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.
