A Father’s Work – Sam

Astron 1386 SR
Hobbiton

Hamfast is 59, Halfred is 17, Daisy 14, May not yet 10, Sam just turned 6, and Marigold is 4 (or about 38, 10, 9, 6, 3 and 2 ½ in Man years)

Highdays are always bringing a certain excitedness about them. There are plans to be made as have naught to do with working, and for children there seem to be no end of possibilities for what those plans might be. My own are no exception, and they chatter away over luncheon about all their many plans.

“Me and Jasmine are going rock-hunting,” May says of her best friend, the Twofoot’s daughter next door. “We’re looking for little ones, so as we can bore through them with the awl, or her brothers can anyhow, and then we’re going to make jools out of them. She’s got the string and everything.”

“Holly and Viola and me are going to the baking ovens in town to try out some new receipts for round bread,” Daisy chimes in next, talking of her friends from Number One, the Goodlove’s two lasses. “Then we’re going up to Overhill to Cousin Holman’s and he’s a going to let us ride the fillies.”

“I don’t want you making that long trek by yourselves,” I say.

“Missus Goodlove’s a taking us,” Daisy informs me.

“Can me and Jasmine come?” May asks.

“So long’s Missus Goodlove don’t mind none,” Daisy agrees. “What about you, Fred?”

“Me and Goldie are going picnicking,” Halfred says, “while Dad and Sammy go a fishing.”

“I’m going fishing!” Sammy boasts with a bounce and grins up at me like he just found gold. “Dad’s going to learn me to catch some trout.”

“Then I can fry us some fish and chips tonight,” Daisy says.

“No,” I say with a shake of my head. “I’ll be worriting about dinner. You can work on that quilt for Missus Rumble.”

“Do you think she’ll like it?” Daisy asks.

“It’s a fine quilt, it is,” Fred says. “It’ll keep her good and warm come winter.” Daisy beams at her older brother.

We finish up with luncheon, and the lasses clean up the kitchen while Fred and I get the little ones ready for their day at the river. We all head out together, May and Daisy dropping off at Number Two and Number One on our way to Hill Lane. Fred carries Goldie pig-a-back, Sam carries the bait box and fishing poles, and I carry everything else. We say farewell to the lasses and head on over the Hill down to the Water.

We come to the oak as grows near the Water just at the bottom of the Hill, and I spread out the blanket and some toys as should keep Marigold entertained. I look at Fred hard. It’s not as I don’t trust the lad; he watches over his siblings like a mother hen, but he do manage to find his way to trouble faster’n a bee to honey.

“Keep an eye on her,” I warn, and give a wary glance to the river. “Mayhap you should take her over to town instead.”

“I’ll keep her from the Water, Dad,” Fred promises and kneels down to let Marigold slide off his back. “Won’t I, Goldie? We’ll stay away from the Water.”

“No water,” Goldie says, frowning at the river. “No wet.”

“See?” Fred says and I nod.

“Don’t go wandering off too far,” I say and pat Goldie on the head.

I take the fishing poles from Sam to carry them over my shoulder along with the fishing net. I hold out the bucket in my other hand, but he clutches onto his bait box, determined to do his bit. I lead him further down the river, stopping a few hundred yards north of Bywater Pool. The river widens here somewhat.

“Here we are, lad.”

Sam looks around and then looks up at me. “Where’re the fish?” he asks.

“In the Water, of course,” I say. I set down the net and poles and quickly fill the bucket with water.

“But how do you know there’ll be fish here, Gaffy?” he asks, squatting to set down the bait box. He looks at the river with his head tilted, all serious and confused.

I sit next to Sam and pat the ground for him to sit too. “Fish like to swim in the middle of the river where it’s deepest,” I explain. “The river widens up here, so it’s not as deep. They got to come up, see? And there’s shallows here too.”

“Shallows?” Sam asks, squinting harder to get a better look.

“Right here where the water and land meet, you can see the bottom of the river. That’s the shallows and it slopes down to the deeps,” I explain. “There’s food here in the shallows as the fish like to eat. Now, fish usually eat at dawn and dusk, but they sometimes get hungry during the day too, and as the river’s wider here and they got to come up anyways, they sometimes come up to eat. So, we’ll just sit here and try our luck.”

Sam nods and spreads his legs out in front of him, not quite reaching the bank. I open up the bait box and take up a pole. Sam looks down and gasps.

“Gaffy! Your box is full of worms!” he cries.

“Aye, I went out afore sunup this morn and dug them up,” I say. “These here are night crawlers and fish take a fancy to them.” I choose a specially juicy worm and test the hook at the end of the pole. “We put the worm on the hook here, the fish sees it and comes to eat it, and that’s how we catch the fish.”

Sam watches closely as I bait the hooks, his little nose scrunching up each time the worms get pierced. I hand Sam his hook then stand up and motion for him to do the same. I show him how to cast his line, just a gentle but firm flick on his pole to get the hook sailing through the air and into the water. I do this a couple of times, then set my pole standing against the bait box and go to stand behind Sam. I take his hand and together we practice casting his line a few times, then I let him try on his own.

“Try aiming it towards the middle of the shallows, nearer the middle of the river,” I say and clap him firmly on the shoulder when he gets it right after a few more attempts. We sit back down and I set his pole next to mine. “You’re a quick study, Sammy.”

“Thank you Gaffy,” Sammy says and looks at the poles just a sitting there. “How long ‘til we catch something?”

I shrug. “Could be a minute or two, could be an hour,” I say. “Could be we don’t catch any. That’ll depend on the fish.”

“So what do we do in the meantime?” he asks next.

“Well, my dad and me used to sit and tell stories, or whittle, or make up songs, or just sit and watch the land around us. Sometimes there’d be others as come along and we’d sit and talk with them,” I say.

“Can we tell stories?” Sam asks, perking up and bouncing excited-like. “Mr. Bilbo and Frodo—”

“Master Frodo,” I correct.

“Master Frodo told me a new story this morning,” Sam goes on without a pause. “It’s all about this princess who’s captured by the Swertings and taken to the Sunlands to be guarded by a dragon and the prince has to come and save her.”

“They told you all this, did they?” I say and shake my head a little. Mr. Bilbo’s been kind enough to let Sam come up with me to work ever since May took sick a few years back. Sam just hasn’t wanted to be too far from me since then, but once we’re at Bag End he almost always ends up at Mr. Bilbo’s knees, specially now as the Master’s young cousin is a visiting from Buckland. “And how is young Master Frodo?”

“He sleeps a lot,” Sam says. “I think he’s sicking, but Bilbo said as he’s just tired, but I don’t know how he can be tired if he gets to sleep ‘til elevenses.”

“That’s depending on how long he’s staying up,” I counter, “but that ain’t for us to be discussing. We don’t get involved in the affairs of our betters, Sammy; you best keep your mouth shut and your ears open.”

“I do, Dad,” Sam says. “So can I tell you the story?”

“Well, it do sound like a mighty exciting story,” I say obligingly. “Go on ahead.”

So Sam launches into the queerest tale as I’ve ever heard, all about this prince of the Big Folk and this Elf warrior who helps him track down a stolen princess. Along the way, they got to fight Swertings and Goblins and Dark Wizards, and that’s afore they even reach the dragon, who’s got the princess stowed away in his bed of glowing jools. There was somewhat about a living flame and a little water beast called a nymph, and there was a lot of to-do about the Hunter’s Moon, though why that was I couldn’t say as the story sounded to be taking place during the middle of high summer.

Sam has to stop every now and again to try and remember some bit he’s forgotten, and a couple of times he has to backtrack where he skipped over part of the story. He mostly gets it right though, and it amazes me as he can keep all this nonsense in his head when he can’t even remember to button his shirt right most mornings.

Sam finishes the tale with the prince and the Elf slaying the dragon and the prince and princess living happily ever after to the end of their days. There’s a bit of a pause and then he continues. “And they had six children, and a couple of cats and a dog, and her ma come to live with them. I added that last part,” he explains. “I figured as they couldn’t be happily ever after all by themselves.”

“That they couldn’t,” I agree. “What of the Elf though?”

Sam considers this for a moment, then answers, “He gets married too, and they have six children and come to live next door to the prince and the princess, and every morning they have first breakfast together.”

I chuckle again. “That’s a happy ending if I ever did hear one,” I admit. At least he has enough hobbit sense to know how a proper happy ending should go.

Now it’s my turn to be telling a story, but all I think of are the times me, my brothers and my dad would go a hunting near the Bounds and some of the odd things we heard tell of from the folk as lived out that way. We saw some strange things too, and that’s a fact, so I tell Sammy about that and we get so wrapped up in our tales I almost don’t notice when Sammy’s line gets a bite.

“You’ve got one, Sam-lad!” I say and point at his line as it jerks about.

“I did!” exclaims Sam, jumping up and twisting his hands uncertainly.

“Take your pole, there’s a good lad,” I say and stand behind him to put my hands over his on the pole. “Now, what you’re going to do is play tug-of-war. When the fish pulls one way, you pull the other. When the fish gives you slack, you try and finish the job. Sooner or later, the fish’ll pop out of the water, and I’ll get him with the net.”

Sam does as he’s told and when the fish slackens his pull, I instruct Sammy to back up so as to save his strength should the fish start struggling again. Sam does twice better. He runs back on his little legs and gives a mighty yank on the pole and the fish comes soaring through the air, trailing water behind it. I make a grab for the line and the net and get the fish caught.

“Good job, Sam!” I praise and clap him on the shoulders. I hold up the net for him and he watches as the fish flops about inside. “It’s a good size too, for your first one. This here’s full grown by a couple of years, I’d say.” I put the net down and set about getting the hook from its mouth.

“Why’s it flopping around like that?” Sam asks, full of concern for the fish. “Is it hurt?”

“Fish can’t breathe out of water,” I say.

“It’s sufticating?” Sam asks, looking sad. “I don’t want to sufticate it.”

“I suppose it is,” I say, frowning. Sam’s specially sensitive about death and I should of reckoned aforehand as he’d be worrit for the fish.

I get the hook out and wait for the fish to stop flopping. Then I dunk the fish in the bucket of water to keep it fresh, all the while trying to figure how to explain to Sam the whys of fishing and hunting.

I open the bait box and choose another worm. I hold everything out to give Sam a good look so as he can see how to bait the hook proper-like. As I do that, I remember how my dad explained it all to my younger brother Halfred once.

“Don’t feel sorry for it, lad,” I say. “That’s what it’s here for. Every creature and plant has a job, see. The plants in the river feed the fish, the fish feed the wolves, the birds eat what the wolves don’t, and the birds feed the cats. The fish are here to feed hungry stomachs, including ours.”

“Our job is to eat the fish?” Sam asks.

“That’s right. Why, imagine if no one ate any fish? There’d be so many fish, they’d have no room to swim, naught would be left for them to eat, and they’d all die,” I say. “Understand?”

Sam peels his eyes away from the bucket and looks up at me, frowning as he tries to puzzle this out. He nods, though he still looks confused, and says, “I understand, Gaffy.”

“Good.” I hand him his pole back. “Now cast your line again. We need at least two more like this one, or one big one. We take only what we need and leave the rest for others. The young ones we toss back so as they can grow up and make more fish.”

Sam nods and concentrates on casting his line. I have him redo it a few times, telling him again to aim for the middle of the shallows, and after three more tries he gets it right. We sit there in silence for a time, Sam still frowning at the river and the fish caught in the bucket. I let him try and think it out, and after a while he looks over at me.

“Hm?” I prompt.

“It’s like when you trim the hedgerow, so’s they’ll grow up stronger,” Sam says. “Right?”

“Right,” I say and pat him on the head. “Remember that rose bush in Missus Amelia’s yard as was growing wild and strangling the other plants? It had a lot of roses on it, but they were small-like and didn’t bloom long. After we cut off all the wild branches and trimmed down the healthy ones, what happened?”

“It grew up straight and the blooms lasted all season,” Sam says. “And they were the size of my head!”

“And the other plants got healthy again,” I finish. “This is the same. Everything’s got to balance out, and we got to do our part to keep that balance.”

Sam nods, really understanding now.

After that, it don’t take more’n an hour to catch two more good fish. Sam catches a little one as we have to put back in the river. I catch the next two, and I’m a pulling in the last one as Marigold runs up to us, Halfred trailing close behind.

“Sorry, Dad, but she got away from me,” Fred says.

Marigold stands there looking at the fish as I pull the hook from its mouth. “It’s hurt?” she asks.

“It’s sufticating,” Sam says. “It needs water to breathe.”

Marigold looks from the fish to the river and back again. “Fishy needs water?” she asks and Sam nods. Then quick as a flash, she swoops up the fish and rolls it in the water. “Swim fishy! I help fishy!”

Halfred tosses back his head and howls with laughter, and I just stare as part of our dinner swims away. “You weren’t supposed to help it, Goldie,” Sam says.

“Why not?”

“Cause we were going to eat that.”

“Oh.” Marigold stares at the river and waves. “Come back fishy!”

“I don’t think it’s coming back, Goldie-lass,” Fred says and picks up his sister. “Now up you get, afore you lose anymore of our dinner.” He slides her onto his back and bounces, making her giggle. “Do we have enough?”

“We’ve enough,” I say. “We’ll just have us a few more taters is all.”

Sam shows off his catch as I gather up our things. I carry the bucket with our two fish in it and the net, Sam again carries the poles and bait box, and Halfred keeps Goldie on his back. We get back to where they were picnicking, and I gather up the toys in the blanket and put the blanket under my free arm. Then we set off up the Hill towards home, and as we go Sam tells his siblings all about his fishing adventure.

GF 6/23/08