Underhome
Dearest Diary,
When Master Greengrove invited me to take up a residence beneath the trapdoor in his front room, I must say, I was quite surprised. However, I soon learned that other hobbits had taken up his offer, and that information made me feel more agreeable about the arrangement.
Strictly in Underhome, and in the abode above it, I am ‘Hroom Underly’. In my dearest Shire, I am Frederic ‘Freddy’ Tunnelly. I am pleased to report to myself that I’m glad to be both fellows!
Down in Underhome, everything is different. You enter by carefully descending down several ladder rungs. Hobbit smials are usually round with adjoining rooms, but Underhome is more like one rectangular room with a high ceiling. The walls were chiseled long ago to be shelves in their entirety, storing various breads, spreads, cheeses, vegetables, fruits, and a good many books too (with rolling ladders set nearby for extra reach). Kegs sit in the corners and are brimming with fine ale. There are tables and chairs for dining and games, hammocks and pillows for relaxing slumber, and a busy noticeboard for ticking off duties. These cosy quarters are well-lit by lanterns, hung by vines from the ceiling.
Then there’s the fissure in the south wall. Myself and the other hobbits can just about squeeze through (if we suck our tummies all the way in), but Master Greengrove could never hope to artfully manoeuvre that crack as we do on account of his enormity. Passing through, one soon stands upon steps of stone, leading on down to a labyrinth of caverns where sparkling waters pool. None of it is Underhome, for Master Greengrove could not have fashioned it. So, we don’t go down there, and we dimly lit the space with lamplight to mark a point of venturing no further. Although, sometimes I and my colleagues like to shout from atop the steps, and hear our voices and laughter echo back to us. We invent stories about the caverns, too, and who or what may live down there.
Dwelling in Underhome is rather like living in a quaint pantry with charming chums, and that’s not a bad thing at all. Myself and the other hobbits are all quite used to living under mounds of turf. It’s not a step too far beyond the usual (though I must admit, a window or two would be nice, both for light and fresh air).
Ah, by the familiar yelp I just heard from up above, it seems Burarum Underly (aka Mavis Taddyfield) has once again been bitten by one of the hedgehogs Master Greengrove is fond of. Away I go to see if I can help.
