They snake along on the trail ahead of me, fourteen teenagers wearing yellow hard hats, carrying picks, clippers and pulaskis. Ahead of them 3 older gentlemen, veterans and long dedicated trail builders lead us into the mountains outside of Floyd, Virginia. We are studying forestry, hosted by a youth hostel that rests on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Today we are building a new trail. Everyone is excited, and the hard hats intensify the feeling of invincibility naturally possessed by 17 years olds.
It starts simply as a friendly acorn bounces off the hard-hat of a student at the front of the line. Laughter and then, another acorn. Quiet murmurs of conversation are punctuated by bursts of laughter announcing the arrival of each projectile. Items getting tossed increase in size and frequency as we make our way up the hillside.
As the class sponsor, I know these students well. I teach them life science and possess a respected and sometimes tiring fluency in “all the things that can kill you.” So naturally my cautions were being ignored. Among them are a martial art black-belt, a chain-sawing landscaper, a skateboarder, and a mountain biker; they are familiar with injury, danger and the need for caution. And, they are teenagers, prone to lapses in judgment.
As I grow more uncomfortable with the game and my efforts to shift things fail, I find myself getting anxious, imagining potential injuries and nursing a growing irritation. I don’t want to rebuke them and dissipate the upbeat and engaged energy, but I want them to be more cautious and less cavalier. And then I remember a story, one with many of the elements of our present situation.
These are Waldorf students and many heard the beloved stories of the Norse gods and their adventures, and misadventures. I recall the story of Baldur, a generous, joyful character who gladdened hearts with his presence.
A bad dream portended Baldur’s untimely death, and his mother appeals to everything in the cosmos to obtain oaths to not harm him; everything but the mistletoe, so tiny and harmless she thought it unnecessary. With oaths secured, the gods made a sport out of throwing all manner of things at Baldur, who remains unscathed. Meanwhile, the wily, mischievous Loki locates a sprig of mistletoe and returns with it to the festivities. Over in the corner sits blind Hodr and Loki appeals to his feelings of exclusion from a game played by the sighted to honor and celebrate Baldur’s invincibility. Loki takes a shaft of the mistletoe, whittles it to a point and gives it to Hodr who willingly and unwittingly allows Loki to guide his hand. The dart sails across the room along with many innocent items directed at Baldur, but, when it hits its mark it goes right through him and he falls down dead on the spot. It is a great tragedy among the gods for the prophesies state that the death of Baldur signifies the end of their world, known as Ragnarok.
The object tossing continued to escalate and suddenly there was a moment of silence. In a deep, resonating voice I called out. “Who will be the one to bring about the death of Baldur?” It stayed quiet for several moments longer, then conversation resumed. Talk turned to recollection of the story, students who didn’t know it, heard it from their peers. Excitement remained high, tempered with a greater sense of responsibility and we enjoyed the remainder of our trip tremendously.
