A Hobbit-Sized Tale

Early December 2014. An almost-four-year-old ShNaajh is sat cross-legged on the mattress in her room, a picture book in front of her. Bilbo looks up from the page. Then Gandalf. Then Thorin. And the other Dwarves. Then Golum, briefly, and finally the Orcs. The picture book is followed in subsequent weeks by the DVDs of The Hobbit - An Unexpected Journey and The Desolation of Smaug. This is all to prepare ShNaajh for her first movie in the cinema - The Batte of The Five Armies. Our tickets are for 28 December. I've called the cinema to confirm that a four-year-old is allowed to watch an M-rated movie at the parents' discretion. It wouldn't have been possible had The Battle of the Five Armies been an MA15+ movie, and thank goodness it isn't!

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ShNaajh takes to The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings like Peregrin 'Took' to trouble! We watch the movies so often that there is soon a time when ShNaajh and I say the lines out loud ahead of the characters! 'You shall not pass!', we scream; 'What has it got in its nasty little pocketses?', we hiss; and we remove our pretend helmets and say defiantly, 'I am no man.' Our default background score during work, study or chores becomes the soundtrack or credits songs of the movie trilogies. This is the beginning of a longing that we know will only be sated when we step into the Shire. So in suburban Melbourne, we wait.

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That long-awaited pilgrimage comes to pass at the return of the leaf in 2025. We visit Hobbiton on 21 September. The drive from Auckland via Waitomo Glowworm Caves is long, the day overcast, but we are so enraptured by Middle Earth that nothing can dampen our spirit, not even a downpour like the night when Frodo and friends arrived at the Inn of the Prancing Pony!

Upon reaching Hobbiton, we take a few customary photos at The Shire's Rest and then arrange our fellowship in a neat little queue for the ride to The Shire itself. Our guide is Jess and I like her from the moment she utters her first words to the group: Who's ready for an adventure?

As our coach meanders through the Alexander family farm along the roads built by the New Zealand Army, Howard Shore's iconic soundtrack creates the perfect backdrop for the glorious surrounds, its lush green looking dapper, and deeper, under a grey sky hanging perilously low. We are told about the three features on the 1250-acre farm that Peter Jackson's location scouts spotted from the helicopter during their search for the Shire in 1998: a rising hill, a tree and a lake. By the end of 1999, Bag-End had stood atop the rising hill, the pine had been declared the Party Tree, and the lake dubbed Bywater.

Our carriage arrives at The Shire precisely when it means to. Eager for my first glimpse of a hobbit home, I draw a deep breath, hoping to carve out enough space inside my chest to contain the explosive joy that is rising rapidly. And there it is - a hobbit-hole, nestled into the undulating green, with a 'perfectly round door like a porthole', painted red. My limbs go blissfully numb.

And then we see a couple of others. One with a blue door, and another with yellow, 'with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle'.

We walk up the hill, down the hill, around magically named gulleys and groves and past more hobbit homes, each with its unique door and deep-set round windows. We see small tables set out at the front, a rocking chair, a happy wanderer or another vine embracing the facade or a daisy the fence, stacks of firewood and basket-full of kindling, and the wares of the beekeeper and the baker. The comfort woven in the whole setting is palpable, and Dusty Haven's hard work evident.

From the top of High Road we have a sweeping view of The Shire with the towering Party Tree and the first look at the Green Dragon Inn, Bywater, where Jess is shouting us the first drink.

Then we make our way down and back up to Bag End. Time stands still. Even though there is no admittance, I can very well imagine the tube-shaped hall with panelled walls and tiled floor, the bedrooms, kitchens and many pantries, and the parlour where the dwarves sang their deep-throated song of the Misty Mountains.

We are amply impressed by the two arficial natural objects Bag End is also home to - a giant pumpkin and the pine tree under which the hobbit-hole was built.

When time resumes ticking, we walk down to the Party Tree past a few more hobbit homes, including the cheesemaker's. We're completely unaware of the surprise that is in store for us all.

We arrive at Bagshot Row. Two hobbit-homes stand side-by-side - Proudfoot, the honeymaker's, and Twofoot, the basket weaver's. We are thrilled to find out that we'll be going into the home of our choice. ShNaajh and I choose the latter, with a red door.

With only 15 minutes to take in all the cosy comforts offered by a well-to-do hobbit's home, we have not a moment to sqander!

Could I call this home? Most assuredly.

Our final stop: the Green Dragon Inn. As we sip our Frogmorton ginger beer and Sackville apple cider, and bite into the 'world famous Hobbiton beef and ale pie', I ponder our visit and conclude that Peter Jackson has elevated The Hobbit through his trilogy - I would've never taken Gandalf seriously had I only read the book. Peter Jackson magnified the book's magic and became the master teller of the Hobbit's tale that he is.

It is time to leave The Shire. The joy I felt a few hours ago dissolves into a longing for all that ends, but there is comfort in the lasting impressions they leave. One final glance at the gentle folds of the green hills dotted with hobbit-holes, and we're back in our carriage. As we start our return journey, Bilbo's earthy, weathered voice leaves us with a deceptively simple yet profound piece of wisdom that moves me to tears: It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.

And with that, we bid The Shire a very fond farewell.