It wasn't the prospect of being nude all summer that bothered Nikki Lafrance, but rather the subtleties of applying for a job at Bare Oaks Family Naturist Park.

When she was leaving a phone message for the owner, she almost blurted, "Oh and I like being naked," but stopped herself. "You wonder what's professional," muses Lafrance, 22.

For the job interview at the park, her prospective boss, a man she'd never met before, sat there starkers – and not behind a desk.

"A battle was going on in my head: `Was it more awkward to start randomly getting undressed or to sit here clothed?'" laughs Lafrance, who chose the latter. "I was never taught about this in school."

Regardless, she got the job, front desk receptionist and tour guide, all au naturel.

The four naturist (the preferred term to nudist) camps near the GTA are small operations, but this summer, Stéphane Deschênes, owner of the 50-acre Bare Oaks camp near Newmarket, hired four people comfortable in their own exposed skin.

Asked how did you become a naturist, Bare Oaks staff have a standard answer: I was born that way.

"For a lot of people it's a dream job to work outside naturally," explains Deschênes, 42, an advertising and marketing professional when he's not at Bare Oaks.

"Once you see a naturist camp, you understand it's not exploitive. It's the opposite. No one is objectified."

It's still startling – for about 20 minutes. In the parking lot, a bare butt emerges from a car – full moon rising. A man, having finished some maintenance work, casually strolls along with dripped green paint on his nether regions. Two sweaty naked women greet each other with a hug, casual as on a street corner.

Surprisingly, it doesn't take long to start feeling odd being the only one in clothes – a reverse of that "Oh-my-God-I'm-naked" dream.

"I'm fine. They're the nervous ones, stuttering," says Lafrance of the people she greets at Bare Oaks' reception desk. "They're not always expecting to see someone so young behind the counter."

The reception desk is the front line, where the unclad and unfazed bump up against "the textile world." Tradespeople, pizza delivery men.

"Everyone does a quick once-over, then they'll keep their eyes fixated on your eyes, like they're saying to themselves, `Don't look down. Don't look down.'" She hasn't had any gawkers.

Lafrance didn't know naturist camps existed. "I thought it was just in Far Side comics" – until she visited Bare Oaks three years ago when her parents sampled naturism and got a trailer there.

She's been working weekends at the camp while she finishes up at a Mississauga child-care centre, but starts full-time in July. She'll pitch a tent and live at the camp.

"The moon will be my night light and I'll wake up to the birds chirping," she says.

Some of her friends are keen to strip down and visit. Her boyfriend was nervous the first few times.

"Every guy who has never tried it worries he'll have an erection and be embarrassed," she explains bluntly. "I have never seen anyone with an erection there."

(Should that occur, park protocol dictates covering up with a towel until the offending member settles down. Everyone carries a towel to sit on anyway for sanitary reasons – and to avoid bum splinters.)

The boyfriend was also worried about hugging Lafrance's in-the-buff mother when he visited the camp. Luckily, he was still clothed when he spotted her.

About her new job, Lafrance admits to one occupational hazard. "Sunscreen goes everywhere," she says. "Number 4 is not enough."

She'll study recreation and leisure in college this fall and plans to work in eco-tourism, but is delighted to be toiling in all her glory this summer at Bare Oaks.

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"I'm usually bouncing when I'm there. I feel so happy and free," says Lafrance.

On this steamy hot day, the front desk is staffed by Sandy Hessel, who's been at the camp since 1999. She can remember only two incidents of inappropriate behaviour – both involving hot tub hanky-panky. The people were sent packing.

A walkie-talkie stays within reach and she keeps a sharp eye on the parking lot. She greets members – there are about 350 – by name, kids buying ice cream, adults picking up more sunscreen.

Visitors fill in an application form before they can stay for the day. Two clothed Hungarian tourists register, then disrobe in their car, returning naked, the sweaty red lines of bra straps and underwear imprinted on their flesh.

Hessel laughs about people expecting to see magazine-model bodies at Bare Oaks.

"We're just here because we're okay with ourselves," says Hessel, 56, who proudly bears a large scar. She donated part of her liver to a friend awaiting a transplant.

She works exposed as late into the season as possible. But for cleaning out the hot tub, she does don her "hazmat suit" – rubber boots and gloves.

Over at the campsites, Judith Kirkby has settled in for the summer, with a small trailer, a large airy tent for dining and another with a queen-size mattress for sleeping, and three bird feeders nearby.

Kirkby, 49, who lives in Moosonee, has a rare cancerous tumour on the back of her leg, and is being treated at Mount Sinai Hospital in Toronto. She needed some place closer to stay.

As they drove toward Toronto, she and her partner, Russ Proctor, saw the highway sign for Bare Oaks and decided on a whim to check it out. Neither had ever been to a naturist park. Now they speak with the fervour of converts. "This is the way life should be," says Kirkby contentedly, lounging naked in a canvas chair at their campsite.

Between doctors' appointments, she's working in the office and helping clean. "I'm the resident pool bunny," she jokes. Up north, she was a dispatch supervisor.

She loves not wearing clothes, which irritate the leg tumour. If she needs to shave her head during chemotherapy, no one here will judge her, she says. Naked head? No big deal.

She wants to do as much as she can to help her mind and body through treatment. "Everyone has a different reason for being here," she explains. "Mine is for healing, physically, spiritually, emotionally."

Her campsite, next to 13 forested acres, is totally quiet, peaceful. "I head out to the textile world long enough to do what I have to do," she says. "Then I come back to paradise."