The story of my life is nothing of excitement like that of my husband. I was born into a quiet life in the Shire. My family was small and hard-working. We were also full of laughs and love. Every day we tended to our garden and farm animals, or whatever else required our attention at the time. In the evening we enjoyed good food, good ale, good smoke, and good company...as do almost all hobbits of the shire.

It just so happened that I was wrestling with the family cow, Gerda, for some milk, when I saw my future husband riding into town on his small horse. He was wearing clothes that were unusual in the shire, and a beautiful velvet cape that draped handsomely over his shoulders. I had seen Meriadoc Brandybuck countless times during my life, but he somehow looked different now. He seemed calm and confident, and perhaps a bit taller, but maybe it was just my imagination playing tricks on me. He had been gone for over a year, after all. There was something else about him that seemed different. His once broad, smiling face now carried a bit of sadness along with it. I saw it written on his face and in the faces of his companions as their horses carried them past me, and toward their homes.

I couldn't help myself, I gazed at him and his friends as they glided past me. I had almost forgotten myself when I noticed Merry had looked my way. I quickly ducked down behind Gerda, embarrassed that he had caught me staring at them. I quickly got back to milking, I mean wrestling, with Gerda until they had passed far enough down the road for me to stare again. I imagined the places they had been and the things they had seen – things I would never see from my family's farm in the Shire.

It was right in the middle of my daydreaming when I heard my mother. "Estella! Bring the milk! Hurry, child! We're waiting on you!" I quickly snapped out of my daze and finished as best I could. I grabbed my bucket of milk, patted Gerda on the back and said "See you in the morning, old girl." I hauled the bucket into our old, rustic hobbit hole. Our door was round, as were most doors in the shire. Our hole was a bit older than most, and was in need of a few repairs, but it had much character. A home that was clearly filled with love and good memories. Our walls had no paint, just the bare wood. We had a few drawn portraits of family members; my grandparents, Herugar and Jessamine Bolger, a few aunts and uncles, and there was a beautiful portrait of my parents on the day of their wedding. Other various doilies and hand made quilts were strewn around our hobbit hole as well. It was a very homey and comfortable place to grow up.

I took the bucket of milk to the kitchen and helped my mother prepare our supper. I sliced and diced countless vegetables while my mother prepared a bird my brother, Fredegar, had snared. No matter how many times I reoriented myself to my current task, I couldn't stop thinking about Merry and his friends. The looks on their faces were ones of relief to be home, but I couldn't shake the feeling that they were still at unrest about something. I couldn't imagine what had happened to them in the last year to change them so.