Vibrant

Written for Mews

“You look out of it, Samwise.  What is it?”  Frodo touched Sam’s arm gently.

They were leaning at the wooden fence of Bag End, looking to Bilbo’s flowerbed, which was vibrant with the bright blue, yellow, purple, and red colors of the summer bloom.

Sam was usually a bubbly and chatty fifteen-summer-old lad, but not this morning.  He huffed a little, and mumbled,

“Me old Gaffer want me t’ pick the flowers, Master Frodo.  I’ve never done so, so I’m…  I’m…”

“Pick the flowers?  What for?”

“Just the usual, Master Frodo.  For your bedroom, Mr. Bilbo’s bedroom, the sitting room.  Usually ma do that, but this time Gaffer want me to.  He said I need t’ learn.”

Frodo realized Gaffer must want Sam to be the best gardener like him.  And flower picking was one of the skills a good gardener should have.

“Has he taught you, I mean, the Gaffer?”

Sam sighed again and shook his head.  His face was creased in despair.  Frodo felt sorry for him.

“Why, I can teach you!”  Sam jumped at the rather hard pat on his back.

“Can you, Master Frodo?  Well, umm, not that I take you too lightly.  You get my meaning, sir?”  Frodo ignored the sir he had always told Sam not to call him with.  Instead, he straightened up and wiped small chunks of wood from his weskit and breeches, and patted Sam’s shoulders.

“Come.  Let me show you how.  Bilbo taught me once.  I hope I still remember,” Frodo chuckled a little.

Sam had always admired the lovely garden his masters had.  He could find almost any kinds of flowers here.  And in summer, they were just blessed with the stunning sorts of flowers: aster, cornflower, hollyhock, lobelia sapphire, petunia, and lemon yellow flowers.  But then again, it was his Gaffer who worked on them all.  Sam could not help but feel his chest swell with pride.

Now he was about to learn how to pick those blossoming beauties from his young master.  Sam glanced briefly to Frodo, who was striding beside him, looking so ardent, and although beads of sweat beginning to trickle out of the pores on his face, they all only made his beloved Master Frodo even more striking.

“Here, Sam,” Frodo stood in front of some bushes of honeysuckles.  Ah right, thought Sam, as he was being reminded of the reason why they were there in the first place.

“You should choose flowers with some unopened buds,” Frodo said.  “They will make your bunch look more natural.  But do not take those green buds that are still tightly shut.  They will not get enough time to mature and will never open in the end.”  Sam nodded slowly as he watched Frodo go around the bushes to find just the right bunch.

“And look for firm stems and blossoms.  They make your posy last longer.”

Frodo extended an arm toward him and Sam needed some time to realize that his master was asking for a knife.  Luckily Sam brought it with him in his pocket.

“Yet do not forget the leaves.  You should check for any discoloration and imperfections.  Any unhealthy appearance may show you that the flowers are actually past their prime.”  Sam started to get a headache.  Frodo should not be allowed to talk to him like this.

“And finally, when you find what you have been seeking, cut the stems diagonally so the flowers can suckle the water well when they are put into the pot.”  Frodo treaded softly toward another bush, this time gladiolus, and made sure that everything was just as required, before cutting quite a full-size bunch.  Grinning widely, he turned to Sam and handed him the flowers.

“Here they are, Sam.  Beautiful, aren’t they?  This is for you.”

Sam was simply too glad to accept them.

Only, just don’t ask him to pick the flowers himself.

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