It is unusual for a Hobbit to stray too far from the comforts of his home, even more unusual is to do so and enjoy it. A week ago I was clanking mugs in friendship with some Big Folk after supper, and now I find myself behind this soiled parchment, alone with ale, and curious. While the past has gifted me with many moments of solitude, it still remains quite simple to find the comfort in familiarity. Certainly one sip of the drink could cause a man spiraling into an uncontrolled need, just as a Hobbit can become accustomed to the taste of the leaf. Perhaps habits can never be broken, but perhaps not. I dare say the pipeweed will remain kindling in my pipe for years to come, but it is possible the familiarity of hearth and home will become less a familiarity and more a desire.
Notice: With the Laurelin server shutting down, our website will soon reflect the Meriadoc name. You can still use the usual URL, or visit us at https://meriadocarchives.org/
Ramblings of an Incoherent Hobbit
Submitted by Stamper on November 29th, 2017
Queer is the proposition, I admit. A Hobbit dreaming of a life away from his home is like a beardless dwarf dreaming of green pastures. Pa always warned about the dangers outside The Shire, but even he traded with folk outside it. He said he was always thought of as strange and looked at like most would towards any queer folk. I never really understood why most trade was done just amongst us Hobbits, especially since the Bounders seem to have everything under control and just east in Bree their markets are host to seemingly friendly merchants with interesting goods. The coin there seems plenty, to which I've admittedly become fond of. People seem to pay a high price for the stoutest beer or the freshest produce. Although where coin is common, the beggars are plenty.
I can't recall the poorest Hobbit I've ever met. Surely there is some unwritten and strange social statuses we Hobbits tend to have, but we all manage to have food at our tables and friends and family surrounding us. A hungry Hobbit is a common illness often swiftly remedied, but I've seen that illness sometimes lingers among the Big Folk. I sit here after several mugs drunk and wonder the possibilities of some donation to these people. Perhaps a half-percent donation of harvest? Perhaps I shall dwell on it.
The last harvest of autumn is now underway. It seems my farmhand tended to it well during my absence. Aside from a small patch of cauliflower that seem to have rotted, a difficult autumn crop, most of the other produce remains healthy. The cabbages are plump and bright green, the cauliflower dense, and most of the carrots were well sized. My trio of red, brown and golden taters seemed mediocre at harvest, but next year is surely one with plenty of boiling, mashing, and stewing. Most of the winter crops are to be planted tomorrow. Scheduled are radishes, onion, leeks, lettuce, more cauliflower, and a small patch of garlic. An acre of winter leaf will also be planted, and I might perhaps sweat this batch. Sweetness and winter go together like song and dance, after all.
A debate with myself has occurred whether or not to bring this autumn produce to Bree in the coming days. The first few days of sowing are the most difficult, and oversight must be taken into account. Especially with a novice farmhand tending to the crops. That market was quite active, and a sliced and spiced carrot cake with some cabbage rolls and hot cider could be a good attraction for the Big Folk market goers during the coming Yule months. Perhaps a near fortnight once more and a return in time for the Yule? I shall prepare then!
