If you’ve lived in Gainesville long enough, you may or may not have uncovered the infamous history of Hogtown, a 19th-century settlement of hog-chasing Seminoles that once comprised the northeastern corner of Gainesville.
Like most gentrification stories, it can be summed up pretty briefly and reinforces a classic white-devil hubris: White people came, saw the natives with their mud-loving counterparts, dubbed the place “Hogtown.” These white people then paid the chief 20 bucks, sending the lot on their way. Things got a little sketchy at this point; cue the 1835 “Murder of Hogtown.” I’ll spare the gory details, but what ensued was a power struggle followed by the Second Seminole War. Thus came the inevitable swallowing up of Hogtown by Gainesville.
When I first heard about this mysterious town of hogs, I was told that all of Gainesville was once Hogtown. This turned out to be an over-simplification, of course, but it really got me thinking about the duality of Gainesville. The way I see it, there are two very specific (and conflicting) narratives of Gainesville. On one end is the perspective of the eager college student; on the other is the aged old boy. You’ve seen this latter type: the native ACR in the Bronco with the Yankee flag license plate and camo seat covers. The one who always cuts you off where Eighth Avenue merges into a two-lane.
For me, Gainesville is associated with UF and its gatorhood. Gainesville is Tebow and Library West; it is the university experience in general. Everything apart from this academic narrative I associate with Hogtown, the older, more rustic (and cranky) spirit of our fair city. How convenient it is that these conflicting settings can be symbolized by their animal counterparts, the Gator and the Hog. In a Dickensian sense, we have a tale of two cities, and, alas, both cities have tails!
The tail of the hog may be less substantial than the tail of the gator, but it is definitely furrier. What I mean by this is that the gator cannot and will never completely swallow the hog, because a beast so fury could never go down without some serious indigestion.
I run a lot of trails. My favorite one starts off of 62nd street and usually poops me out somewhere behind K.C. Krave. Much like Hogwarts, you never really know where you are because it is such an elaborate and intertwining network of paths. One wrong turn and you might just end up back where you started. Or smack dab in the middle of a hobo-tent community.
When I run through these woods, I like to pretend that I’m in the midst of old Hogtown, fleeing the exploitation of some white devil. I get so caught up in it all that I feel limitless; it’s almost as though I can’t tell where my body ends and my surroundings begin. It’s what I imagine yogis feel like, only much more spastic.
The crucial point of this seemingly useless segue is that the sign that greets me at the beginning of this trek into no-mans land reads, “Beware of Alligator on Path.”Now, I’ve been running this same trail for almost four years now and I’ve never seen a single gator.I see hogs almost every time. Sometimes I am lucky enough to see cute little piglets, but more than once I’ve spotted a 150-pound Paul Bunyon type that you might see rotating over a fire with an apple in its mouth. After my heart palpitations have subsided, I am always thankful and floored with awe for witnessing such a gorgeous beast of an animal and, more importantly, not being mauled to death.
Bear with me; I will only extend this lame animal metaphor a bit further. If you pay attention, you will discover the beautiful places in this city of ours where Hogs and Gators come to coexist. These are almost always watering holes, like Gainesville House of Beer or even Mother’s. Next time you get a drink, open your eyes. Try to spot the Hogs; try to spot the Gators. Buy a Hog a drink, maybe a PBR. Ask him or her about the Eagles, about Tom Petty, about Nascar. Gator or hog, a place is only as great as its people. We are writing the history of this strange and magnificent town and it is up to us to bridge the gap between the Gator and Hog, to find that common ground where we meet as one. As Hators, but not Haters, of course.
Via: chronoofhorse.com
Featured photo courtesy of: homemagazinegainesville.com
