Today I found myself half-naked, surrounded by other half-naked strangers in the sauna of the city pool. As the weather grew colder this winter here in central Washington state, I tasked myself with finding a sauna or hot tub at the least. And so I found myself in the sauna this morning.
It's interesting how "nudeness" stands out so sharply in the first few minutes and then wears off and feels like something commonplace. Hairy, bald, wrinkly, twiggy, stout, tattooed, muscular, saggy, all of us sweaty, breathing deeply, steam rolling off the sauna stones and swooshing upward to the wooden board ceiling.
There's always chatting going on. Short conversations between people I assume have a more frequent sauna ritual. I found myself caught up in a few of the stories floating through the steamy sauna air today, each as random and different as the next. I feel I'm too new to have anything to say. I prefer listening anyways, around new people.
A woman in her 80's is sitting round the U-shaped bench to my right. Her and a man are the only two talking at this point. Well, more her talking and him listening. A subtle Scottish accent rolling off her tongue as she speaks.
"I was a complete city girl until age 11, when the war ended," she explained. Her silvery bobbed hair swinging side to side as she spoke. "I knew nothing about Scotland's countryside until then. I had never even seen a cow until after the war, let alone know to close the gate." Her eyes lit up in amusement as she recalled that it took them all afternoon to get the cows back out of the moor.
My full attention was on her then, hoping that she would go on, tell us more about her life, of a different country, of a different time. I had no idea what a moor was, but a picture of Scotland was unfolding in my mind, painting itself on the dark wooden walls of the sauna. I closed my eyes and kept listening.
"I suppose those farmers thought I was useless back then...I didn't even have proper clothes to be out in the country," She continued. So many questions began to form in my head as she spoke. What did you wear? Who took you to the countryside? But I kept silent. I loved that she wanted to tell her story. I wanted her to say whatever thoughts floated up to her next.
"I remember the hill to get to school in those years, so steep!" she said with a short chuckle. "I always wondered how the horses managed themselves up that hill. That's how we got our milk each day, those horses and their cart. It's a wonder all the cream didn't slip right off the top. That cream was the best part," she explained.
"Did you learn Gaelic?" The man opposite her asked. From the sound of it he knew a good bit about Scotland too, had taken a trip there in 2014, he'd said.
"No, no, we didn't speak it in the city." The woman replied. "I had never even heard it until I was in the country. It's so beautiful, how it sounds as they speak. There's a whole air about them that mesmerizes you."
She went on to tell us about how she can still remember the sunrises in the Scotland countryside, and how the streets were not lined with cars in the 1950's, but with horse troughs, even in the cities. She explains how ridiculous American tea is, "You can't make tea with lukewarm water! It's got to be scalding!"
I was still picturing the rolling hills of the Scottish countryside when she rose from her bench and stepped out of the sauna. A sweat-shaped shadow on the wooden beams in her place.
Silence for a few moments. Then, a balding older gentleman to my right let out a sigh. Speaking to no one in particular, he said, "I gave my boy a rifle and big gift card to Cabela's a few weeks back. He didn't even send a thank you," he said grimacing. "It's been 8 months now since she let me see him." The rest of us in the sauna sat quietly, listening, and the new story began as we poured more water on the stones to release more steam.