Sämwise Gämgee sat on his favorite tree stump in his garden and smoked some fine herbs in his long pipe. He had a good life, and it was a good day, too. Lunch had been excellent and plenty, and he looked forward to the remaining three or four meals of this fine day. His numerous family was around him, the little ones dashing around and chasing each other in the garden, his older sons and daughters busy baking and brewing, plucking fruit and vegetables, tending the fields or fishing in the creeks. Neighbors, cousins, aunts and uncles walked by, stopped for a chat, and went on with their business. Säm looked over to the front door of his house, where his beautiful wife Rosey sat on the steps of the entrance and shaved her feet.

Säm felt truly blessed. He was 75 years old now, a man in the prime of his years. A höbbit in the prime of his years, to be precise. Höbbits could reach the age of 130 or even 150 years, and Säm intended to live up to his full complement, to see his children and grandchildren grow up and fill the hills of the Shyre with even more grandchildren and great-grandchildren. And who knew? Säm and Rosey had 13 children, the last one born 13 years ago, but when he looked at his trim and proper wife, he felt the distinct wish to add another one or two.

It seemed like Rosey had heard this last one of his thoughts, because she looked up from her efforts and offered him a beaming smile. But then her gaze was distracted, and she seemed to have seen something in the distance behind Säm.

Säm looked back over his shoulder and could not identify anything at first. Then he noticed a weird movement behind one of the hills, where the road to Överhill went. This was not really a road, more a footpath that could be negotiated with a donkey or a mule, but hardly with a cart. It was not often that anyone approached the town of Höbbiton from this direction.

Säm watched this strange movement for a few more minutes, but then his frown broke into a broad smile. He had recognized two things moving behind the knoll: first, the bulbous point of a long staff, and second, the pointy tip of a very pointy hat. When he watched a little longer, both moving items merged into the silhouette of a man who walked slowly to the top of the knoll. A man with a staff, a pointy hat, and a long robe of undefined color.

“Gandalph!” Säm roared. He jumped up from his stump in a rather undignified manner, and his extended family turned their heads to him in amazement. When they noticed where he looked and pointed, the children cheered and ran over to the hill in a wild hullabaloo. Säm decided to salvage some dignity, went over to Rosey and reached out to her with one hand. She took it gracefully, stood up and linked her arm with his. They stepped out of their garden and joined the other bystanders on the street, who watched the approach of the newcomer with many a word of amazement and joy.

The old man, and it was Gandalph of course, continued with his measured steps as if he neither saw nor heard the tumultuous Höbbit youth around him. The youngest tugged on his robe and shouted, other children danced and jumped around him. They all knew him, even though he was a rare visitor, but a visit from Gandalph always was a happy occasion, often leading to an outright street festival. The adult höbbits respected and revered Gandalph for his heroic deeds and his great magical power that in the past had been the only thing that stood between the lands of the Shyre and total destruction. The children, however, simply loved and adored Gandalph for all the fun and joy he brought, the fantastic stories he told, and of course for the amazing tricks and spells he could perform for their amusement.

When Gandalph finally arrived in the street in front of Säm’s house, he stopped and took a long look around, giving every höbbit in the crowd a recognizing glance, and he could have addressed them all by their names, from the oldest grandmother to the youngest baby. Then he smiled and held out a hand. Silence fell, and everyone’s eyes were upon him. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers, and a cloud of smoke appeared over his palm. The smoke glittered in all colors of the rainbow, then it split into two parts that shot into the sky like rockets, whizzed around in wide circles and spirals, and finally collided again over the heads of all the watching höbbits. With a crack, the smoke whirls detonated into a shower of flickering sparks that floated downwards slowly, turning to colorful paper confetti first, and finally to beautiful flowers that fell down between all the amazed spectators. The crowd cheered and applauded.

Rosey had grabbed her eldest son, Frödo the Younger, and sent him into the house to fetch something. When Gandalph had waved down the applause and the crowd had dispersed into smaller circles of happy chatters, Gandalph walked over to Rosey and Säm at their garden door. Young Frödo appeared at Rosey’s side again and handed her a big mug.

Rosey had to grab the heavy mug with both hands and presented it to Gandalph with a broad smile. The tall old man bowed down to her small figure deeply and took the mug from her with a nod. He raised the mug to his lips and drank in deep, slow gulps. When he handed the mug back to Rosey, it was much lighter. “Rosey’s world famous elderberry wine,” Gandalph declared, “what a way to welcome a weary traveler.” He added a quick burp, and the bystanders broke out in laughter and more cheers.

“Gandalph, old friend,” Säm cried and opened his arms. Gandalph bowed down again to the little höbbit and patted him on his shoulders. “Welcome, welcome,” Sam mumbled, a little muffled between the folds of the old man’s robes. Bent over as he was, Gandalph used the opportunity to place a kiss on Rosey’s cheek, too. When he rose again, he let out a sigh. This bowing was not the best idea for his old bones and joints.

“Come in, come in,” Säm added, when he had freed himself from Gandalph’s robes again. “We just wanted to sit down for a little snack, didn’t we, Rosey? Come and join us!” Then he mustered the robes of the old man again. “By the way, how come you walk in these old robes again? What about Gandalph the White?”

“Oh, never mind,” Gandalph replied. “This is not an official visit, and the white cloth always looks so scruffy after a few days on the road, so I thought I can wear my comfortable one when I’m with friends, can’t I?”

That went down well with his höbbit friends, and they all sat down at the long table in the garden. The older children ran about and placed mugs and plates on the table. Some of them started the fire under the garden grill, took freshly caught trout from a bucket and started preparing them. Others produced baskets with huge mushrooms from the near forests, brought bread and cheese from the kitchen, pumped water from the garden well or brought beer from the cellar. The smaller children simply sat down and started munching whatever came their way.

Gandalph gratefully accepted a plate with some bread and cheese, but declined most of the other fare offered to him. He was hungry after his long walk, but he would never be able to keep up with the legendary appetite of a höbbit. While he chewed on his bread slowly, his gaze wandered around at the table, watching one child and then another, and suddenly he hesitated.

“Where is Däisy?” he asked.

“Däisy is in school, of all things,” Rosey replied. “Don’t ask me what’s wrong with that girl.”

“School?” Gandalph wondered. That was rather uncommon among höbbits. Most of them considered school a waste of time, since it interfered with their eating hours and habits. Schools in the Shyre were few and far between, and scholarly höbbits were rare exceptions. It took so many years for höbbits to grow up that they learned enough from watching and imitating their older companions, so that regular schools were unnecessary in their opinion.

Gandalph remembered Däisy very fondly. The girl must be 22 years old now, a sweet child on the verge of puberty. And yes, she always had been a little different, not as fun-loving and playful as her numerous siblings, but very intelligent and eager to learn. She had pestered Gandalph with questions about everything at his last visits, and sometimes the old wizard even had wondered if there was some dormant talent in the little girl. Talent for magic. He had dismissed it at the time, since höbbits were usually even less interested in magic than in any regular learning. And the life and learning of a wizard was extremely strenuous. He could not picture sweet little Däisy taking on this kind of grueling, unrewarding life. Still...

Gandalph spent a few hours with his friends from the little folk, telling the latest tales he had picked up on his travels, eating and drinking to his heart’s content and declining even more food and drink that was offered to him all the time. Then he stood up at the table, and again, the chatter and laughter at the long table died down, and Säm’s extended family looked at Gandalph expectantly.

“Rosey, Säm,” he began, “you have welcomed me warmly in your midst, you have entertained me with a feast, and I will gladly stay for a few days and rest my weary bones under your roof. But you know me, since we have had a few adventures between us, and so you know that every wizard needs to seek solitude and meditation once in a while. And what place could be better for some meditation and regeneration than this sweet valley in the Shyre, where my eyes find beauty and harmony in all things. You know I have a favorite place on the rock next to the waterfall, where I can see all the hills and valleys up to the horizon. I will go there now and spend a few hours in meditation until the sun sets. Please allow me to remain undisturbed there.”

Säm nodded. He had expected that much. It was a habit of Gandalph to disappear for hours during his regular visits to the Shyre, and Säm knew the place he had mentioned. “But you will miss the afternoon and evening meals, up there on the cliffs,” Säm suggested. “I will send Däisy up there when she’s back from school. She can bring you some refreshments.”

Gandalph’s first impulse was to decline that offer, but then he hesitated. “A good idea, my friend. Thank you. Thank you all for your great hospitality. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

The walk on the narrow path that led up to the cliff taxed Gandalph’s ageless body more than he wanted to admit to himself. He had lived for ages and expected to live until the end of time, but that did not mean that he could mistreat and exhaust his bones, joints, and muscles to no end. His journey had been long, and he desperately needed a break, a chance to rest his body, mind, and soul. This was the reason for his visit, and he tried to spend some time in the Shyre every year, to restore his powers and to find some peace.

Of course there were other places in the world he also visited for rest, or entertainment, or regeneration. Some enterprising örcs had opened a spa with hot springs in Mördor a few years ago, and Gandalph had enjoyed the refreshing sulfur pools very much on his last visits there. And of course, there always were the Neverdying Islands, where all the immortals went, but this was a journey of many months, and the last times he had been there, the company of all the immortals had been so boring that he had cut his visit short and set out for new adventures as soon as his powers were sufficiently restored.

With a groan of exhaustion, Gandalph finally pushed himself the last few steps up the steep hill. But when he stood on his favorite rock, the view was worth all the efforts. Under the blue sky and in the bright light of the afternoon sun, the beautiful hillocks of the Shyre lay before him, stretched out to the horizon. He saw the roofs of the quaint Höbbit dwellings and the faint smoke rising from their many cooking fires, he saw the many ponds and little lakes between the hills, connected by lively creeks and rivulets, some with mills at their sides, many with little boats on them where Höbbits tried to catch the abundance of fish in the waters. He saw birds circling in the skies and over the meadows, and he heard their voices, some of them musical and lovely, others sharp and loud. When Gandalph found his breath again and could use his sharp senses, he even could perceive cats sneaking through the high grass, or small lizards rustling between the rocks that had collected the warm sun rays all day long.

Next to the rock he stood upon, the waters of a creek were trapped in a big pool, and ducks and other waterfowl enjoyed their bath in it. On the edge of the pool, the water flowed over the cliff and formed a waterfall that hit the valley a thousand feet below, forming yet another pool. Butterflies and bumblebees buzzed around him and visited the many flowers on the creek sides. It was as idyllic as it could get.

Gandalph stood motionless on his rock, fixed his gaze on some spot on the far horizon, and started to cleanse his mind from all thoughts. He had a lot on his mind lately, there was a lot of unrest in the different kingdoms, cities and realms, there were endless intrigues and plots going on, there were open fights and underhand machinations everywhere, there were jealousy and grudges between the powerful and the not so powerful, and wherever Gandalph went, people demanded from him to take sides, to use his powers for the purposes of one or the other faction, to avenge the one or to suppress the other. It was exasperating work to keep the peace everywhere and to apply all his wisdom in favor of some kind of balance. He would much rather stand against hordes of örcs and war machines than sort out all this petty bickering.

Gandalph needed to get rid of all these thoughts and memories. He made a conscious effort to lose all the unfinished business in his mind. He desperately needed to find peace, to open his mind for the simple magic that was present in all animate and inanimate things, and that was an important source of his powers. With his eyes half closed, he started to lock out all sensations. The sound of the birds and the insects and of the gurgling and splasing water grew faint, until it stopped altogether and there was only silence in his ears. The feeling of the light breeze in his face died down. The light of the sun faded, and he no longer felt the warming rays on his skin. He even lost his sense of weight and his body felt light as a feather. Finally, his trance was complete and his mind could wander aimlessly. And he could forget.

Something roused Gandalph from his trance. It felt as if he just had entered the trance a moment ago, but when his vision returned, he immediately noticed that the sun had took a leap closer to the horizon and had changed to a deep orange hue. He also heard the first noises of crickets from the bank of the creek. It must be more evening than afternoon already.

“Hi, Uncle Gandalph!” The young voice startled Gandalph and he looked down. And there she stood, little Däisy, all three feet of her, with a broad grin on her face and a basket in her hands. “I brought you some food and wine.”

Gandalph was still a little dizzy and had to clear his throat before he could trust his voice. “Hello Däisy, my dear! Thank you!” With a little smile, he noticed that part of the food from the basket had already been consumed. It was well-nigh impossible to trust a höbbit with a food delivery. It was a certain sign of favor that she had left so much for him.

“It is great to see you again, dear Däisy,” Gandalph continued, “but I still need to meditate for a while, in order to rid my mind of many sorrows and to free it for new magical power.”

“I know, I know,” Däisy replied. “But I thought I could help you again, like the last time. Can I?”