I have friends.
I've found that the younger hobbits in The Shire are much more accepting of change than the older ones, perhaps more out of curiosity than anything. Whatever the case, I am grateful for their company. Merry and Pippin especially are lively and engaging, and being around another Brandybuck reminds me of home.
And then there is Sam. When I first heard that he worked as Bilbo's gardener, I laughed. I am ashamed to admit it, but I couldn't help myself. Of course all hobbits share a love of things that grow, but the first time I met him, I just couldn't imagine Sam squatting on the ground all day, digging in the dirt. Later, I realized that Sam makes a perfect gardener. Life imitated art, as was often the case, and Sam cares for the people in his life just as he cares for the plants that grew outside of Bag End. I see that Sam cares for the sillier hobbits like Merry and Pippin no matter how much trouble they get themselves (and us, from time to time) into. I see that he cares for me.
It is such a simple thing, but it makes me feel like I am finally beginning to find my place in Hobbiton. There are some who still distrust me, but I brush it off, knowing that it is not me they distrust, but Bilbo's reputation. A "disturber of the peace," that is what they call him. Bilbo and Gandalf, the grand conspirators.
I am quite looking forward to seeing Gandalf again. Of course Bilbo has told me all about him (what little he knows, anyway), but I have only seen the wizard in person once or twice before. What's more, his fireworks are stuff of legend; the thought of Gandalf and his fireworks is inseparable in the minds of hobbits.
What they say is true: Bilbo's eleventy-first birthday will be a party of special magnificence.