Hobbiton

That night we turned around and made the arduous drive back through Auckland and towards the place of hobbitses.  There is a sheep farm somewhere in the middle of the north island where unwanted white-faced sheep, a farmer made rich by serendipitous luck, and the fictional-made-real town of Hobbiton reside.  Fourteen years ago, Peter Jackson, director of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and his crew were carrying out aerial surveys of New Zealand for a place of green rolling hills, a round Party Tree, hopefully a pond, and little development to construct their set upon.  They found all of it and even hundreds of sheep to audition for those that would appear in the movie, but Jackson wanted the black-faced and black-legged sheep species for his film. Not a single one of the farm’s sheep were allowed to be anywhere near the filming and were moved twice a day for months to accommodate Jackson’s wishes.

Because I am traveling with two boys that go bonkers over Lord of the Rings, I found myself amidst several hobbit holes, looking over a pond towards the Green Dragon pub with Bag End, the home of Bilbo Baggins, nested in the hill behind me.  I felt so much as if I were wandering through the Shire that I half expected to see a little person emerge from one of the hovels as I walked passed.  Though I wouldn’t have taken the tour had I not been led by LOTR fans and paid for by my mother, I found Hobbiton’s quaint atmosphere relaxing, the guide’s fun filming facts remarkable, and experiencing the real Shire quite a treat.  

A family of hobbitses.