[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold sat contently gazing out from the front step of his burrow onto his family’s fields as he rocked back and forth in the old oak chair. A slight breeze tickled his chin and swept through the rolling hills of green. The afternoon was sunny and warm and the time was drawing near to harvest. He sat in front of a snug burrow that had a round yellow door and a few smaller circular windows. Daises, roses, and sunflowers lifted their bright faces and sprang up all around the garden surrounding the burrow.

Three years ago he had arrived in the Far Downs, part of a parcel of land that had since been renamed the Shire. At first, Harold had been completely opposed to leaving Bree, the land he had known all his life. On the way to their new home, the Hobbits had encountered wolves, thieves, and many other dangers, but were able to keep together because of their determination as well as the guidance of their leader Marcho. Harold was certainly glad that he never had to use a scythe for anything other than cutting grain again.

When they first arrived in the new land, Harold and his family had very conflicted feelings. On the one hand, they did not have to journey anymore and could begin their new life. On the other, they still did not have any land of their own, and held a lingering sadness from the death of old Fordo. Perhaps the journey had been too much for him. Maybe, Harold reflected, if I had stayed in Bree, he would still be with us. But my family did not decide to leave Bree: the Whitfoots decided for us.

The hardships of the journey had forced the three groups of Hobbits to band together in order to survive. Harold had begun to feel more responsibility to the community as a whole, rather than just his own family or the other Harfoots. Apparently, the Fallohides had felt the same way; Kalimac and Marcho had discussed the matter of land with the others and they had agreed to grant small farmsteads to the Harfoot families.

Although he still missed his father dearly, Harold no longer felt that the journey from Bree had been a waste. If only his father could see the Chubbs now, thought Harold. He would have been so proud. After working for the Whitfoots their whole lives, the Chubbs had finally gotten a farm, “a land to call their own.”