Fifteen years. Thatâs a big anniversary. I wanted to surprise Jim with the best trip ever.
Anniversary trips were a tradition nearly as old as our marriage. Each year, we took turns planning a secret trip for the other. Weâd stayed in a historic train car in Livingston, the Ghost Rails Inn in Alberton, Montana, and Chena Hot Springs in Fairbanks, Alaska. But this anniversary required someplace special. Somewhere completely unexpected. After 15 years, could we still surprise each other?
The pressure was onâand I found the perfect spot: The Shire of Montana. It was a J.R.R. Tolkienâinspired guest home, a âhobbit houseâ built into a hillside near the small town of Trout Creek, a seven-hour drive from our place in Roundup. Jim and I had often talked about how fun it would be to build a hobbit house, so I knew heâd be impressed. And our six-year-old daughter, Aurora, would love it.
Whimsical structures dotted the groundsâa troll mine, a wishing well, houses for elves and dwarves and fairies. What child wouldnât be fascinated by a village made for child-size hobbits? This is going to be the best trip yet, I thought as I clicked on the website to make our reservation.
Jim inadvertently started our surprise trip tradition with a getaway for our first anniversary. When I asked where we were going, he playfully refused to tell me. âItâs within a dayâs drive of Roundup,â he said. âThatâs all Iâm saying for now. But make sure you pack something nice for dinner.â
Our destination? The landmark Grand Union Hotel in Fort Benton. I was blown away. The surprise made it even more fun. I called dibs on Year No. 2 and planned a trip to Valierâs Stone School Inn. After Aurora was born, she came on our adventures too.
She might love The Shire even more than we do, I thought, glancing at our daughter, her little blonde head bowed over her latest painting-in-progress.
I was about to book our reservation when I saw a note on The Shireâs website: No kids allowed.
That ruins everything! We couldnât leave Aurora behind, and I had no Plan B. A year without an anniversary adventure was unthinkable.
There was an email address on the site. Dare I ask if an exception might be possible? It couldnât hurt.
A reply wasnât long in coming. âThe rule exists because previous children destroyed large parts of the Elven Village,â wrote Mr. Michaels, the owner. âBut if you give me your word that your daughter is responsible and will not touch, she can come.â I gulped, glancing again at Aurora. She was a good kid. Thoughtful. Well-behaved. This would be okay. Right?
I wrote back, pledging nonstop close supervision, and filled out the reservation form.
Over the next couple weeks, I received several emails from Mr. Michaels about our upcoming visit, each one addressed to âErin, Jim and the well-behaved six-year-old.â Mr. Michaels wasnât missing a single chance to remind me of my promise. Each time, I felt a prickle of concern. Aurora was so young. What if she made an innocent mistake?
What if it was me whoâd made the mistake? Our annual trip was supposed to be a fun adventure. How much fun would we have if I was hovering over Aurora, scolding her if she put a footâor hand, in this caseâwrong? The last word I wanted to associate with an anniversary trip was no.
The day finally arrived. We piled into the car for the drive to western Montana. I couldnât help but be excited, imagining Jim and Auroraâs reactions. Still, turning onto Hobbit Lane, I felt a pang of anxiety.
God, please let this be a good experience for Aurora. For all of us.
We passed a hand-carved wooden sign that read, âthe adventure beginsâĤ.â Jim looked at me curiously.
âYouâll see.â I pulled into The Shire, tucked into a grassy hillside surrounded by tall ponderosa pines. Jimâs and Auroraâs jaws dropped.
Now came the hard part. As soon as we got out of the car, I pulled Aurora aside. âChildren arenât usually allowed here,â I said. âSo you have to be very, very careful. You can look at everything, but donât touch.â I explained the reason for the rule and how terrible it would be to damage anything.
Auroraâs eyes widened at my no-nonsense tone. âI promise, Mama,â she said solemnly. I tried not to wince. Had I just destroyed any illusion of wonderland? Nothing could kill joy faster than a stern âDonât touch!â
We pushed open Bag Endâs front door and walked in. The interior did not disappoint. Every detail had been carefully thought out. From the cozy fire crackling in the wood stove and the furry extra-large hobbit slippers (hobbits have big hairy feet) to the character-specific hats, Shire-themed lampshades and hobbit-height peephole in the door. There was even a golden ring on a delicate chainâjust like the one in the novelsâhanging from a rustic railing near the ceiling.
Aurora took everything in, keeping her hands pressed to her sides.
Outside brought more wonders. Murals depicted the rest of the village. A massive tree stump out front served as a troll house. There was a hobbit honeymoon suite with a large round door, and even a hobbit firehouse, with a real bell, red door and fire extinguisher.
âRemember, no touching,â I reminded Aurora, feeling like a scold.
She nodded and wrapped her arms tightly around herself.
Had I scared Aurora so much about touching that she couldnât think about anything else? What fun is that? I thought.
As darkness fell, one by one, little colored lights winked on, scattered throughout the woods. We stepped onto the wooden footbridge that spanned the stream gurgling down the hill. Aurora walked beside us, hands clasped behind her back.
âIt wouldnât take long for a careless kid to wreak havoc here,â Jim whispered to me.
âI think Aurora understands,â I whispered back. âEverything is so carefully made. Itâs beautiful but fragile.â
Halfway across the bridge, a whizzing sound overhead almost made us duck. Were those fairies zooming by? Aurora stopped, looking skyward. âWhereâd they go?â she wondered out loud.
I took a second look with her, clasping my hands behind my back too. Flying fairies no longer seemed impossible.
We spent several days at the Shire. Aurora delighted in each discovery but never disturbed a thing, not even the miniature bicycle and fairy clothes in the Fern Grotto that begged to be played with. She took her responsibility to protect Mr. Michaelsâs work seriously. Respecting boundaries didnât take away the beauty and wonder; it allowed The Shire to remain beautiful and wonderful into the future.
Not so different from a marriage, I thought. Now I understood why God had brought us to this place to celebrate our fifteenth anniversary. Jim and I moved through life side by side as a couple, but weâd learned to accept each otherâs individuality and boundaries as well. Marriage was full of surprises, challenges and adventure. The key to making it work was respecting each other.
Like The Shire of Montana, our marriage was a labor of love. One worth protecting. If we treated it with care, it would last a lifetime.
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