At ‘The Bug,’
By
Joan Porter
Merced, CA

The Bug is a rustic resort in the central Sierra Nevada foothills, at about 2500 feet elevation. I went there to get away during the holidays. It is a connection for people wanting to see Yosemite Valley, Mammoth Mountain, Mono Lake, Kennedy Meadows and go hiking or backpacking into the wilderness. All of these places are connected by YARTS public transportation if you choose to leave the driving to them.

Hostel Accommodations
I stayed in a coed, 12 bed dorm at the Hostel, which is affiliated with Hostelling International. There were three sets of bunk beds on each side of the long dorm with restrooms and showers at one end.
How do so many strangers get along in such close quarters, you might ask. It is through mutual respect and consideration for each other, and it works.
I was the only person in the dorm who was not bilingual. There was a couple from Cape Town, South Africa. The husband was sent by the bicycle manufacturer where he worked to do something for a retailer in Morgan Hill. His wife, a teacher, joined him when school let out so they could see California together.
A couple from Michigan, who currently call UC Davis their home were vacationing. He was a Computer Programmer while she worked on her PhD in engineering. They were high-tech. A red head light was gentle on the eyes when they were up at night. They used a high-tech, muted, bong system as an alarm clock and carried an infra-red heater which saved us all from the cold one night.
Three young women traveled together. Two were from Mexico City, one from Spain. The two from Mexico said their parents worried about what could happen to them when they crossed the northern border into US territory. They hiked and searched, wanting to see a bear. They told of following tracks and scat to try and find a bear, but they didn’t know the difference between the tracks or the scat. I explained the difference to them.
Two brothers, in their early twenties, lived in Paris, France. One was an engineer, the other an engineering student on Christmas break. Their father worked for an airline which allowed them to travel at reduced rates until they reach the age of twenty-six when the discount ends. They are traveling to the farthest places from Paris to see as much of the world as they can before they have to pay the higher fare. They fear the black widow spider and any other poisonous creatures. I tell them the nature of the black widow and also the rattlesnake. They tell me there are no poisonous creatures in France. They share their experiences with a volcano in Chile.
A young man traveling alone was from London. Originally from Russia, he works on his British citizenship. We joked about the politics in Russia compared to the radical, proactive ways of the people in California. He was a very different kind of individual with the appearance of a 1960’s hippie.
I was the only senior citizen and the shortest distance from home.


Christmas Day, 2011

I awoke before sunrise on Christmas morning. The young man in the bunk above mine awakened to a muted bong on his cell phone. A female voice spoke softly in another language. He didn’t answer.
Dawn: Crisp, biting cold surrounded a cobweb of naked, black, skeleton trees against a white sky, laced with the palest blue.
Breakfast: My clothes were layered quadruple to fight the outside ice. Rock salt decorated the walkways so my feet didn’t skate. The Café served hot coffee. I added a packet of my homemade cocoa mix for a hot, morning breakfast drink. Fire in the fireplace warmed my bones, frozen to the morrow. A boar’s head and pronghorn hung above on the wall. I shed layer four. The menu had an excellent variety of food including vegetarian, vegan and specially prepared meals at the customers’ request.
Morning: The white sky was swallowed by sapphire blue in the eye of a fiery sun-ball. Warmth slowly spread to the skeleton trees and my inner body as well. Soon layer three would go. The skeleton trees thawed to dark green needles and muddy brown oak leaves in a still, silent, symphony of primitive splendor. My spirit soared in majestic wonder, reaching for that warming sun-ball.
Lunch: The rustic Café served a variety of sandwiches. I choose the BLT with soup and herbal tea. It was scrumptious. I passed up the addition of a bag of peanuts and M&Ms with Santa sweets. I brought my own raw almonds instead. The Christmas tree in the café had an eclectic array of ornaments fondled by the tiny hands of children with wayward parents. Candy canes, tinsel garlands, wreaths and large hanging balls completed the Christmas decorations. A falling angel adorned the top of the tree. Nobody’s perfect! What can you expect after Christmas Eve.
High noon: Outside a woodpecker knocked at the door of my consciousness. “Welcome,” I responded, smiling. He flew away. A flock of small birds blocked my path in search of six and eight legged food. Their black hooded heads, brown wings and soft gray bellies followed me unafraid. They looked like Junco’s. I evaluated the area. Up was steep. Down was deep. I was ‘fair to middling,’ as the cotton graders of a bygone era would have said, and it’s humongous. A dormant rose bush in December awaited Spring when it will flourish again. At the entrance to The Bug were two metal sculptures, a four legged insect and ten legged spider. I didn’t understand. Is there an entomologist in the park?
Mid-afternoon: I checked out the spa next to the restaurant where everything from yoga, jambalaya, sauna, sauna mud rubs, facials, waxing, hot tub, and cold jet shower were available. What more could a body ask for. Steel gray clouds closed in again. The air was cold and I couldn’t make the heater work in the dorm. I went to the kitchen and used the free WIFI until darkness blocked the daylight. The kitchen had refrigeration and individual storage bins for those who bring their own food. There was a stove, oven and sink. No one had an excuse not to clean up after themselves.
Evening: I returned to the Café to eat. Pictures from long ago graced the walls. Skis rested overhead in the rafters next to a sled above the wagon wheel lights. I was fascinated with the 3-dimensional maps and so many pictures of bugs, drawings, photos and every kind of insect. This place is well named. Other pictures were of Yosemite Valley, Mono Lake with its tufa and a polar map of Antarctica. People used the free WIFI as the granite mountains block cell phone signals.

All too soon it was time to leave this magical, mystical, beautiful place and return to life in a congested metropolis. But, somehow it stays with you when you leave. Memories are wonderful things.