"The stomp of sturdy boots and the muffled squeak of leather beat out a steady cadence as the party of wanderers cut their way through the woodland terrain. They've been on their quest for quite some time. They are tired. They are weary. They are getting low on supplies, and are down to hard biscuits, which are more akin to a fire-hardened brick than something you'd want for breakfast.
No words are said. No songs are sung. They look to their feet, partly in low spirits, but mostly because the forest wants them out. It has shown them it's displeasure at their company many times, tripping them with sudden roots, and tearing their packs with clinging, clawed branches. It goes without saying, but there have been no fires at night, no glow of life to take the cold chill away. So that chill remains and builds, day by day, seeping into their bones and never quite dissipating with the sunlight.
The weary and beaten lot passes us in a brooding silence, and dissapear into the forest gloom. The silence they leave behind is deafening. This is no fairy forest filled with cute, chittering animals, and goodly sprites. This is an ancient brooding mass of bitter woods. Filled with a dreaded hatred of man and all they have wrought.
A noise shatters the silence like a gong shatters contemplation. There it is again. A sporadic clanging echoes through the woods as a straggling member of the band trots in an effort to catch up. As he gets closer we can see his pack is larger than any of the others. The clanging sound comes not from plate mail bouncing with each stride, but from the assortment of cooking implements tied to his travelsack. His fingers are dyed purple, and his forearms are crisscrossed with angry, red scratches.
This is Samwise Gamgee. Well, not THE Samwise mind you, but A Samwise. He had seen some wild blackberries, and thinking they would lift his companions spirits, proceeded to pick some. The forest didn't relinquish it's treasures without cost however, and the cruel thorns of the blackberry bush cut deep scratches on his arms. That doesn't bother this fellow though, because he has the spirit of Samwise Gamgee."
A pinch of salt, a kind word, an endless smile. It doesn't take much to be a Samwise Gamgee. He had no grand titles, no endless wealth, no prestigious profession. He was a gardener who got excited over the prospect of potatoes; boiled, mashed, or in a stew. One thing he did have that set him apart from everyone, was his spirit.
He never gave up, even when things were completely hopeless. He was self-less and gave, even when he had nothing to give. He was fearless and brave, where fabled heroes would have backed down. While I certainly strive to be a Samwise in all those regards. My favorite aspect about Samwise is his constant attempt to relieve others small needs before they even knew they had them.
In the LotR trilogy he is constantly stashing things in his pack he thinks Frodo will want later down the road. A coil of rope, a box of spices, a beloved trinket. Little treasures that tend to be forgotten when looking at the big picture. I always love to do that while camping. It's gotten to the point where it's expected of me to pull out some last minute treat or a fun activity.
Go out today and be a Samwise, there are too few left in this selfish world. Who knows, your kind word or deed might just share the load of someone who is carrying their own One Ring around their neck.
-Doug
The weary and beaten lot passes us in a brooding silence, and dissapear into the forest gloom. The silence they leave behind is deafening. This is no fairy forest filled with cute, chittering animals, and goodly sprites. This is an ancient brooding mass of bitter woods. Filled with a dreaded hatred of man and all they have wrought.
A noise shatters the silence like a gong shatters contemplation. There it is again. A sporadic clanging echoes through the woods as a straggling member of the band trots in an effort to catch up. As he gets closer we can see his pack is larger than any of the others. The clanging sound comes not from plate mail bouncing with each stride, but from the assortment of cooking implements tied to his travelsack. His fingers are dyed purple, and his forearms are crisscrossed with angry, red scratches.
This is Samwise Gamgee. Well, not THE Samwise mind you, but A Samwise. He had seen some wild blackberries, and thinking they would lift his companions spirits, proceeded to pick some. The forest didn't relinquish it's treasures without cost however, and the cruel thorns of the blackberry bush cut deep scratches on his arms. That doesn't bother this fellow though, because he has the spirit of Samwise Gamgee."
A pinch of salt, a kind word, an endless smile. It doesn't take much to be a Samwise Gamgee. He had no grand titles, no endless wealth, no prestigious profession. He was a gardener who got excited over the prospect of potatoes; boiled, mashed, or in a stew. One thing he did have that set him apart from everyone, was his spirit.
He never gave up, even when things were completely hopeless. He was self-less and gave, even when he had nothing to give. He was fearless and brave, where fabled heroes would have backed down. While I certainly strive to be a Samwise in all those regards. My favorite aspect about Samwise is his constant attempt to relieve others small needs before they even knew they had them.
In the LotR trilogy he is constantly stashing things in his pack he thinks Frodo will want later down the road. A coil of rope, a box of spices, a beloved trinket. Little treasures that tend to be forgotten when looking at the big picture. I always love to do that while camping. It's gotten to the point where it's expected of me to pull out some last minute treat or a fun activity.
Go out today and be a Samwise, there are too few left in this selfish world. Who knows, your kind word or deed might just share the load of someone who is carrying their own One Ring around their neck.
-Doug
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