Audobon

You could call Ed an outdoorsman, but it'd be something akin to calling Bill Gates a programmer; the label wouldn't do the man justice when he summed the word up so thoroughly. At age seven he set his first trap and caught a skunk. "Skin it, if you still want to trap," his father told him when the disappointing news was discovered. He did just that, though the stench clung to him for days, and nailed the tanned pelt up in the garage once it had lost its putrid quality. Episodes like that one gave him character, you can see it in the man today.

His obvious amount of time spent in the wilderness was part of what made a statement like "It was the only time I'd seen it happen" that much more potent. I was surprised to have heard of the phenomenon at all; witnessing it would've been interepreted as some sort of fateful sign to me, but to Ed it was just more proof that Nature's got it right where people have it wrong. He said he was out clearing a path on his dense forest property when a low-flying hawk zoomed over his head, coming so close that it caused him to duck and throw his arms up. Not two seconds went by when an army of various birds flew above him in pursuit of the hawk. Ed ran after them and spotted the reason once the procession reached a clearing: gripped in the hawk's deadly clutches was a small songbird, flapping its wings and pecking at the hawk's talons. Several different species had taken up in the fight to free the captive. The battle was about to escalate in that meadow since the multi-toned shrieks of the different pursuers had summoned more reinforcements to the theater.

The hawk swooped around in large circles in a desperate attempt to out-run the liberating faction which it couldn't out-maneuver. It must've been odd for a creature with no natural enemy except man to be the prey for once. Ed watched in amazement as more and more robins, doves, chickadees, wrens, crows and warblers dive-bombed the terrified predator relentlessly until it finally loosened its grip and let its quarry go. The weakened clump of feathers fell towards the ground, but regained strength and pulled out of its downward spin just before impact. It quickly found a branch on which to perch and chirped an appreciative tune in honor of its allies. The hawk, plenty embarrassed, gained altitude to soar high up with its majestic brethren in the clear afternoon sky, probably hoping that none of them had noticed its defeat. The winged allegiance was no longer needed. Nearly fifty birds could be seen flying their separete ways as Ed scratched his beard and wondered if anyone else had ever seen such a spectacle.

"People aren't as motivated, let alone brave. They just don't care that much," he said as the close of his tale. I figured I wouldn't deviate.