Concerning Hobbits

It has occurred to me on many different occasions that Tolkien's universe had a lot to say about social dynamics and interaction. But nothing strikes me as strongly as his concept of the hobbit, a creature simple in both nature and desire, with a fondness for green growing things and warm hearths. This simplicity is shown in a light of innocence, a delicate naivety secure in its seclusion and quite self-sufficient in its own fairly ascetic needs.

That said, I find myself not only fond of them as a society, but with a certain amount of longing sadness that comes from having lived a life not too unlike that once upon a time.

It's no secret I grew up in a very rural environment. I'm often referred to as "the country girl" in my group of friends, even by myself, an admission to my history as a young sheltered child in a sleepy little cow town where everyone knew everybody. I once knew the entirety of my hometown's layout, able to navigate to almost anywhere without need for directions, simply by virtue of landmarks of people's stores, homes, and hangouts. The population was small enough to fit into the campus where I ended up going to college. And despite my years away from my hometown, and the yawning swaths of knowledge and experience previously hidden from me because I lived in such a sheltered environment, I miss certain aspects of it that simply cannot exist there for me any longer.

My hometown changed irrevocably during my formidable years. A rather severe and eerie series of murders, accidents, and suicides left sizable holes in my classrooms and classmates. It is terrible and unfortunate beyond words when a parent buries their child: I saw it happen not one, but three separate times, the last of which was one mother alone burying all four of her babies. The community I once knew as whole and supportive shattered and divided over a scandal concerning a local priest of the most populated church involved in the city's agendas. It went from being a place where I was unafraid to play unattended in my front yard to a place I feared driving to school. Predators moved into the innocent spaces of my life and - for as well-protected as my parents kept me - I could not avoid seeing the aftermath of their passing. When classmates faces made the local news (based out of a city an hour and a half away), I knew they would not be in school anymore, either by death or by jail. More than once councilors came to our school to try to mitigate the damage. They, like our parents, did the best they could.

And so, reading the description of the Shire after "Sharky's" management takeover, I can't help but feel a sympathetic pang of loss. Like the hobbits who followed his lead, member of my community became self-serving rats willing to stir up false allegations against others to give themselves any sort of benefit. Like Sharkey himself, many transplants into the community became controlling monsters who bled common citizens dry and demanded unreasonable expectations for the sake of greed. Empty wild places were paved over and torn down to be "civilized" for the sake of development, which led to ruin and run-down empty neighborhoods with vacant windows staring onto feral streets where gangs and drug-dealers lurked. Pristine cookie-cutter homes that covered the once-wild grasses became nests for criminals because of bloated growth and expansion without thought for anything other than money. The rolling green hills and aged oaks were rooted out and ripped up. The air went from clear enough to see Half Dome from a high enough bluff to so choked you couldn't see the next hill. Light pollution veiled the stars. There was talk of paving over the creek, the last untouchably wild space left in the heart of the city... which, for being the only place left untamed, still needed regular purging to rid itself of grocery carts, old tires, and other trash.

I share a kinship with hobbits, with a fondness for green growing things, peace, quiet, and simple pleasures. I, too, enjoy good home-cooked food and good company, with a secure and simple - if quaint - lifestyle. I do not need the biggest new car or the fanciest dress, the fastest computer, the most expansive house or most expensive gadgets. I would prefer flowers to a new cell phone, warm socks to a slinky dress, my practical hybrid to a foreign sports car, and my friends to famous people. I want enough, but not so much that it becomes a lofty prize.

So perhaps it is not so strange that I like them more than the magical ever-living elves, or the valiant and heroic men, or the crafty and indomitable dwarves. Certainly I like them all, and all their parts of the Tolkien universe, and perhaps they are more exciting to read about. But were I to pick one to be, one to live with, it would be a simple choice, in more ways than one.