Clouds are gathering fast as we pitch our tent, at an RMK campsite beside the pühajärv, the holy lake. Unused to thunderstorms back home, the threat of an electric sky is always unsettling. Suddenly, a toad hops in front of us. Then another, and all around us, grey amphibians are on the move, across the forest leaf litter. Perhaps, they too sense what is about to come.
We quickly stow belongings into waterproof bags, arrange them with care under the awning of our tent, undo our sandals and leap inside, pulling the zips, as the first raindrops fall. A flash of light, and seconds later, the expected rumbling. The hours pass as lightning and thunder keep us awake, hoping a bolt won’t strike our tent. We lie quietly under trees; surely, they will be the first to be split open. Eventually, sleep comes.
In an earlier time thunderstorms must have been a source of wonder to people as well as trepidation. Not for no reason is Thor the Scandinavian god of thunder; the Estonian equivalent is Taara, the supreme god of our ancestors. It’s also the name of a 10-foot dinghy dad built 50 years ago. As a teenager, I carved “Taara” into a wooden name plate.
Pikne is the word for lightning in Estonian, the scourge of Vanapagan, and holding a place in myth. Estonian farmers of old and still today planted or plant the rowantree or pihlakas outside their homes to ward off a lightning strike. Its bright red berries symbolise blood and fire alike. In Norse legend, Thor dies in the last battle of the gods by drowning, and in so doing, enters the form of a rowan; the shape of its leaves are said to resemble Thor’s fingers.
Toads do not figure in myth as a symbol of lightning, as far as can be determined, while a viper’s zigzag motion over the ground traces out the path of a bolt - take care around snakes. Marju Kõivupuu’s Estonian Mythology for the Beginner has more on the topic of lightning.
When caterpillars of the garden tiger moth, or of the scarlet tiger moth, are seen, a thunderstorm is said to be brewing. Children must not disturb them, or as punishment, they will be struck by lightning. The adult moths have a bright red colour to their secondary wings, and their names in Estonian are worth recording, päevakoer or “day dog”, and piksepeni or “lightning penny”, respectively.
The national epic of Estonia mentions lightning. In Canto III, Kalevipoeg finds himself at the seaside in dry weather when the sky darkens. Horrified by the coming storm, evil spirits that are lurking about flee into the waves. Kalvipoeg chases after them, and flings them back to shore, for thunderbolts to strike them down.
Thunderstorms bring tension. Sky and land are ready for action. The storm breaks, and in the morning the sun shines; all is over, and life begins anew. So it was at our campsite; we break camp, pack our bikes, and ride north to Otepää, in search of the graves of our ancestors.
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