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CHRISTMAS IN THE SHIRE Christmas Day dawned bright and clear, the sun peeking between the leafless branches of the Old Oak on the hill overlooking Bag End. Smoke curled from the chimney of Bilbo Baggins house, adding its portion to the smoky haze created by the chimneys of all the hobbit holes in the valley. A blanket of new white snow, covered everything, like a sheet of cotton batting. Everywhere, squeals and laughter could be heard as young hobbit children rushed downstairs to discover brightly wrapped gifts under the Christmas trees and stuffed stockings hanging on the mantles. My sleigh glided swiftly over the fresh snow, the bells on the harness of my little pony jingling merrily as we made our way up the narrow road to Bilbo's hobbit hole. I stopped in front of the gate and tied the reins to the stile. Grabbing the packages and fruitcake, I pushed the gate open with my foot and after some maneuvering, rang the bell. After a moment, the door swung open wide to reveal a short, curly-headed hobbit smiling up at me. "Welcome, my old friend," said Bilbo, grabbing the fruitcake and ushering me inside. "And a merry Christmas." Stooping low, I squeezed in the round door. Slowly I stood, my head grazing the ceiling. "Here, let me have those packages," said Bilbo and whisked them off to the living room. I hung my coat and followed him, stooping low to avoid banging my head on archway. The hobbit hole was spacious enough by hobbit standards though a bit small for my human stature. I looked around the cozy room. The fireplace glowed, the Christmas tree twinkled and wonderful smells of roasted chicken, savory dressing and fresh bread assailed my senses. My stomach growled. "Your stomach gives you away." Bilbo smiled at me and placed the gifts under the tree. "Frodo and Sam should be here any moment. Then we can eat." "I am hungry," I said and sat down on the small couch near the fire. Suddenly, the front door burst open and a gust of cold wind blew in, carrying snow in its wake. "Ho," shouted Bilbo, dashing to entry way. "Who's there?" A black figure emerged from the snowy whirlwind. Its stature was like that of a man but thinner, more bony. Its face was veiled in the folds of its black tattered cape and the hands, hidden by black leather gloves. When it saw Bilbo, it released an icy hiss and advanced toward the small hobbit, hands outstretched. Bilbo stepped back, gasping. He reached under the coats hanging on the rack and drew, Sting, his old sword, from its sheath hidden there. He thrust it at the Black figure. "Back with you," he yelled and thrust again, this time ripping a large gash in the cloak sleeve. It jumped back, tripping over the hem of its cape and landed on its back. "Whoa, Bilbo," said muffled voices from inside the creatures garment. "It's us." Two heads, Sam and Frodo, popped up from opening in the coat. "Merry Christmas!" they both shouted, jumping out of the black cape, laughing. "Not a very merry Christmas for me," said Bilbo, glaring at the two of them. His frown turned to smile as they grabbed him and danced around, singing "We wish you a merry Christmas." I joined in and the four of us sang our way to the Christmas dinner table where we ate until we nearly burst. After dinner, we retired to the living room where we opened gifts, ate more, sang and finally at the end of the day, made a final toast to the one who made all life possible. Bilbo lifted his goblet. "To God our Father who on this day so long ago, gave us His son, Jesus; His greatest gift. May all hobbits and men everywhere, in all the earth, worship Him." Bilbo raised his eyes toward heaven and began to sing in his loudest voice. "Happy Birthday to you . . ." With that we all joined in for after all it IS His birthday.
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