Leaving Hobbiton
My stay with the hobbits was drawing to an end. It seems that it is possible to wear out even the welcome of these friendly little people, and while they had taken great care not to show it, I knew that they were ready for me to leave their small homes. At last I decided to strike out for the country of Rohan, as the hobbits had never stopped believing that I was a native of those parts. The hobbits, though they may have been anxious to get one of the "big people" out of their little holes, liked me. They arranged for me to have a guide, for I insisted that I did not know the way to Rohan, and they were sure that I must have been ill and forgotten my home and people. So it was, that after a large party, thrown in best hobbit style at Bag End, that I mounted my horse and followed one of the Proudfoots (or is it Proudfeet? It seems that only they themselves are quite certain of how to pluralize their name.) At any rate, one of the Proudfoot family rode on his small pony in front of me, carrying enough food to last a month or two, although I was assured that a few days travel would bring us into Rohan.
It was with a measure of regret that I left the Shire. It was peaceful, a lot like Spruce Haven was before the war. I remember a time when my brothers would work in the fields with the same easy carelessness that the hobbits do. Indeed, as happy as I had been in the Shire, it had brought a measure of sadness. These carefree people had no idea of the pain that war causes. I had heard that their country had only recently come out of war, but the people had been only slightly effected by it. [It would seem that the author arrived in Hobbiton not long after the Scouring of the Shire.] There was pain in seeing the cheerful faces of the housewives; I thought often of my own mother. She was so careworn and tired. I can only imagine the grief of sending three sons to fight in a war, and knowing that one of them will never come back. There are a few hobbits who seemed to understand a bit about grief and war, four, in fact: Peregrin Took, Meriodac Brandybuck, Samwise Gamgee, and the owner of Bag End, Frodo Baggins. The other three had only a trace of sadness, a maturity that war brings, but Mr. Baggins was weighed down. It was as if he has lost something very precious to him, for at times I think he is still searching for it. Such a tortured soul was he! I have only heard bits of gossip from the others, and it would seem that he was involved in the war in a very real way.
But to get back to my story, I left the Shire and bade farewell to all of the little people. I looked one last time at their little holes and their farm lands, then rode off into this new country, where I knew not a one. We traveled through many places and lands, the names of which I have never remembered, before we neared the gap of Rohan. It was at this place that a misfortune fell upon us, a misfortune that would be the start of an adventure greater then any I had yet embarked upon.
My stay with the hobbits was drawing to an end. It seems that it is possible to wear out even the welcome of these friendly little people, and while they had taken great care not to show it, I knew that they were ready for me to leave their small homes. At last I decided to strike out for the country of Rohan, as the hobbits had never stopped believing that I was a native of those parts. The hobbits, though they may have been anxious to get one of the "big people" out of their little holes, liked me. They arranged for me to have a guide, for I insisted that I did not know the way to Rohan, and they were sure that I must have been ill and forgotten my home and people. So it was, that after a large party, thrown in best hobbit style at Bag End, that I mounted my horse and followed one of the Proudfoots (or is it Proudfeet? It seems that only they themselves are quite certain of how to pluralize their name.) At any rate, one of the Proudfoot family rode on his small pony in front of me, carrying enough food to last a month or two, although I was assured that a few days travel would bring us into Rohan.
It was with a measure of regret that I left the Shire. It was peaceful, a lot like Spruce Haven was before the war. I remember a time when my brothers would work in the fields with the same easy carelessness that the hobbits do. Indeed, as happy as I had been in the Shire, it had brought a measure of sadness. These carefree people had no idea of the pain that war causes. I had heard that their country had only recently come out of war, but the people had been only slightly effected by it. [It would seem that the author arrived in Hobbiton not long after the Scouring of the Shire.] There was pain in seeing the cheerful faces of the housewives; I thought often of my own mother. She was so careworn and tired. I can only imagine the grief of sending three sons to fight in a war, and knowing that one of them will never come back. There are a few hobbits who seemed to understand a bit about grief and war, four, in fact: Peregrin Took, Meriodac Brandybuck, Samwise Gamgee, and the owner of Bag End, Frodo Baggins. The other three had only a trace of sadness, a maturity that war brings, but Mr. Baggins was weighed down. It was as if he has lost something very precious to him, for at times I think he is still searching for it. Such a tortured soul was he! I have only heard bits of gossip from the others, and it would seem that he was involved in the war in a very real way.
But to get back to my story, I left the Shire and bade farewell to all of the little people. I looked one last time at their little holes and their farm lands, then rode off into this new country, where I knew not a one. We traveled through many places and lands, the names of which I have never remembered, before we neared the gap of Rohan. It was at this place that a misfortune fell upon us, a misfortune that would be the start of an adventure greater then any I had yet embarked upon.