Observing a woman reading in the common room in old Barley's ever-rustic, ever-charmless public house has reminded me that I carry around my diary and yet for many months I have not seen fit to write in it. Why? I ruminate on this very question. Certainly there was a time, after my last entry, when life was too many ups and downs to be recorded in such a chronicle. Indeed, it's been several months, since the pretty baker Rhubea called me to task for my proliferation of high-spun words, that I hadn't even called upon the Pony, feeling most unwelcome, and my failures to secure sufficient custom in Bree for the exceptional comfort and quality of my craftsmanship was similarly dispiriting. Easy to fall out of the habit of making record of such glum affairs.
And then there were more auspicious matters about the same time, mostly concerning Liffey, but those, too, do not warrant writing in even a private journal. And in any case, had I sought so to record, I might have thought to wait until I had a better understanding of the nature of such eventualities; but such understanding remains elusive even now. I don't think she seeks to be enigmatic; it simply comes naturally. Some perhaps from how guarded she keeps her heart. Some from her native demeanor, mayhap. But whatever mystery remains, I am content with whatever is between us, even if I cannot say just what it is. (I wonder if Piper might have better insight. Indubitably, she would, there is naught to wonder. But I shan't ask her. For one, I couldn't bear the teasing.)
So, to the matter of catching up, and with some effort to be concise. When my furnishings proved inadequately appealing to the rustic folk of Bree, and I despaired of ever making a success of Plumwood Furnishings, I found that some of the small folk had a greater sense of enthusiasm for fine quality and good comfort, such as I could provide, than did the Men. Hobbits apparently can see the value in modest, classy ornamentation, but more, the value of something built to last long enough that your grandchildren will be glad of it, and above all, something that gives comfort as well as pride. And even more so their cousins, if indeed they be cousins, in the lands over the Baranduin. The journey there is easy, and while the little folk provide a mixed welcome to "longshanks" like me, they proved most receptive to my wares and soon were glad to see my cart creaking its way to their charming abodes.
Thus, the months since have been too fraught to spend time carousing at Barliman's endearingly clumsy tables, nor writing in this estimable journal. Many hours in the workshop behind the Peaceful Peach, and then carting a broad variety of diminutive but exceedingly well-built furnishings over the Brandywine Bridge to grateful hobbits with well-stuffed pouches of silver. More hours in Liffey's company, some of them in training with the sword, lest I find myself challenged to yet another duel of honor, some of them accompanying her various ventures and journeys, including a few visits to the Eglain, or to meet other friends of hers, like the Dwarf-travelers Blid and Maddoct. I cannot but wonder how grateful Piper and her staff at the Peach are at the plenitude of my absence.
By chance, the last few days I have been in Bree, as Liffey has business in the area and I also have been spending days negotiating supply purchases with the lumber mill; and fancying a bit of watery, second-rate wine, I returned to the Pony to find things all different, and exactly the same. I recognized few people, Kimbell foremost amongst them, and later, the voracious Elven reader, Cesistya, but few others, and most of those somewhat cold to me -- in just a few months, I am a stranger again, and Bree is notoriously uncharitable to strangers! But gratefully I note that not all were so unwelcoming. I had an amusingly polysemous conversation with a young man concerning the rare capacity to appreciate red and white wine equally, a disarming discussion with a librarian and tutor concerning the value of education, and a most robust chat with a Vales-woman concerning a good many things, from cooking and brewing to carpentry and the virtues of great-axes compared to swords. I have also learned that Hazelwood has not been seen in town in as many months, and the same of the sunset-haired beauty Odelynne, presumably for much the same reason. (But I still remember to wear my sword in town, now that I know how to use it!)
Our business will likely be concluded within a few days, and I will be back to work on making a most elaborate set of cabinets and cubbies for a voluminous pantry deep within a hole in a hill, well-built to keep its contents cool even by summer's heat. Perhaps in the days between, I might visit the Pony now and again, and see what it might take to, once again, become less a stranger to Bree. But I must remember, when next I am in the Shire, to buy some wine to bring back with me. In fact, I must remember to ask Piper if she'd like me to bring back wine for the Peach on my next outing. If only I could convince old Barley of the value of stocking some better vintages!
