The children settled back into their seating arrangements after the excitement of viewing the Bag End deeds. Ruby kept scrutinizing the oldest deed, as Frodo and Tom looked over the other two.

“Your turn, Rose,” was all Bilbo said as he handed her the letter from Uncle Frodo.

To Rose:

My dearest Rose,

So much like unto your beloved mother. You are well-named indeed, fragrant flower of Bag End. But let me tell you a little secret, Rose. Contrary to your mother’s (and your own) name, her favorite flower was not the Rose. It is the black-eyed sunflower growing in wild profusion across the back wall in the vegetable garden.

Your father planted them … wait… he will plant them (ah, forgive me, but I have become unstuck in time again and verb tenses are difficult for me at this moment). Your father planted them for her to view outside the kitchen window, and again outside their bedroom window which faces East. She loves their bright sunny petals and dark, dark brown eyes, almost as much as she loves your own dark, dark brown eyes. Sam pampers your mother by scattering the sunflower petals on the floor of her bath. He does it so that Rose returns from her work in the fields to find flowers at her feet inside the smial. Sam’s a sentimental old hobbit if ever there is/was one. And your mother loves him all the more for that.

But the sunflowers I describe are not the ones of your time. The ones I describe belong to the past. Over time, your mother’s sunflowers will change and mutate until they are not the same flower as before. Light brown eyes instead of dark brown. And the petals too, will change. They grow slightly curly and diminish in length. It is as all things are in this world. Things change and we carry on.

But I have saved a few seeds from your mother’s plant. You will find them in a small pouch inside my chest at the foot of the bed. Samwise will forgive me, but I also saved aside some of the precious soil of Lothlorien, which was a gift from the Lady Galadriel to your father. He carried it in a small box all the way to Mordor and back to the Shire. Even when we were forced to abandon everything in that vile place of death, your father kept that box of soil close to his heart. It was more precious to him than food or water or clothing or sleep. It was a reminder for him of what we were trying to protect. It probably saved his mind, though I doubt he would tell you so.

The soil will have preserved the seeds through these long decades. Plant them with the soil, and you will have your mother’s original flowers again. Remember her, your father, the sacrifice he made for you, the love he carries even now for her, and also remember me (though we never met). Remember us all when you see these flowers in summer.

Love,
Uncle Frodo

Daisy opened up the chest again and found the small pouch. She gave it to her sister.

Rose put aside the letter and opened up the pouch. Inside the amber drawstring bag was a small wooden box containing a few sunflower seeds and a tiny bit of dry soil. A small, very faded handwritten note was also in with the seeds. Rose carefully unfolded the paper. It read:

They like to be near people. But they do get very tall. Love, F.

“Do you think they could actually sprout after all these years?” Pippin asked.

“I don’t know what to think right now,” Tom quietly said. “I can’t figure out how he described what the sunflowers in the back garden look like now. I mean, he described them down to the way the pale yellow petals curl up at their tips. This is weird. Maybe that soil is magic. Maybe the seeds will sprout.”

“I’ll let you know next spring,” Rose replied. She quietly put away the items and drew the drawstring closed. “If they are still viable, I’ll send each of you some seeds. Maybe we can repopulate the Shire with Mother’s Sunflowers.”

Elanor sighed. “That was a lovely gift; Mother’s Sunflowers.”

“Right,” Merry said, slightly bored. He was not of the same temperament as the rest of the family. Merry liked the woods and open fields better than the well-tended gardens of his family. “Guess I’m up next, if Uncle Frodo’s still tracking on target with the names and order of us all.”

“He certainly is,” Bilbo replied. “Here’s your letter, Mer.”