GIVING THANKS

And at the end he found that he still had a little of the dust left; so he went to the Three-Farthing Stone, which is as near the centre of the Shire as no matter, and cast it in the air with his blessing. ‘The Grey Havens’, The Return of the King

Bywater, October 31, S.R. 1420

Beryl Chubb inhaled the comforting fragrance of the warm pumpkin pie before carrying it into the dining-room, where her husband and four children had just finished their All Hallows’ Eve supper.

As she set the pie in the middle of the table, little Hyacinth reached out a chubby hand for it.

“Be patient, little one,” Beryl admonished gently as she sat down. “Your Da has something to tell everyone first.” She looked at her husband Fulco, and nodded.

“This family has been through lean times,” Fulco began, and the three boys nodded grimly. “But we made it through. This year’s harvest was like no other I can remember, and our gardens have given us so much that your Ma had to start giving it away!” He laughed and then smiled at his wife, who knew that all the stress and fear from when Sharkey’s ‘gatherers and sharers’ had squeezed the Shire in their cold and relentless grip were finally dropping from his heart like a soft April rain.

“An’ the punkins are big!” crowed Hyacinth, eyeing the pie longingly.

“And our pumpkins are big,” her father agreed, “bigger than ever before.” He took a deep breath. “I have something to say that I’d like you all to remember. Last year, I happened to spot Sam Gamgee, the Baggins gardener from up on The Hill, standing by the Stone, holding a little box in his hands. Afore he could see me, or I could call out a greeting, he shouted some words I didn’t understand; beautiful they were, but strange. And then he reached into the box and threw some dust in the air. It sparkled in the sun, and seemed to dance about his head for the longest time afore the wind took it up.” He shook his head in wonder. “But there weren’t exactly no wind; the bits of dust... just seemed to all go in different directions, almost by their own accord.”

The children were listening closely, the pie nearly (but not altogether) forgotten.

“A few sparkles came just to me, and... I caught ’em,” Fulco continued. He looked down at his right hand, imagining that he could still see the particles of dust, all bright and foreign-like. “I carried ’em home, and thought for some reason to toss ’em in our garden, which wasn’t much of a garden by that time. And then, what do you think happened?”

“What, Da?” the children chorused excitedly.

Fulco smiled happily. “This year the trees all through the Shire were in such a hurry to grow as we’d never seen afore, and the orchards full to bursting, and the meadows thick with hay and grains, and the animals fattening, and we planted what we had and tended everything so careful. The vegetables started growing so fast and so big...” His voice choked.

Beryl squeezed his hand, and continued the story.

“Your Da and I both sense that the Shire is healed, and the Bad Times gone, and there won’t be no more fear or hunger, ever again.”

“Because of the sparkling dust?” one of the boys asked.

“Maybe so,” Fulco said. “That, and our hard work, and the Travellers who helped bring the Shire back to itself.” He pulled the pie towards him, then picked up the knife.

“And now we’re going to enjoy this beautiful pie, from a fat pumpkin grown in our garden, nourished by our care and the rains and maybe even that special dust that came with a blessing from far away. And your Ma and I will thank Sam Gamgee while we eat it, and remember Captains Brandybuck and Took, and Mr. Baggins too, who came back from afar and helped, each in his own way, to make us all safe again.”

He cut five large pieces, with a smaller slice for Hyacinth, and passed around the plates. And it seemed to the children, as their parents spoke the names of hobbits they hadn’t met, but had heard some about, that their piece smelled better, and tasted more delicious, than near any pie they’d ever eaten before.

After supper, Fulco stepped outside of their hole and lit his pipe, looking with satisfaction at the fence posts and trees decorated with carved pumpkins, straw-hobbits, and lanterns. Young hobbits were already beginning to roam about the village in hand-made costumes, visiting neighbors who might offer sweets to fill their bags. As he listened to the children calling out joyfully to one another, without caution or fear, he found himself closing his eyes. Once again he saw the image, clear as crystal, of Sam Gamgee standing alone, the air a-twinkle all about him, on the day the Shire’s growing things were blessed... as were all those who would enjoy the fruits of peace.

** END **