Rachel made the arrangements for the lodging for our seventeen nights in New Zealand. She surprised me when she described the accommodations for the two nights we would spend about an hour’s drive from the movie set from the Lord of the Rings and Hobbit movies. We had reservations for an evening tour and hobbit banquet at the actual Green Dragon in the Shire. Rachel found a most fitting place for us to stay. It was called Underhill and would be our own, private hobbit hole.
Underhill was located on a working farm, a few miles outside of the town of Hamilton on the north island. Many years ago, before hobbits had been made famous by the movies, the farmer had built a single room, earth home next to a pond. It sounded like an early version of a man cave. The farm was passed down to the farmer’s daughter and her husband, and they decided to turn the earth home into a one-room bed and breakfast. Because of its resemblance to a cozy, hobbit hole, they named it Underhill.
Rachel and I found the farm without difficulty. We parked our rental car next to a fence by the farmhouse. We had only been in country for a few days and were still getting used to driving on the left side of the road with the steering wheel on the right side of the car. Our hostess came out to greet us and helped us load our suitcases into the back of an ATV for transport to our lodging. We climbed in and rode down a dirt track that meandered through the farm. It would have been a muddy and difficult trek on foot. After coming down a steep hill, we reached a final gate. On the other side was Underhill.
The main structure was carved into the hillside. The floor, walls and roof were constructed of natural stone and concrete. Grass grew on top of the roof and around the outside walls. Two large, wooden barn doors made up most of the building’s front wall. They were wide open, exposing the single room to fresh air, sunlight, and any other bits of nature that might want to enter. Walkways and stairs around the neat compound were built with natural stone and boulders. To the right of the house, built into the hill, was a small patio. On the patio was an ornate bathtub. Rachel and I had encountered outdoor showers during our adventures in Costa Rica, but never an outdoor bathtub. It reminded us of the television commercial for Cialis.
Two small buildings had been built near the outdoor tub. One housed a modern shower and sink. We would learn that the running water system used rainwater. The other small building enclosed a composting toilet. The instructions said to sprinkle sawdust over everything after you had used the toilet. There was no electricity at Underhill. There were a few battery-powered lanterns. The main lighting at night was provided by candles. There was a large candelabra on the table in the center of the room and many other candle sticks located on other walls and surfaces. A coal-fired stove was available for heat and cooking, and we were given instructions on how to use it.
The natural landscaping around Underhill added to the charm of the setting. A wooden deck extended out into a small pond, filled with Lilly pads. An old wooden bridge passed over a different part of the pond, allowing access to the other side. Cows could be seen grazing on a distant hillside, and we were told that we might be visited by some friendly llamas who lived on the farm.
As we were being introduced to our new abode, our hostess mentioned that because of the natural construction and surroundings, there were mice that sometimes visited, especially at night. We were assured that they stayed under the cupboards by the sink, and that the traps were currently empty. Rachel and I were a little overwhelmed by the day, and I don’t think either of us really reacted to the idea of sharing our room with small, furry guests .
The set up for meals was very simple. Later in the afternoon, the farmer delivered a portable ice chest with our dinner preparations and breakfast food. The menu for dinner included a large porterhouse steak, a package of eight giant sausages, a bag of salad fixings, a loaf of bread, and two pieces of chocolate cake. We laughed at how the meal was quite heavy on the protein side. There was a new-looking gas grill for cooking the meat. Breakfast consisted of yogurt, granola, and more fresh bread.
We spent the afternoon relaxing around our private hobbit hole and enjoying the property. I even did my Tai Chi routine out on the deck, looking out on the pond. Early in the evening, I grilled our steaks, and we enjoyed our meal, sitting out on the deck. We were struck by how quiet and serene our surrounding were, not your typical bed and breakfast.
It had been a stimulating day, and we chose to go to bed early. The bed was custom designed for the space and was unique. It was built into one wall and the shape was irregular and rounded. The person sleeping on the inside was against the stone wall and would have to climb over the other person to get out of bed. Rachel offered to take the inside. We got out our headlamps, placed them near the bed, and blew out the candles. It was very dark. We had just begun to doze off when we heard the first scratching coming from the cupboards under the sink. For the next few hours we listened to intermittent mouse activity, hoping that eventually they would figure out that there was no food out. Instead of the noises going away, they eventually changed in character. In addition to the scratching, now there was a banging and even high pitched mouse vocalizations. I told Rachel that I thought a mouse must be caught in a trap. It was time for a midnight, wild animal safari!
Rachel and I had learned, as seasoned adventurers, that sometimes you have to improvise and make do with the tools that you find around you. I donned my headlamp and explored the kitchen area for weapons. I found a heavy sauce pan and a spatula. Rachel intervened and encouraged me to switch out the spatula for a set of salad tongs. With the headlamp switched on and armed with a dangerous sauce pan, I slowly opened the cupboard door. Inside was a mouse with one limb caught in a spring trap. He or she was dragging the trap around and banging into anything that was encountered. At a different time, I might have evaluated a variety of possible actions. But not that night. I bonked him with the sauce pan, picked him up with the salad tongs, and plopped him in the pan. I carried the pan outside and left it to be dealt with in the morning. My heart was beating a mile a minute!
I felt a sense of triumph. We had faced danger and responded to protect our home. Rachel and I crawled back into bed and lay next to each other, savoring the silence. Rachel propped herself up on her elbows and looked over at me. “I am not staying here another night!” she said with a tone in her voice that suggested that this was not negotiable. “That’s fine,” I replied. “But think of the great story we’ll have to tell about our night in our own, real hobbit hole.”
In the morning we made arrangements to spend the night in a different bed and breakfast in Cambridge, a town about half-way closer to the movie set. That turned out to be a bit of an adventure as well. Perhaps that will turn into another found story,