Gardening in the Shadow of Smaug

“The world is indeed full of perils, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.” — J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

I had a deliciously hot, long shower Friday morning. It was the kind of shower where I stood mindlessly, hypnotically, the water enveloping me, steam billowing. This was the first of its kind since February 28, the night Iran sent ballistic missiles and attack drones to Israel, targeting the civilian population. 

That’s when I developed my own personal preservation mode. This included brief, intentional showers of barely lathering up, the window open to hear air raid sirens, my phone nearby for warning alerts, and shoes, clothes, and towel prepared. 

Here in Israel, we are now on ceasefire ‘standby’ with an opportunity to take a breath and crawl out of our own self-created Hobbit holes. Not everyone dug themselves in like I did, which leads me to discover something new about myself: I am a fearful little Hobbit. 

Being under ballistic missile threat for nearly two months is not a test I wanted, and I am not proud of my coping mechanisms. It just is and everyone deals differently with life’s challenges. 

To cultivate a sense of calm, I decided not to venture out: no visiting children or grandchildren (at a time when they really needed my help); no grocery shopping; and no walks far from a bomb shelter. My world shriveled daily until it was basically me, my chickens, and my garden (and Amir who took on everything).

One day, we had to be in Ra’anana to see a lawyer. This required a two-hour drive into central Israel, right into the main flight path of the missiles. I knew about this appointment for weeks, secretly hoping the war would end before this date. But it did not end and the night before, I had nightmares about the upcoming drive. 

That very morning, I told Amir that ‘this Hobbit’ was not going and I would find another lawyer, get a Power of Attorney, do anything to stay home. (This was the closest I have been to a tantrum in half a century.) Our lawyer flipped, Amir flipped, and I kept searching for a way out. 

I then took a deep breath and told Amir I would go to Ra’anana. Dragging my feet and my war-traumatized dog Sushi who now had to come everywhere with us, I sat in the passenger’s seat with two cell phones: one had Waze with our route, and one had Waze with the nearest shelters along the route. I was glued to the screens, praying my Home Front Command app would stay silent. 

But it did not. At the half-way point, there was a warning on my cell phone, meaning we had a few minutes to find shelter as a missile was in danger of hitting this area. Amir calmly pulled off the highway and drove right through the first open gate he saw. The guard screamed at him for trespassing and I yelled back “siren.” He waved us towards a parking spot just as employees nonchalantly streamed into a nice, big, safe shelter. Amir, the dog, and I followed. 

When I finally sat down in the safety of the miklat, my nervous system imploded. Knees shaking and teeth chattering, I was reminded of the cartoon character Shaggy with Scooby Doo-Sushi, shaking like a leaf and cowering under my feet. Many of the employees were wearing hairnets and we soon realized that we had pulled into a cookie factory. We received an ‘all clear’ and onward we went, the smell of freshly baked cookies in the air. 

I kept glued to my phone screens, praying my Home Front Command app would stay silent. The ballistic missiles were out there somewhere in the ‘Wild,’ and the world had never felt more unpredictable. I understood that I am a Baggins deep down; “only quite a little fellow in a wide world after all,” as Gandalf described Bilbo. And in a world this wide, it is okay to be small, and it is more than okay to just want to go home.

There were no more sirens on our route that day and we returned home safely. I sighed in relief as I opened the door to my orderly Hobbit house tucked in my garden Shire, realizing the intense comfort this gives me when dealing with a hostile reality. 

I try to focus on my own Rivendell, my Elven sanctuary. I plant my summer crops: corn, squash, and melon. I weed ferociously as therapy,  tearing out evil intruders. I tend to the chickens and catch myself conversing with them. I harvest artichokes, garlic, onion, and the last of the sweet peas.  

Yet I am still a fearful little Hobbit, and that road to Ra’anana and back felt like the path through Mirkwood. But as Gandalf said in The Hobbit movie, the world is not in books and maps—it’s out there. And sometimes, even a quite little fellow has to leave the hole, chattering teeth and all. And despite these perils, still there is much that is fair.