It was nearing the end of another remarkable autumn day in that month of Halimath, Shire Reckoning 1482. Bushel baskets of fragrant, red-cheeked apples had been gathered from the heavy-laden branches of trees all over the Shire. Leafy vines were draped with cascading clusters of deep burgundy grapes. The slanting rays of the warm sun glanced across ripening fields of grain, and still-green lawns; small hobbit children rejoiced in tumbling down the lush, green slopes of the hills, and jumping delightedly into mounds of softly scrunching multi-colored leaves. In the Party Field, the sunshine bathed the bright yellow leaves of the majestic Mallorn tree, turning them to fluttering drops of liquid gold. Along the road towards Bywater, columns of huge, old Sugar Maple trees that lined either side of the road provided travelers with a breathtaking, blazing orange canopy. Folks who came round to the Ivy Bush Inn of an evening would speculate as to how fine the barley malt was going to be, and what a marvelous store of "Old Winyards" would be put up that year.
     Away up in Hobbiton, as the westering sun cast it's slanting light upon that hidden corner of Middle Earth, a lone figure climbed the path up the Hill to Bag End, a cloth-covered basket carried with the braided handle looped over a slender arm. The hobbit-lass's golden curls bounced merrily as she strode up to the garden gate, unlatching it and passing through. The gate clicked quietly closed behind her. Looking purposefully around the garden, she spied a small still figure propped against the trunk of a gnarled apple tree. Smiling fondly, she made her way over to the tree, and stood for a moment looking down upon the slumbering form of her father, Samwise Gamgee, Master Gardener and former seven-times Mayor of Michel Delving, now retired. There was a short ladder leaning against the trunk of the tree upon which he rested, and a large, two-handled basket filled with red apples on the ground beside him. With the smile still curving her lips, she shook her head slightly, making the golden curls dance again. Gently she called,  "Hallo, dad; thought I'd find you here!". A slight change came over the sleeping countenance, and the right eye peeped open a bit. "Come now, dad, it'll be evenin' soon. You'll be gettin' stiff as a board sittin' on the ground like that." With that, both eyes opened up, and a cheerful smile lit the leathery face, which was creased with fine lines like a winter apple.
     "Well, Ruby my girl, aren't you a pretty sight to wake up to!", said Sam. Then sniffing appreciatively, he noticed the basket his daughter carried. "And what have you brought your old dad, my dear?", he said rather knowingly. "I'll bet you could guess", said Ruby laughingly, as she lifted the corner of the cloth that covered the basket. The tantalizing aroma of butter-browned mushrooms wafted from within. "What a dear girl you are, Ruby", Sam said fondly, struggling a little to get to his feet. Ruby dropped the cloth back in place and quickly put out her hand to steady him as he rose. "Let's go inside, dad, and I'll dish you up some." Ruby turned to go, as Sam bent to pick up the basket of blushing red apples. Seeming surprisingly strong for his advanced age, he hefted the basket, then followed after his daughter as they went down the garden path, and passed through the gate.