“Hal was a youngster of nineteen or twenty, with a big Colt’s revolver and a hunting-knife strapped about him on a belt that fairly bristled with cartridges. This belt was the most salient thing about him. It advertised callowness—a callowness sheer and unutterable.”
—Call of the Wild
I paused from reading aloud: “What is callowness?” My students could tell from context that it wasn’t good. Hal, Charles, and Mercedes skid onto the snowy pages of Call of the Wild as a comedic cautionary tale. Hal’s shiny revolver, fit to kill a man maybe but unfit for killing animals, and his over-sized blade, which makes him feel manly but does little to make him act like a man, are tip-offs that he’s unfit for adventure.
Unfit for adventure—callow—and yet into the cold and unforgiving Klondike Hal and company insist on going.
As a class, we catalogued the glaring problems. To begin with, Charles, Hal, and Mercedes are disorderly. Their camp is “a slipshod and slovenly affair, tent half stretched, dishes unwashed, everything in disorder.” Even my middle schoolers knew that a messy backpack is bad news in the woods. Efficiency and order are a matter of survival for any adventurer.
They’re also stubborn and closed to advice. When experienced travelers suggest leaving the tent behind, dainty Mercedes cries, “Undreamed of! However in the world could I manage without a tent!” When others imply perhaps re-loading sled with a simple, “Think it’ll ride?” Charles hotly responds, “Why shouldn’t it?” Of course, the top-heavy sled does in fact tip over in the middle of town just a short while later, spilling their belongings along the main drag.
And when things go wrong, the adventurers blame others: “The lazy brutes, I’ll show them!” Why won’t the sled move? A titanic load, sled runners frozen in thick ice, an incompetent driver, an underfed, under-manned dog team . . . It’s the dogs, of course! Hmm.
Which brings us to the final issue. Hal and pals are on a quest for gold but have done no research on how to care for dogs, how to feed dogs, what sort of dogs to purchase, or how to build a sled team. Even basic things like how to ration food, what supplies are necessary for an Alaskan expedition, or which way to go seem to be foreign concepts. They’re uneducated—and unwilling to learn.
They are callow: disorderly, stubborn, foolish, blame-shifting, and unlearned. They are unfit for adventure—which is why we’re not surprised to watch them sled off the edge of an ice flue and into the chilly White River never to be seen or heard from again.
But are we really so different? I joked with my students that I’d asked them to list characteristics of Hal, Charles, and Mercedes—not themselves! Life is coming with all its dangers, twists, and turns. I wonder: Are we working to shake off our own callowness to make sure we’re fit for the adventure when it comes?
We Are Live at The Hearth!
It’s already Week 3 of The Oaks Academy here in Washington where we are beginning our little endeavor into Christian education. In the upcoming weeks, we will be rolling out a new website, logo, and opportunities for you to visit, give, or apply to join our team! For now, here’s a few fun photos of our space. We’re so blessed to be starting things out in such style (and yes, our classroom DOES have a hearth!)