"One ring to rule them all. One ring to find them. One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them!” — J.R.R. Tolkien
The rolling green of the landscape felt like a dream stitched together by stories I’d known since childhood. But being here—really here—was something different. Something quieter. More alive.
I wandered slowly along the garden-lined paths, the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers trailing beside me. Round doors in soft hillsides peeked out like sleepy eyes, painted in cheerful colors.
. “You step into the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to.” — J.R.R. Tolkien
At Bag End, I paused the longest. The green door was shut, but I imagined it creaking open and Bilbo inviting me in for tea and stories. I sat on a bench under the party tree, the leaves whispering above me in the breeze. Time slowed, stretched, then softened. It felt like the world outside had slipped away, leaving only this—sunlight, laughter in the distance, the rustle of nature, and the quiet click of my shutter.
Then, the inn. Round doors, a curling chimney with real smoke, windows aglow like something out of a fairy tale.
Inside, it was warm and golden. A fire crackled in the hearth. Lanterns swung gently from wooden beams. The bar smelled of wood, hops, and honey.
I ordered a Southfarthing Ale, brewed just for this place, and took it to a corner near the fire. It was smooth, earthy, like the land itself had fermented it.
And I thought; if magic still exists in the world, it's here, in a pint of ale.
And I thought; if magic still exists in the world, it's here, in a pint of ale.
The sun climbed, spilling golden light over the thatched roofs and stone fences. I followed a dirt path past the mill and across the bridge. The water below shimmered, dragonflies darting in the stillness. A hobbit scarecrow stood guard in a garden nearby, arms open wide like he was greeting me. Another photo. Another memory.
And what a special day it was.
Forest Folklore editions
