New Look for the Prancing Pony

The architects of Bree are developing a new look for the Prancing Pony. Although aesthetically sophisticated, the new inn will be technologically advanced as well. The revamped facility will have a state of the art gravity driven plumbing system to supply water to the kitchen and the W.C. (This is only a model.)

Bree Entrepreneurs

A delightful, cool breeze unexpectedly enters Bree and scatters about the Fall fragrances of the medieval town. Somewhere a bright young man,-full of ambition, shovels waste from his father's pig-pen. He dreams of an inside room with a seat which will one day replace the family outhouse. The daughter of the local blacksmith attempts to mend her shoe with glue made from ground horse hooves. "One of these days," she thinks to herself, "I'll make a super version of this! And I'll call it Fantastic Glue!" An older gentleman dreams of starting a business where one could buy almost anything, so long as it is made in a place called China. He thinks to himself, "I would call it Wam...no, Wall, hold on..., I would call it Bree-Mart!"

On the Daily Show

This kind of thing can go to a man's head if he's not careful!

Lunchtime in Bree

On a back alley in the village of Bree, a plump stowaway ground hog from a field nearby has stumbled upon a scent. He sniffs the warm summer air. His eyes squint. He is still- yet restless. His whiskers twitch. A breeze blows across his prickley brown/grey fur and he is up and running! Scurrying up the path, he stops every few feet to smell. He is hungry, but not for long. Someone has thrown this morning's table scraps onto the dusty path. A chunk of honey-dew mellon and bit of bleu cheese will satisfy the young "rodent." There is rumour of a feast tonight in the village. Perhaps he will find more scraps in the morning. Until then, he is satisfied with the cool green fruit.

The groundhog (Marmota monax), also known as the woodchuck or whistlepig, is a rodent of the family Sciuridae, belonging to the group of large ground squirrels known as marmots. Most marmots, such as yellow-bellied and hoary marmots, live in rocky and mountainous areas, but the woodchuck is a lowland creature. It is widely distributed in North America and common in the northeastern and central United States. In the west it is found only in Alaska, Alberta, British Columbia, Ontario and northern Washington. (from Wikipedia)

Bree and the Ball of Fire

Early dawn breaks like a brilliant bandit across the village of Bree. Light scatters in a million particles over the thatched roof dwellings. The warmth of the morning burns off the sluggishness of night. Ten thousand mornings have been just as similar as this one. Every one just as miraculous and mysterious as the one before. The flaming ball of orange will fall behind the horizon again this evening as the heat of the day gives way to the cool of the night. Most will not notice the miracle, yet a few will bask in the splendor and wonder of a day.

Bree Needs Rain

The sweltering summer sun fires down upon the village of Bree. The townsfolk descend like a birds on prey around the well in the center of the village. The dirt floor of Bree is dusty, hard and getting harder. Horse carts and cattle trod the earth and send reluctant brown clouds of dust into the hot afternoon sun. Everything is tired and hot. The ground cries for rain. Far in the distance, past the Tudor buildings, over the gentle hills, just beyond the brown trees of summer, there rises a dark cloud. It is full of rain and promise. The well is thirsty and will be satisfied this evening.

A Measure of Routine

Bree makes its way into the noonday light. In one corner of the village one can hear the gallop of hooves: Horses of men and ponies of hobbits on the cobblestones. On another street musicians strum lyres and sing fables of a forgotten time. A colorful flag flaps in the strong northern breeze. It's colors, bright red and white bounce in the resplendent sun. A bell tolls. The day shifts into a measure of routine. A smell of lunchtime sausages fades from the afternoon as folks resume their chores. Bree is alive with the breath of stability. She is what she is.

Bricks and Bacon

Many folks in Bree have been curious about the conglomeration of bricks skewed underfoot just outside the door of the Prancing Pony. Locals of the establishment have tripped over them for months. This week the bricks will finally be put to good use. A new walk is being installed and will hopefully be finished soon. The work is hard, blisters form on hands and knees are raw. If it were not for the encouragement of his kind wife the owner would have already given up! However, when he finishes, there will be a good supper provided. There will be ale and more bacon than you can get at home!

Our Sun Still Shines

The streets of Bree are full this morning. A group of small children play with sticks. A local vendor sells spices. The aroma can catch a person off guard. There is a mixture of cummin, and old leather. A hint of garlic and pine needles wobbles across noses. It smells old yet familiar. The leaves on the trees have perked up considerably since the cold snap last week. From a cottage window a maroon and orange piece of clothing waves in the breeze. There is a bit of a nip in the air. It is a chill or thought of something sinister in a land far away. The sun still shines here. It's light warms our day in Bree. There is hope on the horizon.

Cow Wind

The wind blows like a mad Nazgul in the town of Bree this blustery day! Debris rolling across the town square reminds one of a Gondorian New Year. If we had electricity in the town of Bree, we would have lost it hours ago. But we do have a plentiful supply of whale blubber to burn in our lamps no matter what conditions we may face. There is no such thing as a combustible engine yet in Middle-Earth. I suppose we will have to blame the unusual weather on bovine flatulence!

Fashioning a New Sign

A new sign will be crafted for the much beloved Prancing Pony. Turns out our own farmer Wilhelm is quite talented when it comes to sign making. He will fashion it from a fallen tree harvested from Weathertop. He has sharpened his Schaeffer saw and is ready to begin work any day now.

A Gloomy Day in Bree

Rain has fallen this chilly Bree morning. Gloom and fog seep through the village. Somewhere in the distance a horse neighs as he struggles to pull a cart with mud caked wheels. The smell of sogginess permeates the day. A raven, black as a pupil, alights in the eave of Adele's Vegetable Store. She'll be there until the down poor gives up. She shivers against the breeze and pulls her wings close to her body.

Mr. Muir Repairs Old Town Well

A cool, quiet wind blows across the late afternoon silence of mid-town Bree. The last of the winter hickory will burn this week in some homes. There is a smell of tree flowers in the air as Spring trots up the old Southern Road. Almost 700 folks, inhabit the village of Bree. There are travellers, strangers even, but not for long. Mr. Muir, the local black smith is fixing the old town well. It is hard to believe, after all these years, the old contraption can still supply the needs of a town this size! Most will drink ale and warm cider tonight, but there will be water available for cleaning pots and pans after a good hearty dinner.