Marmite !!! 
I'm sending the shiriffs out now - no bottles of pureed marmot will be allowed in bounds.
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What would I assign to the Shire?
Spring with its call to life; bullfrogs among the rushes at the edges of The Pool; fiddlehead ferns unfolding
Summer with it's thick lazy days, the air filled with the drone of bees . . . healthy bees, beyond number, their legs heavy with pollen
Autumn clean and chill about the edges; smoke curling in the air as fields are burnt off; quilts airing in the meager sun then folded away with the last of the dried lavender so they'll be fresh when the snows come
Winter chapping the broad faces of the lads and lasses; crackling fires in the hearths; and old stories to get us through the dark
~*~ Pio