[piosenniel]

Memory of Trees' post

May Chubb stood on tiptoe, craning her neck to see over the heads of several hundred very excited hobbits. It was mid-morning, and it seemed that every hobbit in the country had turned out for the event. The noise was deafening.

An exceptionally tall hobbit moved unintentionally in front of her, blocking her view of the podium entirely. Oh, I hate being short, May thought furiously.

As she moved to a different angle, she suddenly spotted a familiar curly head bobbing amongst the crowd. “Father! Over here!” she cried out, but her voice was lost in the hubbub, and she lost sight of him. Sighing dramatically, May settled down behind two gossipy old ladies. They were discussing the mysterious meeting about to take place.

“I just don’t understand it,” said the first woman. “Calling us all together like this, and them not even giving a clue what about!”

“There’s no sense in it at all!” agreed the second, who was wearing a red shawl with beads that clacked when she moved. Leaning in closer to her friend, she said in a low voice, “But you’ll never guess what I heard, just this morning. I can tell, it gave me quite a shock, Edda, darling. Well, I was sitting in my yard – you know, Henry keeps this old rickety chair right out in front of the house, and I was simply scandalized at first, I just knew the neighbors would have the news all over town, us having a great wooden chair right in the yard, and oh well, he likes it – but as I was saying, there I was, sitting in that chair, and suddenly I began to hear some voices, and they’re talking all deep and important, like so, and I thought that maybe I’d better listen in, you know. Well, the first one says, ‘…couldn’t be that!’ And the second voice growls, ‘I heard it myself, just this very morning. They’re trying to make us leave our beloved homes and go gallivanting all over the country!’” She ended triumphantly.

The first woman gasped. “You don’t think…”

“Oh, I couldn’t say.” May found this a bit hard to believe. The old lady continued ominously, “I’m just saying what I heard. But mark my words, Edda, no good will ever come of leaving our own lovely land.” Suddenly she giggled. “Oh, Edda, did you hear about that Rosie Burr…”

The two moved on to talk of other things, but May had stopped listening. The second woman’s words sent a thrill of excitement through her. Leaving Bree? So that was what this was all about!

But May had no more time to ponder, for a hush had fallen over the crowd. A young hobbit was rapping for order on the wooden podium. “My name is Blanco Bolger,” he said simply. “My brother, Marcho Bolger, and I come before you today to offer you and opportunity, the likes of which will live on in the stories of our descendents.” A murmur ran through the crowd. After pausing, Blanco continued, “I may be getting ahead of myself…”

“I’d say so!” May heard an old hobbit next to her mutter.

“…please allow me to back up a moment. During the last several years, Bree has been a desirable place to live for many… to many. I know that most if not all of you feel the pressures of the growing population every day. The available land for young families is becoming scarce, our streets are cluttered with the waste of too many, and there is ever the threat of war from the east.”

Several hobbits near May were nodding their heads in agreement. “It’s just too crowded around here!” She heard somebody cry out.

Blanco cleared his throat, and then went on. “How would you feel if I told you we had a solution? We do.” The silence was tangible. May swallowed hard, caught up in the feeling of excitement that seemed to surround the gathering. “We will begin to settle the west. We have lived among the Big People too long, and now we can have a land too call our own!”

The crowd stood in silent shock. Then, like a burst of deafening thunder, all the hobbits began voice their noisy opinions at once. Cries of, “What? We can’t leave our homes!” “He’s right, you know.” “It’s just nonsense, that’s what!” rang out among the crowd. May was rapturous. “A land to call our own!” she echoed, letting the sweet, cooling words seep deep into her brain. “To call our own,” she murmured again, pronouncing each word deliberately.

The call for order was given, and finally the roar died down enough for Blanco to be heard again. “We understand many of you will have questions and comments,” he called out. “But if I may, I would like you to hold off for just a minute, while my brother gives you some information about the location… Marcho?” He stepped away from the podium and allowed his brother to come forward.

Marcho was a serious-faced hobbit, with shaggy brown hair and a soft, commanding voice. May liked him at once, even if he was a Fallohide.

“Most of you who know my brother and I well know that for the last several months we have been surveying the land beyond the Baranduin,” he began, then stopped. He wiped his forehead with a large white handkerchief. Several hundred hobbit eyes glued to his face, waiting for the promised information, and he clearly wasn’t enjoying it. “What we have found is a rich, uninhabited land. Approximately one hundred leagues west of the river, we will settle the hills of the White Downs. These hills will not only provide desirable living space, but will protect us from future threats.” Marcho’s voice grew in strength and clarity as he went on. “The White Hills are surrounded by lush lowlands that will provide land ideal for farming. Our settlement will be in a prime location for obtaining trade with the Men of Arnor and the Elves of Lindon. This factor will benefit our people immensely. We, as a unified people, can hardly afford to let this opportunity pass.”

Looking utterly relieved, Marcho let his brother take over from there. His younger brother went on to explain about trade and government; things that seem of great importance to adults, but are seldom of interest to twenty-seven year old hobbit girls.

“We will now take any questions or concerns you may have,” concluded Marcho when his brother was finished. “We will take our time and answer you in an orderly fashion. Please feel free to voice your opinions. This is an important day for all of us, and we want to be sure you have enough information to make a well-thought out decision." Marcho then announced to the Hobbits that all those who wanted to go along should meet back at the West Gate, all packed up to travel, in one week's time.

One week! She mused excitedly. May had reached the age where time begins to come into perspective, and realized how very short a time one week was. It doesn’t matter anyway, she thought. My parents would never agree to this.

This she knew, yet still wondered. What would it be like get out of this place? To leave those rich, conceited Whitfoots, and never have to work in their fields one more day, it was like a dream. And then, to have land of your own! To till, and plant, and water, knowing that it was all yours; this was May’s fantasy.

“May! Mayflower Chubb!” May spun around to see Bella Rolland emerge out of the crowd. She and Bella had been friends since the time they were both little hobbits. “There you are!” cried Bella. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Faldo wouldn’t let me come until I finished planting the rest of the peas. I absolutely detest green peas…”

May’s thoughts were broken off by her friend’s lively chatter. As they wandered away from the crowd, she couldn’t help think, maybe someday…