To There and Back Again -- and Over Almost Before It Began

What a beautiful and serene setting!

It was supposed to be so wonderful. 

I had longed for even a short excursion from my humble abode in Maryland into the crisp autumn air on a weekend retreat. I love to travel, but I broke my leg in the summer of 2019, which laid me up clear until January 2020.  I had just started going back to the gym and resuming recreational activities when the global pandemic put a halt to any sort of journey. I hadn't been anywhere interesting or fun in more than a year.

Jesse and I have now been apart longer that we were married, and have been officially divorced since 2016, but we're still best friends who spend every weekend together. So when I spotted an article in Enchanted Living magazine last December featuring an Airbnb locale done up as an authentic Hobbit house built into the side of a hill in neighboring Virginia, I thrust the publication toward the unabashed Tolkien lover, exclaiming that we simply had to stay there.

Jesse took one look at the beautiful photographs and reserved us a Saturday night on the spot. The only problem was that this intriguing destination was already booked every weekend through the following September. No matter. Booking the place so far in advance would give me something wonderful to look forward to -- and all the more time for my broken leg to heal completely. 

When the coronavirus pandemic struck the following spring, causing the entire world to go into lockdown, I still didn't worry. Surely life would be almost back to normal by October and, if not, this cozy dwelling nestled all by itself in a remote part of Appalachia would be plenty isolated. 

In June, Jesse generously offered to lengthen our stay to a second night. I contacted our Airbnb hosts right away, but alas, by this time everyone was clamoring to get away to someplace cozy and isolated. There were no unreserved nights for the rest of the year. I still didn't fret. Even for just a single night, this escape from a world weary of illness and turmoil would be much cherished.

When my petsitter said she'd be out of town that weekend and couldn't look after my cats while I was away, I hesitated only a moment. I would only be gone overnight, after all. A little extra food in their bowls would easily tide them over until my return. Nothing could dampen my excitement about this trip.

And it was, indeed, everything I'd hoped for. 

From the time we arrived at
the security gate, we knew
we'd come to someplace
special

The morning of Saturday, October 3rd, dawned brilliantly. We packed up the car in the crisp morning air, ready to begin our journey south. Smoke from distant wildfires in the west had long since dissipated. We were bathed in a cloudless sky. Autumn foliage was donning its coat of crimson and gold all around us. We'd gotten a late start, as the car had needed some last minute prepping, and I had hurried to get everything packed in good order. I turned on the hose to top off my rain barrels before we left, so there'd be plenty of water when the pump came on that afternoon (and the next) to automatically water my herb garden, my 15 flower-filled window boxes and my eight hanging floral baskets.

The noble guardian of our
hobbit house

We set out on the four-hour drive from Baltimore County, Maryland, to Lexington, Virginia, at about 11:30 a.m. We followed Interstate 81 as it pierced the Shenandoah Valley, with the Blue Ridge mountains to our east and the Alleghany range to our west. The scenery was absolutely gorgeous. There was hardly any traffic. We pulled into a rest stop midway to enjoy a picnic lunch under some trees. Despite being a Saturday, there was hardly anyone at the rest stop. I felt very safe.

The instructions from our hosts were precise and accurate. We entered a code at a security gate and proceeded up a gravel drive amid placid rolling hills. "Turn right at the dragon post", our directions advised. And indeed, there was Smaug himself, perched atop a wooden totem, bearing a lantern in his jagged fangs. I could hardly contain my glee.

As we parked our car before a handmade wooden gate, our host, Randy Holland, emerged from nowhere to bid us a warm welcome. I could feel the enchantment of the place all around me.

The front door of the hobbit house

Randy led us through the hand-hewn gate, past a glittering pond to the front door of a cottage tucked into the side of a hill on the picturesque property he has shared with his wife, Linda, for more than a quarter-century. He showed us the round Hobbit door to our cottage, which he'd crafted himself, and pointed out the symbol for "thief" carved into the wood which had alerted the dwarves to which home in the Shire was Bilbo's. He explained how he had crafted the frame, latch and hinges in his wood and metalsmithing shops. I was completely entranced. Randy opened the door to the Hobbit abode and beckoned us inside.

When their Airbnb logo said
"all the comforts of home",
they weren't kidding!

The inside of Hobbit's Dream, as it is known on Airbnb, was just as enchanting as the outside. A stone fireplace, with electric embers aglow, welcomed us as we took in all the incredible details. Wrought-iron candle sconces, crafted by Randy, adorned each side of the hearth. Comfortable chairs, a spinning wheel, a pot of tea and numerous other accoutrements added to the considerable charm.

Inside the front door to the left was a small writing table. On it was perched a guest book in which we were encouraged to scribe a message about our stay for future guests to peruse.

The bathroom was small
but comfortable

The bedroom was so cozy!

Randy showed us the bedroom and the bathroom which, while small, featured lovingly handcrafted touches. A guest's every need was taken into consideration. He'd handwrought the bathroom sink from a copper pot. The cabinet beneath it was breathtaking in its curved elegance. The toilet paper spindle featured a hand-carved wizard. I couldn't get enough of the thoughtful embellishments. Portraits of characters from Lord of the Rings hung on every wall.

The colors of honey and amber permeated the rooms. As those are the hues most apt to put me into a sublime mood, a wave of contentment and calm swept over me. I found myself immediately at peace with my surroundings. I had arrived at exactly the place I needed to be in this most unsettling of times. 

The kitchen was adorable

We moved to the kitchen -- and I thought I might faint from joy. Could there be a more perfect kitchen for a hobbit? A tiny table, set for two, was adorned with Linda's homemade "seed cakes" wrapped in faux oilcloth and tied with twine, such as Frodo and Sam might have carried on their adventures. A bottle of Virginia-made dessert wine graced the table between two glasses. Randy explained that the old wood-fired kitchen stove was a family heirloom that found a perfect resting spot in their hobbit habitude. Outfitted with a hotplate, the cast iron beauty fit its surroundings perfectly.

The doorways between rooms evoked
a hobbit sensibility

Delightful details surprised us everywhere, like a butter-churn in one corner and a pantry full of faux staples that, as Randy put it, comprised the larder with which Bilbo had planned to sustain himself all winter until the dwarves arrived and helped themselves to everything. I couldn't get enough of what I was seeing. My heart was overflowing with the wonder of it all.

Finally, it was time to move outside. There was so much more Randy wanted to show us before darkness set in. 

By pulling on a rope, we
could propel ourselves 
across the pond on the ferry

A cozy patio featured a small gas firepit. Randy carefully instructed us on its use. We strode along a gravel path to a gate at the back of the hobbit patio. A trail beyond the gate led us past a clothesline where hobbitlike overalls and poet shirts were hung with wooden clothespins. Lanterns filled with twinkling fairy lights greeted us everywhere.

We followed the path around the pond to a dock where Randy had lovingly constructed the "Bucklebury Ferry", a wooden raft outfitted with a table and two chairs. He invited us to board the "ferry" and showed us how to use a rope, tied fast at each end of the pond, to gently pull ourselves across the water and back.

Oh, how I looked forward to enjoying
a glass of wine on this ferry in the
moonlight

We wandered past the home in which Randy and Linda live on the opposite side of the pond from the Hobbit house and into Randy's shop, where guests can avail themselves of several classes Randy offers. I immediately signed up for a broom-making class and Jesse enrolled in a pipe-carving class, both of which we would take the following morning after checking out. I could hardly wait!

Once Randy had shown us everything we needed to see, he bid us a gracious adieu. Jesse and I meandered back along the path to the hobbit house, stopping at the ferry to propel ourselves across the water in the waning afternoon light. It was so peaceful here. No traffic noise, no airplanes, no voices. Only the splashing of the fountain in the middle of the pond, which made a fitting audial backdrop to the bucolic scene all around us.

We were so surprised to find
mail addressed to us!

As we made our way back to the gravel driveway to retrieve our luggage from the car, I spied a post outfitted with a wine-barrel mailbox. Funny I hadn't noticed it before. I don't know what beckoned me to open it. Randy had not mentioned the mailbox at all. But open it I did. Inside, I was amazed to discover a letter addressed to me and another addressed to the both of us! Beside the letters lay a black velvet pouch with two charming runes tucked inside, each adorned with Elvish carvings -- a lovely keepsake of our Hobbit adventure! I opened the first letter carefully, mindful of the magic that seemed to surround us in that moment. It was a birthday greeting! I opened the letter addressed to both of us. It was an anniversary greeting! Apparently in making our reservations, Jesse mentioned that our visit was in celebration of my 64th birthday and (what would have been) our 19th wedding anniversary. What a thoughtful surprise from our hosts!
 

Birthday greetings to me! Anniversary
greetings to us! Carved runes to keep
as mementos of our wonderful stay!

Once back inside our earthen abode, we unpacked our suitcases and settled in. I had tucked in our Renaissance Faire costumes, determined to get some photos of us in full middle-earth attire. But our photo session in full costume would have to wait until the next day when there was more time. For now, we availed ourselves of the capes and cloaks provided by Randy and Linda to dress up and take some pictures.

We donned cloaks and capes that
were thoughtfully provided

First, we sat in the chairs just outside the Hobbit door. Jesse found a hand-carved pipe, one of several we could choose to buy if we didn't have time to take one of Randy's classes. I found a witch hat to wear.

I looked forward to having a glass of
wine by the fire, too 

Next, we moved across the patio to the firepit. The weather was cool but exceedingly pleasant. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. We couldn't have asked for a better weekend for our middle-earth adventure.

What a gorgeous and romantic
 anniversary surprise from Jesse

Soon, it was time to dress for dinner. We'd made reservations at a restaurant called the "Southern Inn" in Lexington, about nine miles south. As I donned some black leggings, a cute top and warm poncho, Jesse surprised me with an "anniversary" gift: an exquisite necklace and earrings from the inventory of our dear friend, Jan, who owns Fire & Ice Jewelry in Baltimore. Set in sterling silver, the beautiful stones of faceted quartz, drusy quartz, smoky quartz and black tourmaline were simply divine. The jewelry went with my outfit beautifully and were a complete surprise. I couldn't have imagined a more romantic getaway.

This great blue heron surprised us

As we made our way to the car at dusk, a sudden swooping of heavy wings filled the sky right over our heads. Had Smaug come to ravage our fairytale? Would he breathe Covid germs down upon us instead of fire? We gawked in awe as what looked like some prehistoric beast suffused the evening air with its magnificent presence. I grabbed my camera and just managed to capture the silhouette of a great blue heron as it ever-so-briefly touched on a branch in a tree beside the pond. What an absolute delight that was!

Dinner at Southern Inn

Once at the restaurant, we settled in for a good meal. The Southern Inn considers itself upscale, and the food was very nice. We started with a garden salad for me and a quinoa-lentil salad for Jesse. For our entrée, Jesse ordered a skillet-fried pork chop with spätzle, cider-braised greens and lemon cream sauce. I had a New York strip steak with roasted Yukon potatoes, garlic-chive butter and grilled scallions, tarragon green beans and a peppercorn demi-glaze. Both dinners were superb. 

Apple strudel with a candle for my
birthday!

We splurged on a bottle of Peter Franus Napa Valley Cabernet, and shared an apple strudel with cream-cheese ice cream for dessert in honor of my birthday.  It was quite a meal, much of which we brought back to the cottage with us.

We returned to the Hobbit house tired but elated, relaxed and happy. We sat up for a while in our pajamas and just took in the Shire atmosphere: the cozy ambience, the warmth of our abode, the thoughtfulness of our hosts, the joy of experiencing something other than the walls of my old farmhouse for the first time in months. 

Eventually, we turned down the covers of the bed and tucked ourselves in for the night. I fell asleep in dreamy anticipation of the day to come, with its broom-making class for me and a pipe-carving class for Jesse. Perhaps we'd have time to take in a hike along a wooded trail suggested to us by our host. It all seemed so completely wonderful. 

And then, suddenly, it wasn't. 

I awoke with at start at 4:30 in the morning. My mind was racing, my stomach churning with raw emotion. Could it be? Had I really done what I thought I'd done? I woke Jesse from his sleep. "I left the hose running back at home," I squeaked in a barely audible voice. I leapt from the bed in anguish. I had turned on the hose to top off the rain barrels just before we left the house. The hose only had to run four minutes. I didn't have any memory of turning the spigot off. There could be no question about what had occurred. I was certain I had left the water running. But what does one do about that at 4:30 in the morning, two hundred miles away?

My rain barrels back at home feature
a complex set of valves and hoses that
keep the water levels balanced in  all
three barrels through positive siphon 

The consequence of my neglectful oversight filled me with dread. My three rain barrels sat right beside the house. Once they overflowed, that water would run directly into my foundation and, from there, into my unfinished basement where the cats had their food and their litter boxes. I had installed a sump pump a few years ago, thank goodness, once global warming shifted the amount of rain pummeling the mid-Atlantic each year to amounts the ground around my property just couldn't handle. But would that little pump in its little, three-gallon sump pit be able to handle the sheer volume of a hose spewing water under pressure at 12 gallons per minute for hours and hours on end? I was distraught.

There are five valves here! Only my
petsitter, who was out of town, would
have known which one to turn.

My petsitter, Jackie, the one person who knew the intricacies of all the various valves on my rain barrels, was out of town. I texted my next door neighbor, hoping he would see my frantic message and not be upset by the ungodly hour of its delivery. No reply. I texted a firefighter friend of mine, hoping he would be on duty and awake. No reply. I called them both and left messages. No reply.

By now I was pacing the floor, increasingly frantic, realizing that our lovely weekend in this peaceful, bucolic Shire had just come to an abrupt end. "We have to leave", I said as Jesse rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "We have to drive all the way home right now".

This "Conditions of
Engagement" scroll was
just one of so many
amazing touches at
Hobbit's Dream

We quickly and quietly packed up our suitcases and the costumes we never got to wear. We loaded the ice chest with our leftovers from dinner and the fresh blueberries and toast I'd brought for our Sunday morning breakfast. We straightened the cottage as best we could to the way it looked when we arrived, even setting a scroll of Bilbo's "Conditions of Engagement" back on one of the armchairs just as we had found it. We loaded up the car in the dark and quiet, careful not to slam the car doors and needlessly wake our hosts across the pond. We cautiously made our way back down the long gravel road, through the security gate, and out onto the lonely highway for the journey home.

Although we made good time, the four-hour drive north was angst-filled for me. My stomach churned as I imagined my basement flooding, my well-pump overheating and breaking down, the humongous plumbing bill I would undoubtedly face to get the water system in my 1862 farmhouse back up and running properly, the prospect of having no running water for what might be weeks.

This was our view across the pond
of  the Hucklebury Ferry and our
hosts' home at Hobbit's Dream

When we were about 40 miles from home, my cell phone rang. It was my neighbor, Mike. He and his family were hundreds of miles away, up in Pennsylvania, hunting, he said. There would be no neighbor to come to my rescue this day. When we were within ten miles of the house, the firefighter called. Josh had been sleeping and not on duty, but he was ready to jump in his truck if I needed him to. I thanked him profusely, but explained that I was now within ten minutes of the house myself.

I pulled into my own gravel driveway at 9:30 a.m., almost exactly 22 hours after turning on my hose before leaving home the previous day. I dashed out of the car toward the rain barrels beside the back patio while Jesse turned the key to the house and took our luggage inside. The water was still running, which I took as a good sign. At least my well pump was still working.

This adorable clothesline was hung
with hobbit attire and fairy lights

I switched off the water valve and dashed into the house, my heart pounding out of my chest. I was almost too frightened to descend my basement stairs, so fearful of what I would find. And, indeed, there was some water on the concrete floor, but not nearly as much as I had imagined. My sump pump was pumping its little heart out, sucking water up and out of the basement as fast as it could. Fortunately, the water drawn up by the pump was delivered to my sewer line and carried out to the leach field for my septic system, so at least it wasn't pouring back into my basement.

Jesse used a shop vac to suck up the water on the basement floor. Upstairs, I turned on the kitchen faucet briefly to see what would come out. The water was clear, but very salty. My softener system had come on in the middle of the night to replenish the softening from the use of so much water, and with the water continuing to run during the softener's backwash, it filled my household pipes with salty brine. I immediately stilled my icemaker.

At every turn we found thoughtful
vignettes of Shire life, like this
supposed barrel of moonshine with
mugs at the reedy

I called my plumber and left a message. I wasn't sure I actually needed a plumber yet, but I had a lot of questions. When my plumber did not immediately call back (it was a Sunday, after all), I began to analyze the situation on my own.

Although I had not run out of water, I must have come close to the bottom of the well. I certainly had churned up a lot of sludge, as evidenced by the brown residue at the top of my middle rain barrel, the one the hose had been endlessly filling. There would be no running of faucets or showers in the house, as I didn't want my indoor plumbing to fill with sludge. And I would have to shut off the timer to my drip system, too. If the pump at the bottom of one of my rain barrels came on, the drippers to all my window boxes and hanging baskets would immediately become clogged with silt.

This vignette featured beehives,
honeypots and all the
accoutrements for making mead

So what to do about water for drinking and flushing? Well, with three 60-gallon rain barrels standing right in front of me, I had lots of gray water at my disposal. Jesse retrieved two large, plastic garbage cans from the stone cellar beneath my guest cottage (that ancient cellar had flooded, too, which Jesse took care of with the shop-vac). We began to siphon water from the rain barrels into the garbage cans. Jesse drove to the hardware store and returned with ten 5-gallon buckets to supplement the ten I already had on hand. With the muddy sludge fairly well settled at the bottom of the rain barrels, we were able to harvest about 120 gallons of fairly clean gray water. 

This hay wagon looks just like what
Gandalf  might have ridden in on!

I set up a wash station on the patio with a bucket and soap for washing, a watering can for rinsing, and a towel for drying. Jesse went to the store again and returned with ten gallons of fresh water for drinking and cooking. He turned off the toilets and showed me how to instigate a manual flush by dumping a gallon of gray water into the bowl. My living situation, while not dire by any means, nonetheless now seemed so dramatically diminished from the bucolic fantasy world I'd been enjoying just a few hours earlier.

At about 5:00 p.m. my plumber called. His calming voice assured me everything would be all right. He told me to run my kitchen faucet for five minutes once an hour until the salt was flushed out of my water system, and to let the well replenish for several days before showering, washing clothes or running the dishwasher. I breathed a hopeful sigh. But the second time I ran water at the kitchen faucet, I lost all my water pressure. My faucet slowed to a trickle. Perhaps I hadn't avoided the slings and arrows of my outrageous blunder after all.

Beautiful flowers lined every path at
Hobbit's Dream.

I called the plumber back. He said a crew would be at my house first thing Monday morning. Jesse and I examined my basement walls, which are made of dirt. A large chunk of earth and rock had come loose from the foundation and fallen forward toward the sump pump, stopped only by a vertical line of PVC which was no longer in use. Had the dirt fallen all the way forward, it would have filled my small sump pit and clogged the pump. I was very lucky.

I donned gloves and used a trowel to carefully move the loose earth from around the sump pit to a bucket and hauled it up the basement steps. The remaining foundation seemed solid, just a bit moist. We set up box fans in the basement and in my stone cellar to start drying everything out.

The kitchen at Hobbit's Dream was
well outfitted and comfy

I was physically and emotionally spent, with every last nerve seemingly jangled. Still, I put together a simple stew of chopped artichoke hearts and chickpeas for dinner because I find cooking such a comfort. Jesse did some math. At 12 gallons per minute over the course of 22 hours, I had inadvertently pumped 15,400 gallons of water into the yard at my foundation. That was the equivalent of 80 percent of my entire swimming pool. I shuddered at the thought. Nevertheless, Jesse and I toasted our good fortune at dinner. It could have been a lot worse.

The plumbers came in the morning and flushed out the spin-down filter to my water system, which was clogged with sediment. They drained and flushed my well tank. Remarkably, they said, my well pump was strong and healthy and I hadn't ruined anything, thank goodness. I was cautioned, however, that it could be weeks before the sediment stirred up at the bottom of my 200-foot deep well would settle back down. Until then, there could be no showers taken at all. After one week, I could run the dishwasher (which would use far less water than washing dishes by hand) and a small load of laundry. After two weeks, I could take military-style showers. It seemed a small price to pay for such a huge gaffe on my part.

Homemade seed cakes wrapped in
faux oilcloth and tied with twine 
awaited us upon our arrival at
Hobbit's Dream

Jesse was able to return to the home he shares with his roommate in Baltimore City during the week. I showered at a girlfriend's home a few blocks away for the next couple of weeks.

Randy Holland carved this exquisite
dragon into the concrete floor
at Hobbit's Dream

It's been almost three weeks now since my fabulous hobbit adventure was aborted by the harrowing plumbing misadventure that followed. I've turned my toilets back on and I've taken quick showers, done small loads of laundry and run the dishwasher, all without consequence.

I do seem to have, thankfully, dodged what could have an arrow's expensive sting, although I am still being mindful of my water usage and probably will be for several months, if not forever. Emotionally, my heart skips a beat every time I turn on the hose to top off my rain barrels which, refilled by rain for the most part, are happily watering my flower boxes and hanging baskets once again. I don't know if that trepidation will ever fully leave me.

Jesse, bless his heart, has already booked us a two-night stay at Hobbit's Dream for October 2021. For my part, I am determined to enjoy the full and fabulous adventure I originally set out to have, even if I have to wait a year to do it. Samwise Gamgee famously said of misfortune that "in the end it's only a passing thing, this shadow; even darkness must pass". And so it has.
Cheers,
Lynell

"It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to." ~ Bilbo Baggins