Inspired by the fact that it is currently June on Long Island (in New York State, for those not familiar with the location)… and it is currently way below sixty outside. So much for global warming, eh? That is certainly my impression at present, as I sit here in my winter pajamas and sipping a nice, steaming mug of hot chocolate and typing something short after nearly finishing Chapter 3 of an original story my friend Britt and I are doing and before I sleep. *And* while moving stuff from my old Livejournal to my new (my username is speedyhobbit... Shocking, eh?) and catching up with friends from college whom I have not seen in the flesh for a month… gotta love multitasking *grin*

Author’s Note: I do not own anything affiliated with Tolkien!

Disclaimer:

The Coldest LitheThere was definitely something uncanny about this weather.

That was the first thought that crossed young Sam Gamgee’s head as he blearily opened a pair of brown eyes to greet a new day in the year of 1411 in the Shire-reckoning. He had expected to feel slightly sticky from spending the night under a thick blanket in his bed. After all, the month of June had closed and the Shire was now in the transitional date of 1 Lithe that marked that the year was halfway over. It truly was a peculiar feeling. There was just the second half of this year, and the next year, before he would come of age. He would possess the responsibilities of an adult. He would be able to tend to the gardens of others on his own. Perhaps, someday, he could even tend the garden of Mr. Frodo of Bag End all by himself! Such an employment would be the greatest honour a humble hobbit such as himself could possibly expect.

The garden. How would it fare, anyhow, in this unnatural cold? It truly was strange to be shivering in the morning of a day that was on the cusp of July- the day before Midyear’s, no less! Why, he practically needed a cloak!

Locating a jacket to cover his oddly cold body, Sam padded into the kitchen to investigate what was over the fire for first breakfast. His nose thought it could detect the scent of sausage, and one glance at the fire told him that he was indeed correct; his sister Daisy was preparing a meal of sausage, eggs, and toast. Meanwhile, May was fixing a kettle of hot water for some tea. Tea… that was certainly a beverage a throat would appreciate on a frigid day such as this!

“I’m cold,” 28-year-old Marigold complained as she made her entrance in the room, visibly shivering and covered in her dark brown blanket. Her tousled brown curls fell over the source of warmth; she had apparently neglected to even brush out the tangles in her hair. “There is no reason I should be cold… why, it is nearly July!”

“It is queer,” Sam conceded, frowning deeply. He walked over to the window facing the direction of the family garden as though expecting that this strange turn in the climate would have detrimentally affected the plants overnight. Fortunately, it was not quite so cold as to produce a flora-killing frost, but it certainly would do nothing to enhance the growth of vegetable or fruit or decorative flower! The plants looked okay enough, but if this cold spell held out, it could stunt the growth of most plants and perhaps even kill the most fragile ones, Sam thought, brown eyes widening slightly with anxiety.

He was becoming lost in his fretting about the green plants of the Shire when he felt a firm tap on his shoulder.

“Aren’t you hungry? Breakfast is ready, and more importantly, the *tea*!” Marigold said, having removed one hand from beneath her wrapping to deliver the sharp prod to her youngest of the older brothers. “It will certainly warm you up, as it seems the sun does not plan upon doing so today!”

“Too right you are, Marigold-lass” Sam said rather despondently as he joined his three sisters at the table. “Where have our parents gone off to!”

“Why, the marketplace, of course! We do need the provender for a feast for Midyear’s Day!” Daisy exclaimed incredulously.

“Midyear’s Day…” Sam repeated as he lifted his mug for his first swig of tea. He could scarcely believe it. If this kept up, or, even worse, became *colder*, the denizens of Hobbiton would be celebrating in their cloaks and some of their heavier clothes!

~~~~~~~

The Gamgees were just finishing their meal when there was a knock at the door.

“Just a moment!” Daisy called, draining her tea before getting up to answer the door. Apparently their visitor had not heard, for he or she knocked again. The eldest Gamgee sister ran her fingers through her hair to rid herself of her worse tangles as she strode toward the door to welcome their guest, whomever it might be. There were plenty in Hobbiton who might be seeking their company!

“Hello, Mr. Baggins!” Daisy said with a sheepish giggle as she pulled the round door to the humble Gamgee house of Bagshot Row.

“Good morning, Daisy,” the master of Bag End responded with an affable smile. “May I please speak to Sam?”

“I am in the kitchen, Mr. Frodo, I’m coming!” Sam called, feeling rather flustered and embarrassed that he had been caught in the middle of a meal. Quickly swallowing a mouthful of eggs with a gulp, Sam scrambled to his feet and headed toward the front hall. Before he could get to the door, he nearly collided with Frodo at the halfway point between the door and the kitchen.

“Oh, I am sorry, Mr. Frodo!” Sam said, reddening with embarrassment regarding his own clumsiness. “Do you need my help?”

“Actually,” Frodo said, “I would like to invite you to join my cousins and myself today for our feast.

“Oh, but Mr. Frodo, that would not be proper, and besides, my Olfd Gaffer is off at the marketplace purchasing some goods for our family to enjoy!”

Frodo hesitated. He knew that his meal would provide far more than would Sam’s parents simply because he had more to spare, but he had no desire to be either condescending or insulting. It was not in his nature to flaunt his social status. “Well, Sam,” he said, looking slightly disappointed, “if you wish to eat with your family, then I fully understand.” He sighed rather wistfully. To eat with one’s own parents… it was something he had not enjoyed for over thirty years, and something most hobbits took for granted. He knew he had much to be thankful for, though. He had dear friends to share holidays with that would otherwise seem thoroughly bleak and empty. “If you change your mind, or if you wish to join parties with me and have your parents simply bring up their feast goods to Bag End, then the door is certainly open to you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Frodo.”

“And in the meantime, if you have the time, would you mind puling a few weeds? There’s not many but unfortunately, this cold has not killed them as I had hoped, for it would have spared you some work. Really, though, I cannot deny that it feels strange to require a heavier shirt, vest, and breeches in the days between June and July!”

Sam could not help but laugh. “It’s that bad outside? I thought that our house had simply become drafty overnight! I guess I shall have to unload a few winter things.”

“Not necessarily *winter*… but definitely something you might wear in March!” Frodo responded with a laugh. “I must be getting back to Bag End… keep yourself warm, and I hope to see you later!”

“Goodbye, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, walking with his visitor to the door. “Do not hesitate to come if you need anything else!”