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[I wish I had a photo of this house, but alas, I don't. Perhaps I'll be able to take one sometime or happen upon an old one. When I do, I'll include it in this post.]

On the plains of Iowa stands a two-story house that belongs to my grandparents, my mom's mom and dad. While we were driving across the country back in 2009, my wife saw it for the first time.

It had been at least 10 years since my last visit, and I'd forgotten how much I loved that old house. Like Chesterton, I suppose that I've sinned and grown old. That house was always full of joy, maybe because Gram and Gramps had things that we didn't have in Wisconsin (where I was born), things like chicken-and-stars soup and Mr. Pibb cola. When I was a very young child, the entire family would go there for Christmas. It was like a giant slumber party, with cousins spreading out sleeping bags in various rooms throughout the house.

My wife and I slept in the same room my brother and I had slept in years and years before, in the same twin beds on opposite sides of the room. The same pictures were on the same pink walls, the same tree outside the window, the same creaky door, the same crooked driveway, the same feelings of unfamiliarity and longing that came with living far away from this place. Everything was the same, except Gramps. Gram had weathered the years like the stalwart German that she is; her face didn't reveal her eighty years. But Gramps ... well, Gramps was old. He came down the stairs for breakfast then had to sit in his chair and rest for half an hour. In his midwestern way, he "asked" me to help repair a leaky gutter that had caused some problems the previous winter.

"There's this one spot in the gutter leaking real bad down onto the sidewalk. It made a terrible icy spot last winter. I don't know how I'm going to fix it, because I can't get the ladder up there anymore."

"You know, Gramps, I'd be happy to do that for you." I gave the dutiful mid-western response.

"Well, I would really appreciate it. I've been worried sick about how I was going to get that done."

So I helped him, of course, especially since the gutter was twenty feet up in the air and Gramps' wooden extension ladder was old, rickety, and very heavy. Gramps had always been a fix-it man, and he couldn't bring himself to let me handle the ladder myself. His hands quaked with age as he feebly grappled with the ladder. I was afraid he would hurt himself, so I assured him that I could move it alone; but he kept on going anyways. Eventually the gutter got repaired, and the ladder got stowed back under the house, and we had a great time doing it all, and nobody was injured. [Thanks be to God.]

At last, we all sat down to supper in their wonderfully nostalgic Craftsman-style dining room filled with the latest photos of all the grandchildren and great-grandchildren. As always at Gram's house, the food was plentiful and good, in the Iowa way. I think we took hands (although I don't remember exactly) and bowed our heads to ask God's blessing on the meal. When the old man prayed, his voice trembled, just on the verge of breaking, the same as his rugged hands. He spoke slowly and in mumbling tones, but his words shook with love.

I had almost forgotten, but now I remember that house - an old house, tall and square, full of joy and memory.

About Radagast the Brown

Many years ago, I started writing a story as part of an assignment for a college literature class. It's turned into a giant project, and here is just a snippet. Zealous fans of Lord of the Rings will recognize the character in focus here. Right now I am writing the portion of the story that details the history of the four "Wayfaring Orders" -- the ascetic religious sects of that world (called Adamah). I am posting this here in order to receive constructive feedback, either positive or negative. I have reached a point in the writing where I need some input and dialogue in order to stimulate the creative juices. I'm especially interested in critiques concerning the style and the story-telling, since those are the aspects of my writing that I feel need the most work right now. This small segment tells a story on its own, and it's often more helpful for me to receive feedback on a small part which I can then apply to the whole.

The four Wayfaring Orders are descended from Radagast the Brown, one of the three ancient Istari wizards from across the Sea. Other Istari are mentioned in the written legend of that distant land, but long ago they went far into the East and passed beyond the realm of written history. In those legends it is recorded that Radagast was "a friend of all beasts and birds," and for that reason was regarded somewhat of a lunatic, although a very lovable one. Sometime during the fourth age of that world, Men had become so numerous that Radagast wearied of their presence. Therefore, he took to building his own boat and foolishly sailed west in search of the Undying Lands across the Great Sea. After fifty-three days on the rolling main, his broken vessel washed up on the shores of the land of Adamah. Surmising he had reached his intended destination (as he had never read the Mythic Scrolls and hence did not know that the Undying Lands were unreachable from his world except through death), Radagast offered thanks and praise for six nights and six days and then traipsed off into the wilderness to build a home for himself.

No word of him was heard for the next eleven centuries, when pilgrims clad in long brown tunics began to emerge from the forest begging for bread and proclaiming the virtues of poverty, simplicity, and charity. The Men of our world gave them alms out of pity, and every so often they would convince others to join their numbers either through marriage or fraternal initiation. They traveled in cells throughout the land, never more than two or three dozen in a place at any one time. Calling God their Father and the earth their Mother, they built houses of worship in every city, town and village in Adamah. When asked why they all dressed alike, they replied that they wore "the brown habit of Radagast, in perpetual memorial of his love for all living things." These are the Mendicants, the oldest of the four orders, commonly called the "Brown Friars" by the peoples of the world.

Concerning Radagast himself, there is no written record of his life after he shipwrecked on the shores of our world. However, the Mendicants' folklore includes a story that, after disappearing into the forests of Adamah, Radagast came across a gypsy troop that lived in the treetops. He found them a peculiar and likeable people, so he cast his lot among them. By and by he fell in love with one of the women who danced at their festivals and took her to wife. Together, they spent the rest of their days in happiness.