A Drama in the Woods

         I was just in the right place at the right time to see it, and it didn’t last long.  A hawk came out of the timber and passed across a small opening in the woods with a cluster of oak leaves in his talons, pursued by four or five smaller birds, and about the size of a blackbird.  I watched the hawk so closely I didn’t pay much attention to the birds. He flew across a little opening with those birds all over him, just screeching and diving at him with a vengeance. Then they all disappeared into the brush on the other side of the opening, where the drama continued unobserved.

         One might have wondered what it was all about, a hawk with a fistful of leaves.  But it wasn’t the leaves the smaller birds were so incensed about; it was what was in them.  The hawk obviously had snatched a young bird off of a limb and took the whole perch in his hasty attack.  A tragic story, if you look at it from the standpoint of that mother bird and her troupe.  But if you were the hawk, it wouldn’t seem so awful. The hawk was feeding its own young.

         In this day and age, you’d find the hawk thought of as a villain, with great sympathy for the weaker prey, regardless of what it was.... a rabbit, a young bird or a squirrel. The sight of a two-week-old hawk fledgling being eaten by a fox would reverse everything.  Then the hawk, losing her baby to the wily old fox, would be looked upon with sympathy.

         It is how it is, there is no good or bad in nature, and it never changes unlesss man interferes.  That is a hard thing for many to accept. I remember when my daughters were little; how I tried to explain nature to them, and yet, protect them from the harshness of it. We’d be on a trip somewhere, and one of my girls would notice a dead rabbit in the road.  They’d ask their mother if it was a baby rabbit, or a mama rabbit and she’d tell them ‘no, it was just a bad old daddy rabbit’. That seemed to help. 

         I even learned to help. I would point out that the dead raccoon on the highway had probably just staggered out of the pool hall half drunk and had been chasing a little helpless bullfrog across the highway when a semi nailed him!  That way it sounded like he had it coming and the girls wouldn’t be so sad.  In time, when they grew old enough, I took it upon myself to explain to them that among wild animals, things were far different than with humans.  I told them how the hawk would only have two or three young ones in a year, or perhaps over two years, while a mother rabbit might have as many as 100, and couldn’t even name all of them.  God had it figured out so both would survive as a species.

         Christy, the second of three daughters, and the one who would become a biology teacher and park naturalist, could accept it much easier. In time she would become a hunter, and spend time with me after deer and turkey and ducks when she was just a young girl.  Lori, the oldest daughter, who would one day become a doctor, accepted the way it was, but always thought it should be different, and never lost her tenderhearted ways. She went on only one hunt with me, shot at one rabbit with a pellet gun, and wouldn’t ever go again. 

         But I know in her work, Lori sees human suffering and difficulty on a scale that her father could not deal with, and I hope the understanding I tried to pass on to her that God is in charge, even far from the woods where hawks eat baby rabbits, and evil-looking owls are a   threat to grandma’s chickens, makes it easier for her to accept His plan and His will, and do her best to ease that suffering when and where she can.

         It is beyond understanding, even when you have seen as much, and learned as much as I have in my life of studying and experiencing the outdoors. I cannot fully comprehend it all, really, even after all these years.  I still hate to see a fawn drug down by a bobcat, and hear him bleating a plea for survival, knowing his fate is to feed her and a litter of wild kittens somewhere beneath the root wad of a fallen tree.  I wish to heavens that the old bobcat would just feed them mice and rats.  But shucks, a mother rat does not look at her young as being any less wonderful than a fawn.  Only us humans do that. 

         Many times in the woods, I have felt God beside me while I watched His work go on before me. Whether it is the victory of survival for the hawk or the rabbit, the fox or the quail… I know He still is in control.