Being an American in France has given me, rightly or wrongly, a certain mystique thanks to the preconceptions of my French family and friends. Some of their preconceptions, of course, are not ones I readily embrace, however true they might be. Others, I tend to play up, however true they might not be. One of those embraceable preconceptions is that I’m some sort of cowboy.
Part of the attraction of “America” for some French people, I think, is the image of the cowboy as an American stereotype. Now, I’m certainly no Marlboro Man and I’d say I’m prone to being booted out of most roadhouses, but I have been on a horse, I have country line danced, and I do walk with a certain thumb-in-pocket swagger, even on the cobblestones of Paris. Growing up in the Deep South — in the country — and speaking with a certain drawl about subjects like hunting, tractors, and country-western music give me a certain “cowboy credibility” here … even though I’m a vegetarian, I’ve only shot my father’s rifle a handful of times, and the most farm work I’ve ever done was picking beans in my parents’ garden. Nevertheless, if they want to see me as a cowboy, I’m more than happy to oblige.
Last week, when I was in South Carolina, my parents and I traveled down to Hilton Head to visit my aunt and uncle. Now, we all know that Hilton Head is not exactly the Okefenokee, but I knew there’d be alligators there and I was anxious to snap a few good shots to impress Michel, who was back in France. The evening after we arrived, my uncle and I went out searching for alligators in the neighborhood and just when we thought there were none to be found, we happened upon a big daddy gator sunning himself on the bank of a pond. Like an American Crocodile Dundee, I sprang into action …
I think most of my friends back in France who saw the pictures were suitably impressed (as were most of my American ones, for that matter). The last two shots were taken when I was about seven or eight feet from him. Unfortunately, I needed both hands to wrestle the thing, so I couldn’t document that part for my blog. Y’all just have to take my word for it …
Stay tuned for my next post on how to manage a cattle drive. Y’all come back now, ya hear?
© 2012 Samuel Michael Bell, all rights reserved
7 thoughts on “Mike Bell: Cowboy, Alligator Wrestler”
I laughed so hard………ahhhh, to have a fellow “southern-ner” in all that meaning – right next to me outside Paris. It almost makes it all worth it. You have a wealth of knowledge about a part of the great US that can’t even begin to scratch the surface with many French people……..but I understand….so well……… LOL – love this!
Indeed! I thought this might be an entertaining post! The next one will be less tongue-in-cheek, but you’ll probably find it interesting, too. It’s going to be about SC and all the French place names there. Our proud French heritage … that we mispronounce! Ha ha!
That makes me think of Huger St in Columbia. Surely that’s French. Always heard it as “Hu-gee” and wondered, why “Hu-gee”?
It’s actually “You-gee” (no “h”), but that’s exactly right. Keep an eye out for the next post. Your questions will be answered! 🙂
Thinking of you as I finished my last teaching practice for TEFL tonight. Hope yours ended up well. Brilliant post…gators are pretty and fascinating to me….even if I am a Boston native 🙂
Congratulations! It is definitely an accomplishment! When will you know your results? I got mine about a two weeks ago … it’s official—I’m Cambridge certified. 🙂