This big old world keeps turning so fast that, in the blink of an eye, two of my children have now entered their forties. As daughter Leigh celebrated that milestone earlier this week, memories of birthdays past filled my mind.
When Leigh turned eight, her grandma gave her a present she’d wanted so badly she cried tears of joy when she opened it. It was a troll doll. A “Happy Birthday Troll” to be exact, complete with wild-and-crazy pink hair and fancy dress and a conical birthday hat upon its head.
This happened long before the 2016 DreamWorks “Trolls” film and accompanying merch was a thing. Leigh’s doll was an old-fashioned troll, modeled after those popular in the 1960s and again in the 1980s and 90s. The so-ugly-they’re-cute plastic dolls were collected by millions of little girls, including Leigh, but none brought her as much joy as that birthday troll.
And, yeah, she still has it, though I’m pretty sure she doesn’t sleep with it anymore.
Those memories got me to doing a little research about trolls. I learned that they’ve been part of Scandinavian folklore since the Middle Ages, when folks believed the mysterious creatures– which could be huge and sinister or small and playful–were said to roam the forests.
The most famous troll in literature is my favorite. That troll lived under the bridge that the Three Billy Goats Gruff traveled over on their way to graze in a grassy meadow. “Who’s that trip-trapping over my bridge?” the troll asked each billy goat as it made its way across. “I’m going to gobble you up!”
The littlest billy goat, as anyone who’s read or heard the story no doubt remembers, talked the troll into waiting for his bigger brother, who was much plumper and juicier. Ditto for the middle billy goat, who persuaded the troll to wait for HIS big brother. When the biggest billy goat started across the bridge, the troll made good on his threat. Up he came, onto the bridge, ready to put his money where his mouth was. But the big billy goat tossed him, head-over-heels, into the river. The mean, ugly troll was never seen or heard from again. From that time forward, the Three Billy Goats Gruff travelled to the verdant meadow without fear.
As long as I live, I’ll never be able to stand under a bridge without asking who’s trip-trapping across it.
These days, there’s new kind of troll, trolls who may not look ugly but who can certainly act mean and nasty. I’m talking about online trolls, who post inflammatory comments on social media or email threads hoping to provoke an emotional response. These trolls relish the drama they create with their lies and personal attacks.
I have a handful of “friends” who troll me on Facebook. They’re people I know in real life but rarely see in person. These friends enjoy lecturing me–often in rambling and nonsensical fashion–about how absurd my opinions, from politics to pit bulls and everything in between, are. Years ago, when I first dipped my toe into social media, I took to heart the wise advice, “Never feed a troll.” So, while secretly admiring these trolls’ tenacity, I ignore them.
I’d much rather focus on fun trolls, three of which live not far from daughter Leigh. They’re the “Forest Giants in a Giant Forest,” permanent residents at Bernheim Forest and Arboretum in Clermont, Kentucky. It’s a 16,000-acre nature preserve that includes hiking trails, a “playcosystem” playground for children, and a 75-foot-high canopy tree walk. But the three giant trolls, created of reclaimed wood by Danish sculptor Thomas Dambo, are the stars of the show.
I only wish that someone could wrap up just one of those trolls and give it to me on my birthday, which is coming up next week. Maybe I’ll get a Happy Birthday Troll instead.
(December 20, 2025)