I just took a walk in your father's herb garden. I have always enjoyed the wonderful fragrances, especially in high summer when the two of us would cull herbs for his still room.

Now that it is autumn, there are not so many, but still, there are enough that in the late afternoon sun, there is still a spicy aroma in the air.

And it lifts my spirits. Your father would probably say it is the healing power of the herbs, and I say it is just the sun......and happy memories my love.

You always loved to help us garden. Whether it was merely pulling weeds, trimming or preserving buds, you were always helpful.

Though frequently, you were distracted by anything living in the plants: caterpillars, beetles, frogs and toads, the occasional ground-loving bird, like quail or rabbits.

I can remember finding some of your father's jars in your room on the window sill, covered with parchment and tied around the top, punctured by a thick needle.

You even had one of those big yellow and black garden spiders once!

(I do not know where you got your love of insects and spiders Arwen, it certainly was not from me!)

Your father even planted you your own little garden for you to maintain. I have not seen any signs you have been in it recently. It looks rather sad and neglected, though the chrysanthemums were still blooming. I have brought some in and there is a vase of their sunny yellow blooms on my desk at the moment.

Gardening makes me think of an adventure you and I had. Looking back I thought it was fun, even though it ended unexpectedly.

I suspect you remember the time you and I decided one fine summer day to go out and hunt the rarer wild herbs that grew in the higher reaches of the gorge. And not only that, but you and I, no father or brothers were going to camp under the stars and tell each other stories and dreams.

The fun was, of course, it did not go quite as planned. Though now that I think on it, perhaps your memories of this little incident are not so happy as mine!!

Well, I shall recount it here and maybe time and distance has made it seem a bit less, well, harrowing for you.

(It should have been harrowing for me too, as your mother, but all I saw was the humor in it. Poor lamb!}

We had hiked up past Maidenveil Falls and found a charming little glade with a spring to make camp at. And I was quite proud of how quickly we set up our little pavilion and squared away our camp.

We spent a tiring but productive day culling herbs and storing them properly for your father, including a large plant of athelas which your father never had enough of and was hard to keep fresh as it does not last long.

It was late evening and the wind had picked up some and you and I were just washing the dirt off at the spring, when your sharp little elfin eyes caught sight of a beehive! And your little tummy immediately said: "Honey!"

As I was carefully putting the last of the herbs away, I did not notice you approaching the hive, until too late. You had been so sure the bees were all out hunting flowers that you could just reach right in and fetch the comb.

Of course, what you fetched were a great number of angry bees and you and I were running all over the glade screaming and slapping at the angry insects, getting bitten every which way!

Then I said, "Quick, into the spring!" But of course, it was not deep enough, and the two of us lay half-submerged like pond turtles and tried our best to keep the insects at bay.

Arwen! Your face swelled up like a summer gourd, and I am afraid I did not look much better!

But when I saw our faces in the spring by the last of the sunlight, oh Arwen I just remember laughing and laughing!

You were crying, but once I started, you could not help yourself and we both laughed until tears came.

Well, gathering up our herbs, I realized we would have to go back home and camp another night.

To help with the stings, I grabbed generous handfuls of mud and rubbed them everywhere I could find the bees stings.

I smile even now Arwen. Do you remember how we looked? Like two terrible monsters come to haunt Imladris!

Anyway, your father, knowing something was amiss had mounted up and he and Glorfindel came up the gorge for us (Your brothers were out hunting that day).

Your father's face was a priceless study in incredulity when he saw us both swollen and covered in mud.

Leaping off his horse, he stopped in front of me and said, "Cel beloved, is that you under all that.....mud?"

"No," I laughed, "it is only an orc who LOOKS like Cel!"

Well, you started to laugh harder and then your father and Glorfindel joined in.

Pulling us up in front of them on their steeds, we all went down into the valley laughing.

And even though, removing the stingers was a laborious process for both he and Glorfindel, and rather painful for both of us...I still remember that day with a chuckle.

And once your father had eased you into sleep (you were just a wee one of 9 I think) we both stood looking down at you and I wrapped my arm about him and smiled. "Our little orc!" It hurt for me to laugh!

He laughed back and kissed me.

Of course now, orcs are not the image of humor they were so long ago. They are not funny..I can not......I am sorry Arwen....