By Philena Tewksberry, a right honorable judge, deceased (@foxxybites)
There comes a tyme in many a hobbit’s life when one wonders what shall become of the things they know.
Not every hobbit hath a son who wishes to learn the mother’s craft, nor a child who wants the grandfather's recipes. Some have no children at all. Some have kin aplenty, but none who care to learn the old song, the proper stitch, the brewing of a perfect summer ale, or why a tool must be held just so.
If there is something in your hands or your hearse you fear shall disappear with you, bring it to the Harvest Hall. Your recipes and reckonings, your songs and stories, your patterns and practices. Show us how you carve, mend, bake, brew, plant, dye, weave, preserve…or simply make. Tell us the things that we all forget to write downe.
We cannot promise who shall take up what you leave with us. Perhaps a good neighbor. A hobbit not yet born who does not know your name, but whose hands will move as yours once did.If you believe ‘There is no one after me’, come to the Harvest Hall. A legacie need not pass through blood to pass onwarde.