Chapter Eight: The Camping Trip

The boys were awakened at dawn the next morning by Peony. "Rise and shine, lads!" She sang cheerfully, pulling back the curtain so the sunlight could shine in, and went back into the kitchen to make breakfast. The three lumps of blankets groaned, and Merry grumpily put the pillow over his head.

Frodo was the first to fully wake up, and he quickly jumped up and dressed, then went back to the bed to rouse the other two. "Wake up, Merry!" he called, plucking the pillow off his cousin’s head. Merry irritably pulled the blankets over his head and curled up in a ball. Frodo stuck his head under the blankets so that his lips were touching Merry’s ear. "Merry," he whispered. "Milo is taking us camping today!"

One would have thought he had yelled at the top of his voice. At the mention of the camping trip, Merry’s eyes flew open and, with an excited whoop, he jumped out of bed and quickly dressed. Frodo went over to Sam, who was just starting to wake up. "Sam," Frodo said softly, "Wake up. Milo is taking us camping today."

Sam’s half-opened, sleep-filled brown eyes opened fully and he sat up and jumped out of bed to join Merry in getting dressed. While the younger lads did that, Frodo made their bed—Merry could never understand why Frodo insisted on making his bed every day. Once a year was good enough for him. If even that often.

The boys were quickly ready to go and trooped cheerfully into the kitchen where Peony was just serving a large breakfast of hotcakes. Milo was already at the table, digging into his stack of hotcakes almost as eagerly as Merry did when he was served. In many ways, Milo and his young cousin were very much alike. They both had wild, golden colored curls, grey eyes that always sparkled with merriment, and they were both dimple-cheeked when they smiled—a very similar boyish grin.

Everyone finished breakfast quickly—not without a contest, of course, between Milo and Merry to see who could eat the most hotcakes fastest. Milo won, having a larger mouth and an obligation not to lose to a cousin who was over thirty years his junior. "That was wonderful, love, as usual," he said, standing up and kissing Peony on the cheek.

"Yes, thank you, Peony," said Frodo.

"It was very good," agreed Sam.

"Very, very good!" joined in Merry.

Peony beamed. "Thank you, lads," she said happily. "I’ll make them again when you get back, if you like."

Everyone agreed heartily to this, and Peony shooed them out of the kitchen to get their packs. They did, and Peony saw them off at the door. "See you in a day or two, Peony," Milo said, kissing her again on the cheek.

"G’bye, Miss Peony," said Sam shyly, earning a tight hug and a quick kiss from the hobbitlady, much to his surprise and embarrassment.

"’Bye, Peony!" Merry called from far ahead. He had surreptitiously managed to avoid the hugs and kisses from Peony and was already well up the lane.

"Oh, Peony," said Frodo, pausing on the doorstep. "Do you think that you could take my letters to Uncle Bilbo to the post office today? If it’s not too much trouble."

Peony laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "Of course it’s no trouble," she said, lightly swatting him on the shoulder when he rubbed his cheek with feigned disgust. "And I’ll deliver them just as soon as I can. Now run along before you get left behind!"

"Thank you, Peony!" Frodo called as he ran down the lane. "Good-bye!"

"Have a good time, Frodo!" Peony called back. "And look after that husband of mine—he has a knack for getting himself into trouble!"

With a laugh, Frodo promised he would, and ran off to catch up with the others. They were waiting for him, not far down the lane. "What took you so long?" Merry demanded as he joined them.

"I needed some letters for Uncle Bilbo delivered to the post office," Frodo replied. "And I asked Peony if she could do it."

Like the lads’ trip to Bywater, there is not much to tell of their journey to their camping spot. They started off down the road again, turning off of it just before they reached the town. Then, they followed a dirt trail, which led through a small forest and then back out into the countryside. After crossing that, they came once more to a forest, this time much denser and larger. They tramped (with some difficulty and much complaining from Merry) through the thick underbrush for several hours, and finally, they reached a clearing. Milo announced that this was their camping place for the day, and they all promptly threw their packs down and collapsed together on the grass.

"What made you choose this place, Milo?" asked Frodo after a few moments of silence. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked around. The clearing was round, and sheltered on all sides by trees. He could hear the soft murmur of a creek nearby, and the sweet cooing of a dove above him.

"Well, it does seem like the perfect place, don’t you think?" Milo replied. "There’s a creek nearby for water, and plenty of branches for a campfire. And," he added with a grin, "there are mushrooms better than Farmer Maggot’s growing right over there." He pointed to the edge of the clearing.

At the word "mushrooms," Merry’s eyes snapped open and he jumped to his feet. "I’m starving!" he exclaimed happily as he ran to gather some.

Frodo and Sam shook their heads, and Milo laughed. "That boy will never change."

***

"Ouch!"

"Merry, hold still!"

"I’m trying—ow! But you’re hurting—ouch! me! Snakes and adders, that hurts! Stop it, will you!"

Frodo sighed and looked up at Sam, who stood watching nearby. "It looks as though we’ll have to try your plan, Sam," Frodo said. "You’ll have to sit on him while I hold his arms and Milo pulls it out."

Sam nodded and everyone took their positions. "Be careful!" Merry begged as Milo took his hand. Buried deep in the middle of his palm was a large, red thorn.

Milo licked his lips in concentration and tried to pull the thorn out as gently as possible. Merry yelped. "Ouch!" he cried. "That hurt!"

Milo sighed and tried again. This time, he succeeded in pulling it out about halfway. "Almost there, Merry-lad," he said. "I’m doing this as gently as I can." Merry squeezed his eyes tightly shut and gritted his teeth as Milo pulled again.

"I’ve got it!" Milo exclaimed triumphantly.

Merry opened his eyes and saw the thorn in his cousin’s hand. It was as big as a wolf's tooth, and nearly as sharp. He looked down at his own hand and saw that it was covered with blood. Frodo grabbed a cloth that Sam had soaked in the stream and wrapped it around Merry’s hand. "Here, Merry," he said. "This will help."

Merry winced at first, but gradually, the cool, wet cloth did help, and his hand stopped throbbing. "Now how did you manage to get this thorn stuck in your hand in the first place?" asked Milo, examining the thorn. "I thought you were getting mushrooms."

"I was," Merry defended himself. "And I saw an enormous one growing by the stream. I’ve eaten it before, so I knew it was safe. I didn’t see any thorns on it. But when I pulled it up, I got stuck with that."

Milo started laughing, much to Merry’s confusion. "So you’ve encountered your first West Farthing Thorny Mushroom," he said. "I’m surprised it hasn’t happened sooner, with your appetite. The Thorny Mushrooms are quite delicious—once you get past the thorns. I tried to eat them many times myself when I was a young rascal just like you; and they’re still my favorite. Though nowadays, I prefer to buy them in the market when they’ve already had their thorns removed."

Frodo and Sam helped Milo gather some firewood while Merry sat on the bank of the creek washing the mushrooms they had gathered earlier. He kept a safe distance from the water; he was still wary (rightfully so) of it, and had not forgotten his nightmare.

Thankfully, nothing lurked in this stream—at any rate, nothing that showed itself—except fish and frogs, and Merry returned to the campsite safely. The others arrived a few minutes later, each with enormous stacks of firewood in their arms, which they piled at the edge of the clearing.

"Why don’t we take a walk through the woods?" Milo suggested, coming over to sit beside Merry. "We still have about three hours before sundown – time enough to explore. What d’you say?"

Frodo, Sam and Merry agreed heartily and Sam ran off to refill their water bottles. "Are you sure it’ll be alright to leave everything here?" Frodo asked Milo somewhat anxiously.

Merry snorted. "Frodo, please stop worrying!" he exclaimed before Milo could reply. "It’ll be fine. We shan’t be gone more than a few hours, and most likely no one else will be exploring the woods. Besides," he added, "we don’t have anything valuable in the camp. There’s no reason it wouldn’t be safe."

***

An eagle’s sharp cry rang through the still forest air as the hobbits trekked through the trees. Frodo shaded his eyes with one hand to look up at it. The golden bird was only a small speck against the clear blue sky, wheeling in circles overhead. Suddenly, the eagle turned and dove almost straight down toward the earth. Only a few feet above the treetops, he stopped his downward plummet and soared over them. He called loudly again, then, with a keen glance at Frodo, he turned and headed in the opposite direction.

Frodo had always loved eagles, ever since Bilbo had told him of his rescue by the Eagle King. As Frodo watched the majestic bird soar out of sight, he sighed wistfully. ‘I hope I shall meet an eagle someday,’ he thought. ‘Wouldn’t that be a tale to tell Uncle Bilbo?’

Merry jerked him back to the present. "Frodo!" he called impatiently. "What are you doing? Come on!" With a laugh, Frodo turned and headed back toward the others, and they continued through the woods.

The hobbits did not come upon anything of interest on their trek through the thick forests—except for some poison ivy, which fortunately, they (narrowly) avoided. Other than that, however, the excursion was disappointingly dull.

By the time they reached the camp on their way back, the sun had nearly set, and above the trees the sky shown crimson. The wind blowing softly from the south increased slightly, just enough to cause the smaller, thinner trees to sway at the tops.

Milo and Frodo made a campfire while Sam got their food out of their packs and started to make supper. For the moment, there was not much that Merry could do, so he went inside the tent that he shared with Frodo and sat down, leaning his back against his pack. He reached into one of the pockets of it and pulled out the little wooden robin that Milo had made. He smiled as he turned it over in his hands, thinking of the first time he and Pippin had gone exploring together.

*~*

‘Merry, look!’

‘What is it, Pip?’ Merry looked up from the large mushroom he was attempting to pick. He younger cousin bounced up and down excitedly.

‘Look! Up in that tree! What is it?’ he pointed to a large oak tree to the right of the trail. Up in one of its thick branches perched a small robin, not yet fully grown, singing loudly and flapping its wings.

‘It’s a robin, Pip.’ Merry stood up and laughed as the bird hopped up and down on the branch, beating the air with its wings.

‘What is the robin doing, Merry?’ Pippin asked curiously. Merry opened his mouth to reply, but just then another robin of the same size glided overhead and landed rather clumsily on the same branch. The two birds chirped excitedly to each other, and the first robin combed its beak through the other one’s feathers.

‘I’m not sure,’ Merry said. ‘They must be friends. Or brothers. Or cousins.’

‘Maybe they’re all three.’ Pippin said seriously.

Merry looked down at his younger cousin in confusion. ‘All three?’

Pippin smiled and slipped his small hand into Merry’s and squeezed it. ‘Yes. Like you and me.’

*~*

Merry smiled at the memory. That had been one of Pippin’s rare serious moments, which had lasted a surprisingly long time. And as Merry thought about his younger cousin’s words, they made sense; he realized that it was possible for cousins to be all three. He, Frodo and Pippin had always considered each other more than just cousins, and though Sam was not related to them by blood, they also regarded him as more than just a friend. Their bond with Milo was not quite as strong, considering the distance in their ages, but Merry still thought of him as an older brother and mentor. And of course, Bilbo was much more than a second-cousin-twice- removed. He was like another parent, understanding and caring, and a teacher, always showing them new things, but most of all, he was a friend: one they could always talk to, who would always listen, always help. He could always cheer them up, or give them a helping hand when they needed it – or give them shelter when they needed a place to hide from the S.-B.’s.

Merry gently tucked the wooden robin back into his pack, careful to wrap it with a handkerchief. He had decided to give it to Pippin, the next time he saw him. He had meant at first to give it to Daisy, but now he had something else in mind for her. Something he hoped would be even more special.

TBC...