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" Entre, entre vite, " Jean-Luc says, pulling me inside. " On va fermer la porte—le froid, lui, il est habillé, pas nous. " (Come in quickly—the cold is dressed; we are not.)

Served chilled. The irony of eating the fattened liver of a goose while completely exposed to the elements is not lost on the group. They laugh. "At least the goose had feathers," jokes Marc, a winemaker from the Rhône. " Entre, entre vite, " Jean-Luc says, pulling me inside

By: Laurent Dubois, Correspondent for Le Naturisme Aujourd’hui The irony of eating the fattened liver of

À bientôt, et restez nature.

For now, as the clock ticks toward December 25th, the group holds hands around the table. They are nude, they are warm, they are family. Outside, the mistral howls through the pine trees. Inside, there is no itch of wool, no bind of elastic. there is no itch of wool