be choosing, beyond the appeal of living among friends.
Explore the accounts behind these questions. Each book opens the full passage from this page; the complete reading and its limits stay below.
The stories about starting communities are especially useful because some describe plans that didn’t work out. In Jenny Pickerill and Ruth Hayward’s accounts, bringing in a housing partner helped a group acquire land, but the terms later changed in ways many original participants couldn’t accept or afford. Other groups spent years meeting without agreeing on what they were trying to build. I want us to get clear enough to make progress, while continuing to ask whether each agreement serves the life that brought us together.
The money questions become quite personal. Celo’s account describes property interests that could be sold only to another member or to the community itself. That can be a deliberate way to preserve a community’s purpose. It also means thinking carefully about someone who needs to leave: how much they could recover, who would pay it and how long it might take. A written value for a person’s share doesn’t itself provide the cash to buy it back. People should understand that before putting their savings into a place they hope to call home.
We also need arrangements that survive ordinary changes in people’s lives. Vine & Fig Tree describes its earlier community coming apart for several reasons, including the landowning couple’s divorce and members moving closer to work and schools. I want us to think about those possibilities while everyone is getting along: whether residents could stay if an owner needed to sell, and whether the location still works as people’s needs change.
On decisions, the variety is encouraging. N Street’s account describes renters and homeowners participating equally, with a voting option after a defined effort to reach consensus. Other communities give smaller groups responsibility for particular areas or leave more choices to households. We haven’t chosen a system. I’d like to try the possibilities against decisions we can picture, such as changing the guest calendar or borrowing for a building, and see how they would work when people disagree.
Jeff Golden’s reflections on Common Fire make another useful distinction: a group can be good at talking deeply about feelings and still struggle to settle an immediate problem. A concern about unwanted contact, a missed commitment or a disputed expense needs a clear response. People should be able to raise it privately and be heard fairly, including when the person involved is a founder or major contributor. Repairing a relationship may help, but it shouldn’t require anyone to share more of their private life than they want to.
Breitenbush’s description caught another part of the life I want to preserve: setting aside time when the guest operation closes and the community has time together. Visitors and gatherings could bring a great deal of joy here, but living in the village shouldn’t mean being on duty as a host whenever you step outside. We’re making room in the planning for quieter resident spaces and time that we keep for ourselves, including the cost of those choices.
These examples make me more interested in working out the details with the people who might live here. I want us to be able to disagree, decline an activity, end a relationship or ask for help without fearing that belonging depends on keeping everyone happy. Close friendships matter, and so do agreements that still make sense when friendship is strained.
This update draws on a complete, AI-assisted reading of the supplied Communities Directory, seventh edition (2016), published by the Fellowship for Intentional Community, ISBN 978-0-9718264-9-6, and Cynthia Tina’s complete Starter Guide to Intentional Communities. The reading covered the essays, maps, charts, established and forming community listings, and resources, with the analyses read in full and important passages checked against the supplied text. The Directory’s listings describe communities’ own circumstances and aspirations at the time; they are not current offers or independently audited outcomes. Some maps, tables, diagrams and small image text in the EPUB were incomplete or lost detail, and we haven’t based conclusions on guessing what those gaps contained. The book’s legal and technical discussions provide questions for current professional work, rather than assurances about our own project.
A village is a promise we make to each other — that the place we invest in, build and grow old in will still be ours tomorrow. For a naturist community, that promise is tested mostly from outside: a founder dies, land changes hands, an owner changes the rules, a neighbor complains, or buildings turn out to have no permits. I've been reading what actually happened at five real places, not to frighten anyone, but because their answers shape what we need to put in place before we buy anything. We haven't chosen a site, an ownership model or secured any permits — this is shared research to shape our questions, not a selected plan or legal advice.
Ed Lange opened this "human growth center" in 1967, and it thrived for 33 years — but the land stayed in his family, not in the community. After he died in 1995 his daughters inherited it. The members reorganized and pooled money to buy the property — the club's own history says they offered the appraised price, while the Times reported they could not raise the $2.6 million asking price. Either account ends the same way: the family sold to a private buyer in 2000. The club relocated to a remote Malibu property, lost money and closed in 2001. A successor club — the Southern California Naturist Association — grew from its remaining members to carry those friendships forward.
What it shows: a community can outlive its land only if it can afford to move and hold together. The members had no claim on the ground itself. What it doesn't: nobody acted out of hostility to naturism — the family simply owned what the club did not.
Sources: AANR West, April 30, 2021 · Los Angeles Times, November 21, 2001
For nearly three decades this 523-acre high-desert resort was clothing-optional, and residents had bought or leased sites there for that life. New owners bought the property in 2020 with plans for a wellness resort. In July 2023 they told residents clothing would become mandatory that fall — in common areas that September, and everywhere by October, including privately held sites. The owners said the clothing-optional model was no longer sustainable and blamed weak support from naturist guests; residents said they were blindsided, disputed that account, and some sought legal advice over how the place had been marketed. One told the Times of San Diego he had put about $125,000 into his site — money meant to be his home on Social Security.
What it shows: people can invest real savings in a place whose defining policy rests on one owner's decision. What it doesn't: how it ended is unclear — the resort's own website still carried conflicting policy text when we read it, so we don't claim to know today's rules.
Sources: Times of San Diego, August 4, 2023 · Planet Nude, August 2, 2023
After about fifty years as a family nudist club, Goodland's owner posted in 2024 that he was retiring and the resort was permanently closing. The 35-acre property sold in July 2026 for $1.35 million, and the selling agent said the new owners plan to restore it as a family destination "without the nudity."
What it shows: an owner's ordinary retirement can end a community that rented its permanence from one person. What it doesn't: nobody did anything wrong — which is exactly the risk a single-owner arrangement carries.
Wildwood was a secluded retreat for gay men from the 1970s, and it sheltered people with AIDS during the crisis years. After a complaint in 2017, county code enforcement found that nearly all of its buildings had been put up without permits, and in 2019 the retreat was ordered to stop operating. The nonprofit behind it spent about four years and roughly a million dollars on a rezoning, and in May 2023 Sonoma County approved a phased use permit so it could reopen in stages as buildings came up to code. Reporting from September 2025 described the foundation still short of repair funds, with the property listed for sale.
What it shows: running ahead of permission can pause a community for years, and catching up is expensive even when the county ultimately works with you. What it doesn't: the record shows an enforcement action over unpermitted structures — not established evidence that the retreat was targeted for being gay.
Sources: Sonoma County Board of Supervisors record, May 9, 2023 · NorCal Public Media, September 25, 2025
Denny Blaine is a public city park, not a private resort — a decades-old unofficial nude beach and a valued LGBTQ gathering space. Neighbors sued the city in 2025 over lewd behavior they said the parks department had failed to address. The judge agreed the city had to respond but declined to close the park, and after a trial the July 2026 ruling kept it open under conditions: a user plan and code of conduct, staffing, and buffers between the beach and the neighboring homes. The city said police calls had fallen 39% under its earlier plan. In October 2026 Seattle Parks adopted supplemental use guidelines that formally mark a clothing-optional area and a clothing-required area, with visual screening between them — acknowledging the park's significance to the queer community.
What it shows: a public place has defenses a private resort lacks — organized users can intervene, and a court can choose management over closure. What it doesn't: the ruling managed conduct; it didn't settle what a private owner owes a community.
Sources: KUOW, July 15, 2026 · Seattle Parks, October 16, 2026
None of these stories has a single villain. Founders die, owners retire or change their minds, buildings were never permitted, and people's savings ended up in ground they didn't control. What the stories share is simpler: each community's daily life depended on arrangements it didn't own or couldn't enforce. They are all U.S. examples, and their laws won't predict what applies wherever we eventually land — but the questions they raise travel.
The places that come through these tests have more than goodwill underneath them. Four quiet layers decide whether a home is still standing afterward — and none of them is visible on a sunny afternoon.
Who owns the ground itself — and what happens when that person dies, retires or sells. Elysium and Goodland both ended this way, without any conflict at all.
Zoning, building code and permits that honestly cover the intended life — homes, gatherings and guests — and stay current. Wildwood's unpermitted buildings cost it years and about a million dollars to begin repairing.
The people who live there can make, or genuinely share in, the decisions that change daily life — including the clothing culture itself. DeAnza's residents learned of theirs by letter.
A secure home, a fair way to sell or pass it on, and money held back for a weak year — so staying is not a risk and leaving is not a trap.
Some naturist communities already do. Glen Eden Sun Club in Southern California — which calls itself America's largest member-owned nudist resort — has belonged to its members since founder Ray Connett gave it to them at incorporation in 1966, "so that no private owner, or even a clique of the members, can ever profit from its sale" (AANR West newsletter, June 2023). In Florida, Lake Como's members bought their 196 acres in 1997 and reorganized as a co-op owned by its resident shareholders. Member ownership doesn't freeze any policy — members can still vote to change their own rules — but the decision belongs to the people who live there, not to an owner's last day on the job.
One model worth investigating alongside them is a community land trust: a member-run nonprofit owns the land permanently while residents own their homes through long, inheritable ground leases with agreed resale terms. Land in Common's plain-language guide explains how it separates the fate of the land from any one owner. It's one possibility to study alongside co-operatives and ordinary ownership — not a structure we've chosen. The Foundation for Intentional Community's free Legal Structures for IC's in the US ebook maps the common options and the questions that distinguish them.
None of this makes the promise unbreakable. Permits lapse, reserves run out and members disagree; no structure or permit guarantees a community stays itself. What the layers decide is who gets to make that choice, and what it would cost the people who call it home. Working through them — with professionals, and with the people who might live here — is the homework this chapter leaves us.
The research can help us understand possibilities and costs. The next part depends on what people would actually choose. At the November 21 meeting, I’d love to hear:
You don’t need to share personal finances or medical information in the group. You can listen, ask questions or pass, with no commitment to move, work or contribute money.
Over the next few months, the useful work is to bring these choices into a more detailed opening plan, compare suitable properties and replace the largest cost assumptions with estimates for the work we would actually need. We’ll need professional advice on permissions, infrastructure, ownership and the intended activities, as well as people willing and able to run the place. None of that has been secured yet.
The current location guide and dated earlier property comparisons are available below. We’ve reopened the search around the village as a whole, because comparisons made for an earlier version of the project don’t settle where this one could work. The old rankings and numerical targets are historical research, rather than requirements for choosing our home. Our current recommendation is to choose somewhere other than Florida for this village, because of the additional care and support burdens. The Florida explanation sets out the evidence, its real strengths and what could make us reconsider.
This is the direction I’m bringing to the conversation, and I’m excited to find out where it overlaps with what you want. Some of us may have different hopes, and those could lead to different versions or separate projects. For now, we have a chance to talk openly about the kind of life we’d enjoy creating together.