Hilary, who got her genes from me - her father -, told me this story about a sensitive, bright young man named Jonathon with whom she works. They work at Grand Teton National Park where he is an ornithologist. He is very shy, passionate only about the wilderness. From the top of his large brown stetson to his heavy duty hiking boots, he is the consumate public servant: enthusiastic, earnest and eager to please.
On a recent nature walk around Jenny Lake, he paused sometimes to point out birds, wildflowers etc and to explain (in tones so pious that you'd think he had collaborated with God to render these treasures) the delicate fabric which wove flora and fauna with their environment. He cautioned his audience to "leave no trace" and to preserve the harmony of the ecosystem.
A dull eyed boy in the back had dropped parts of his coldcut Hoagie sandwich bringing the arrival of sassy Stelar jays, lighting the lodgepole pines with their brilliant blue. Seeing this heinous breach of principle, Jonathon scolded the youth fervently. The teenager's face remained impassive as he tore off another hunk and tossed it among the swarming jays between them. Hoping to remove the undermining morsel before the jays could pounce on it, Jonathon stomped it just after a gallant swirl of cobalt landed on it thereby nailing his precious bird.
His disconsolate wails on the way back to the van evoked an aching pity among all his visitors except the youth who scanned the horizon in hopes of seeing Mickey D's Golden Arches. Back at the Nature Center, a concerned group tracked down the Chief Park Ranger and related Jonathon's harrowing ordeal to him. Nodding his grizzled head occasionally he listened without interrupting and then gave them his assessment in two words: "poor bird"!
Have Fun!