Camping in Yosemite

It would be hard to find nicer people than those I met in Mariposa this past weekend.  I was at the Chamber of Commerce/Visitor Center doing a book signing for the title High Country Women: Women Pioneers of Yosemite and I made the acquaintance of many Mariposa residents as well as Yosemite travelers.  I had a chance to talk with a couple of park visitors and tell them all about the history of Yosemite.  The two smiled and nodded pleasantly.  It wasn’t until I’d been talking for seven or eight minutes that one of the smiling tourists informed me that they didn’t speak English.  A number of campers came in to buy a book.  Some let me know they were “rouging it just like the pioneers.”  I can’t help but think that if pioneers knew people were sleeping outside in tents instead of in air conditioned hotels where Snickers candy bars and chocolate milk were down the hall in a vending machine, they would be scratching their heads in bewilderment.  Camping was a necessity for pioneers.  I’ve got to believe if a Hilton was anywhere near the Sierra foothills in 1846 the Donner Party would have checked in immediately.  There’s a tremendous amount of pressure to love camp where I live in the Gold Country.  I try to convince myself it might be fun, but ultimately I don’t like bugs and bugs seem to be a major component of camping.  I guess camping and hiking just wasn’t coded into my DNA.  Oh, I got out to enjoy the beautiful national park this weekend.  I took some lovely photos of Yosemite from my vehicle.  I drove to various scenic spots and marveled at the magnificence of God’s creation.  Then I got back into my truck and drove to a hotel where I spent the night next door to the room where the couple who didn’t speak English were staying. I guess I just have to follow Oscar Wilde’s advice:  Be yourself, because everyone else is taken.