When one walks down the Hill towards Hobbiton and Bywater, this one can hear peculiar rumours. Such as there are longshanks walking freely in the Shire doing what they please or that the young Baggins has now, too, disappeared. I do not know which ones of them rumours are true but that I know. The one telling about the most skillful sculptor in Overhill, that is not only a hearsay.
In the forenoon (for very late did I wake up) Bywater was very peaceful, there were merely few hobbit children playing near the stream, wearing those lovely yellow and green clothes and their sols being a bit less furry than ours. I saw also my Silas and old fat Pudding grazing next to my window and some birds singing their first songs of the spring, let alone a worried hobbit mother keeping her eye on the children, being ready to save someone from drowning yet still having this loving smile on her lips, face glowing and attentive eyes shining.
It seemed like a perfect little day arising: a happy and prosperous one, when everything you do is meant to succeed. Ergo I took my favorite cloak (my Ma said it is made of spider silk but it is hard to tell when she is only telling tales and when she is in all earnestness) and borrowed my Pa's walking stick as well as some provisions and left for a lonely adventure in the nearby woods.
It soon began to drizzle and I thought how funny it was to wander there and be a bit lost in the midst of tall tall trees, see a hare leaping forwards and as the little creature became aware of me, it fled swiftly reckoning I was a goblin, bets this hobbit!
I stopped to rest sitting on a stone very near to Overhill, putting the walking stick aside and eating as hearty lunch as a hearty hobbit meal can be: taters with mushrooms and much more... when I had eaten, I lied on a moss tussock and enjoyed the sweet rain. But as I eventually stood up, I noticed that my Pa's walking stick was gone and I couldn't find it anywhere near. 'This is what happens, Ally, when you leave things lying wherever they please and stop being reckful!', that is what I told myself sharply but no matter how much I looked for the walking stick, I couldn't find it anymore. It is all fun until someone loses an eye, they say in Hobbiton and so I sat down on that rock and thought if I should ride all the way to Michel Delving to buy a new walking stick and hope that my Pa wouldn't notice any difference or simply admit what I had done.
Suddenly I heard a gruff voice asking me what has happened. I raised my eyes and saw a grey-haired very aged hobbit that was wearing a simple waistcoat and had a short nose.
"Excuse me, mister?", marvelled I. This old hobbit then spoke again with a strong Brockenborings' accent: "Why ter weep on a rock, lassie? Hobbits of yer age should be all a merry and not havin' a woebegone face."
"But I have lost my Pa's walking stick and now I can not find it", said I with a hoarse voice, red nose and swollen eyes. He eyed me quietly for a while and seemed to ponder something but then this old hobbit - I noticed his feet were balding and very clean - said slowly: "I see. Come, let us see what can be done about that."
So he gave me his hand and helped me to stand up, smiling thoughtfully as he led me into this tiny store of his in Overhill. It was rather a simple room. There were different kinds of wooden carvings and sculptures on two tables, a stool by the fireside and a pair of boots under that stool. It was all very very odd. Not the most desirable place for a self-indulgent hobbit, but one could say it was cosy as it were.
"Why do you have shoes here?", asked I, glancing at the old hobbits' wrinkled face as he smirked so that I could see every single tooth in his wide mouth; not many were left.
"Take a seat. The rug is mostly clean", this gaffer told me and sat down on the stool. He huddled near the fire to keep warm.
"Do you sell walking sticks too?", asked I now.
"Mercy no, not anymore", he mumbled huskily. "No no. Sadly the last time I made one was many years ago. Oh many many years ago but I am telling ye, lassie, something that might make yer think about what's important and what plainly... is not."
I waited for the old hobbit to continue but we ended up sitting in the silence until I asked: "What is it? What is truly important and what is not?"
"Ah well but that is an interesting question, aye indeed. Ye only needed to ask", the gaffer yelled and jumped up, then walking very quickly to take one of the sculptures that was on the table.
"Here", he said and shaked the sculpure in front of my nose, "what do ye see here?"
I took a look at the sculpure and raised my hand a bit. "Yer not allowed to touch it", he said mildly. It was a nice piece of art. A pigeon it was, I think, and a delicately made one with its wings spread wide open and full of amazing details... I could even see some of its feathers.
"It is a bird", I said. "A pigeon, yes?" But the gaffer shaked his head and told me to look closer.
"So not a pigeon?", asked I. He shaked his head again. "No. Not a pigeon."
"Well... a crow? A swan?", tried I but every time, every time he shaked his head again and told me the same words: "Look closer, lassie, look closer and ye'll see."
Finally I said: "I do not know anymore birds than all those I already mentioned."
He sighed and looked ever so aged. He rubbed his forehead and then buried his face into his hands quietly. The silence stretched and made me feel uneasy and embarrassed until I asked him what the sculpure was. He raised his head, eyed at me looking serious and then uttered, shaking the sculpure again: "This, this specific thingy here... is nothing but a sculpture. Fine art, most excellent handcraft that everyone admires.... but in the end 'tis an item."
As he said this, he raised the pigeon and threw it into the flames with a quick motion.
"Why'd you do that!", I cried out and looked at the beautiful sculpture burn in the fire, the most amazing sculpture that was now soon to be ash. "Never love an item", said he quietly, looking me under his dense eyebrows. "'Twas a good item but nothing more."
"But I am sure you worked very hard for it", said I angrily. "Why'd you do that?"
"The pleasure comes ter me when I sculpt. But after 'tis ready, why should I care about it?", spoke the gaffer sternly. "Everything turns difficult when ye want ter own these things and ter keep them with ye but we both know what it looked like: so we ter all intents and purposes lost nothing. Ye still have it in here", he continued and tapped my scalp with his finger. "Ye understand?"
I nodded and again we sat in the stillness.
"May I see all of your handicrafts?", as I questioned, the gaffer's eyes began to shine and he ran to the tables. "Of course! I am glad ter hear that from ye, lassie."
There were many sculptures that proved how skilled he was: couple dogs, a gosling, horses, even a hedgehog! and various others. There was also a certain, a horned deer that was standing on a pedestal and it made me think of one very special friend, who always is there when I feel bad, and when I am happy, too.
The gaffer noticed what had caught my interest and smiled at me: "Ah, I see ye like it?"
"Yes! I would like to see it every day", muttered I. "Could I buy it?"
"Nay", said he, grinning again, "but ye can have it if ye promise ter think about what I said. Not ter own but ter share it, lassie", and handed the deer to me. "Thank you!", gasped I. "Isn't this an astonishing tiny thingy? An item.", and he stated: "Yes. A pleasant bit of item."
It was an exceptional meeting. So I walked back home and thought about the wise gaffer and the deer sculpture in my hand and my friends and my Pa's lost walking stick, and then I felt a bit troubled again. When I opened the door of my parents' burrow, my Ma and Pa were there sitting in the kitchen and talking quietly but I could hear that they were concerned.
"Where is me walking stick?", Pa wanted to know as he noticed me walking in. With a hug I answered to him: "Never love an item, Pa", and he laughed and hugged me firmly, saw the deer and the end of the evening we all sat in the kitchen eating and talking about old hobbits and the sculpture that reminded me of another certain hobbit too...
