Blue
Bird of happiness
The
bluebird of happiness is a symbol adopted by many Amerindian tribes,
although they like the term “nation”instead of tribe. It is to
this day the bird of Arizona.
To
me, the bluebird of happiness symbolizes the discovery of the Deep
South.
Before
going to Arkansas, I had spent 10 years in other parts of the States,
first in Pennsylvania, then In New York. I had enjoyed places like
Black Waterfalls State Park, the Taconic Parkway, and drives through
New England (especially in Autumn) with fond memories of climbing
Mount Washington, roaming through Acadia National Park and admiring
Niagara Falls.
I
neither loved nor hated the States. It was nice but Bigger cars and
fridges do not go very far in improving the quality of life. On the
downside, and as anywhere in that coutry, the feeling that a major
surgical operation could wipe out your life savings within 24 h does
not help. Medical insurance companies will not cover everything and
will try their worst in page after page of small print in order to
avoid honoring your claims. The average American does not obsess
about it, but this menace is lodged in the back of his mind like a
looming black cloud. It would be interesting to find out through an
independent sociological survey if this silent fear is (or is not)
instrumental in creating the level of pitiless social climbing that
is prevalent in a significant part of the American population.
Arkansas
was a revelation : that of another America. Yes, doctors, lawyers,
dentists, insurance companies, Big Pharma and undertakers revel, as
they do elsewhere, in exsanguinating low and middle-income families,
but the attitude of the population is usually more relaxed, more
fatalistic and more tolerant. A university professor gave me a
glass-blown bluebird of happiness as a welcome gift. There is no
doubt in my mind that people in the Deep South are, on the whole,
happier than those in the greater North-East.
The
countryside was another revelation. Away from agricultural areas, the
landscape is one of hills, small mountains and extinct volcanoes. In
mesozoic times, these used to be real mountains and real volcanoes.
They are covered with forests or wild vegetation and bear an uncanny
similarity with France’s central highlands, which is not surprising
since they were formed and eroded at the same time.
If
the countryside was a revelation by itself, its wildlife was an even
more powerful discovery. Birds, insects and mammals are all over the
place. The countryside bristles with moles, rabbits, snakes and
birds. Deer are a common sight. Butterflies are everywhere, along
with bees, bumble bees, grasshoppers and spiders. There are many
other forms of wildlife that one does not readily observe :
wild boar and black bears, but also wolves who are very shy and avoid
human contact. Bears are omnivorous, yet are more interested in bars
of cereal and chocolate that you may carry on your person than in
yourself as a potential snack. Ramblers and trekkers will clip a
small aluminum saucepan to their belts. You hit the saucepan with a
stick, and the bear runs off. They hate that sort of noise. I would
not be terribly keen to try this out for myself, but the fact remains
that only one person a year is killed by a bear nationwide.
When
I first became aware of this extraordinary wealth of wildlife, I was
struck by the thought that France must have been just like that until
roughly the middle of the nineteenth century. The countryside that
Jean de La Fontaine loved so much and the animals he was so keen to
observe must have been almost the same as those in contemporary
Arkansas. Suddenly, I was yanked two or three hundred years back in
time and felt that I could understand a little better the world of La
Fontaine, Buffon or Jacques Audubon. The bluebird of happiness
remains a symbol of this revelation.
