At 7:40 a.m. I drove down the steep hill sandwiched between thick oak trees and pulled into the parking lot. I was nervous getting out of the car, feeling like a new student again. 

I was at the Sacramento Waldorf School, undercover as a prospective sophomore. 

The Waldorf School is based on the ideas of Rudolf Steiner, an Austrian philosopher, who founded a spiritual movement called anthroposophy. 

In keeping with Steiner’s ideas, Waldorf’s mission is to provide an academic atmosphere with an artistic approach to allow “an unfolding of healthy faculties of thinking, feeling, and willing.” The school tries to “recognize each student as a unique individual with body, soul, and spirit.”

The students exhibit an eclectic fashion sense. Most pair suede buckled boots with vintage floppy sun hats while others prefer unkempt hairstyles and frayed sweatpants.

Waldorf also values the relationship with the Earth. Conveniently, the school is situated on 22 picturesque acres with views of the American River, wooded streams and forest.  

In keeping with the school’s less traditional methods, subjects are taught in “main lessons” that last for only four weeks.  The remainder of the day focuses on “track” classes, in which math and gardening—called “basic skills”—are taught.  

Morning verse

After meeting my shadow buddy, Sadie Bills, I attended my first main lesson, Developmental Biology, which lasted about an hour and a half.  The 38 sophomores all go to their main lesson together before splitting up for the rest of the day.  

At the start of class, teacher Jeremy Strawn led students in the “morning verse,” recited before every class.  

“I do behold the world wherein there shines the sun / wherein there gleam the stars, wherein there lie the stones / the plants that live and grow / the beasts that feel and live / this leadeth us truly / to purpose in living / to right in our doing / to peace in our feeling / to light in our thinking / and teaches us trust / in the workings of god / in all that there is / in the wits of the world / in the depths of the soul.”

After we sat down, Strawn passed out the syllabus for the four-week class.  At the bottom of the page was his home phone number, asking only that students not call after 10 p.m.

Thirty-three percent of the class grade is based on the completion of a sketchbook with observations made during microscopy labs. In the four weeks, there are only two exams. 

After making note of the outline on the chalkboard (none of the teachers use whiteboards) and looking through the microscopes at fish blood and miniature gall bladders, it was time for my first “track” class: gardening with Farmer Steve.

Using the “hula-hoe”

Each student left the biology classroom with a firm handshake from Strawn.

We took the long trek through the field and past the Waldorf llama, Balboa, to the garden. 

The five of us sat down on benches to wait for Farmer Steve’s arrival. Hens and roosters clucked and crowed while feral cats ducked behind cornstalks as Farmer Steve arrived with a wheelbarrow of shears and pots.  

After a short lecture about the difference between perennials, annuals, and bi-annuals, our task was to take cuttings of different plants that we then dipped into a special root solution to cause the plants to re-grow after we transplanted them into the greenhouses.

Unlike my classmates, I was wearing open-toed shoes, a bad choice for a day in the garden. Farmer Steve then split the class up into pairs to rinse pots and retrieve compost. My job was to use a “hula-hoe” to pull weeds from the side of the compost pile. As the class came to a close, Farmer Steve gripped each of our hands warmly as a farewell.

Punishment quiz

Then it was on to U.S. History, a slightly larger class with 18 students. Teacher Isaak Heitzberg lectured on the causes of the Mexican-American War, using no notes.  He taught the history as if he were telling a story that all the students wanted to hear the ending to.  

Towards the end of class he asked: “What caused the Mexican-American War?” No one answered.  

Heitzberg chuckled, “Really? Silence caused the war?” 

The students looked nervous.  Still, no one replied. 

“Take out a sheet of paper.” 

The class groaned. I looked over at Sadie, who rolled her eyes.  The students were being quizzed because they hadn’t worked together to answer the question. Their quiz question was, “What does your book say about Oregon on page 339?” Many students handed in merely a sheet of paper with their name on it, to be graded.  

I asked Sadie why Heitzberg was so angry. 

“We may be a really artsy school, but it doesn’t take away from how important our focus on academics is,” she said.  

Open campus for seniors

Our next stop was Geometry with teacher Jim Noel, a friendly bald-headed man who greeted me with questions about the recent basketball playoff game. “Is Robbie Lemons really 6’3?”

The students trickled in slowly, laughing and joking.  They were asked to take out their books. Their collective reflex was to look toward the back of the room, as most leave their textbooks on shelves, to make up for not having lockers. 

Lunch started at 12:15. The group I sat with had all packed their lunches. Sadie explained that there was a designated senior and junior parking lot. Waldorf is a closed campus, except for seniors, who can leave campus for lunch.  

At lunch I remarked that I hadn’t met anyone who lived in Sacramento. Sadie told me that she wasn’t surprised because most students commute from Dixon, Colfax, Woodland, Roseville and Davis.  

After lunch is the foreign language track. At Waldorf there are only two choices, Spanish or German. 

After reciting the Waldorf verse—but this time in Spanish—teacher Brian Bobbit organized the class into five pairs. Each pair got a small whiteboard with a pen. Bobbit would call out a sentence in English and the pairs would hurry to write it down in Spanish without making any errors.  

At the end of the period, the team with the most points received “Bobbit Bucks,” which give students more time on chosen assignments.

Music for everyone

After our routine handshakes, Sadie and I went to the all-female choir, taught by Jonathan Winfield, a former piano teacher at Country Day.

During this period all students must choose one of the following: concert band, jazz band, choir, or eurythmy troop, a form of interpretive dance where participants convey an alphabet through movement. 

The students grabbed their notebooks and arranged the chairs so they could sit in a large circle facing each other. Winfield and the girls discussed what music they should prepare for the Golden Empire Competition.  

After some comical warm-up exercises (the girls chanting “bubble double bubble gum” over and over), they moved on to sing tunes from “Les Miserables” with Mr. Winfield on the piano.  

As I started walking toward the parking lot, Sadie reminded me that we had one last meeting, even though it was already 3:15.  

I followed her into the music room where I found the remnants of the class I remembered from the morning’s main lesson. After all the students had filtered in, they formed a circle, hands clasped with their neighbors until the whole class, including myself, were holding hands in a big circle. At the head were three teachers I hadn’t seen before.  

When the verse was completed, the students threw their hands in the air, but none went to the door.  I watched to see what they were waiting for.  Then I saw the teachers making their way around the circle, shaking hands with each student once again.