Middle Earth & Me: A Fond Remembrance

Entering October I find myself buckling down for the yearly film marathon of one of my favorite series, Lord of the Rings. I have been doing this for almost fifteen years at this point. It involves me, an unwilling companion that I trick into doing it, some snacks, and a free day. I love using the extended edition. The details are wonderful!

(To my lovely partner, if you read this, it is your turn this year.)

One does not simply marathon these movies.

The weather and increasing amounts of video essays consumed on Tolkien’s world have brought a deep yearning for this personal mini holiday.

This tradition stemmed from my introduction to Tolkien’s world by my Grandfather, who, in my opinion, was one of the largest Tolkien fans out there. He knew everything and was never wrong about his knowledge. It was a sight to see.

That was his hyperfixation. His obsession.

So as I spent time with my grandfather, I was immersed in this realm of magic. Well, more like chucked into an ocean of magic because his art studio was filled to the brim with Tolkien items alongside other books on Arthurian legends, mythology, and folklore. A full-sized replica of the Excalibur hanging up.

It now rests in my home.

It was like walking into a wizard’s tower but with a large wall full of a car model collection and a minifridge full of Budweiser.

His love of Middle Earth became my love of Middle Earth.

I’ve spoken of my love for worldbuilding and this is where it partially stems from (outside a few other influences). The depth of Middle Earth is what I can only hope to not emulate, but aspire to build my worlds. To love something so deeply that I can devote years to it. To craft a world and breathe life into it on a level that fundamentally changes a whole genre.

The wild thing is that Middle Earth media is being published along with other of Tolkien’s scholarly writings. Such as “The Fall of Gondolin (2018)” and “The Fall of Númenor (2022)”. That’s wild!

My journey with Middle Earth began with watching The Fellowship of the Ring after my grandfather got fussed up when one of his drawings went sour, and he wanted to do something else. Witch-kings, wizards, and Elrond (a personal favorite of mine). It was a delight to watch, minus a comment on how the movie messed up a book detail thrown in by my grandfather.

Then we watched the second and third.

He then shoved a copy of the trilogy novels into my hands and told me to read them. It took me a while (being only eleven) but I slowly read through it as my reading levels improved. Slowly I was immersed in the fantasy genre.

Every visit would end with him handing me a copy of his books until the last before his battle with cancer ended. The final novel passed down to me was Silmarillion. Notes in the margin that he scribbled down things to draw, things to remember, references, and such. Faded highlights on yellowing pages. It was worn in and yet so very personal. Spine creased. Cover damaged.

I wouldn’t replace it for the world. I’d like to get buried with it.

Now my collection has grown to include newer tales and media.

The latest is the Magic The Gathering renditions of LotR, which has also sparked my return to the hobby. The card art for this set is stunning. I hope to somewhat complete the set one day. Darn, you Post Malone.

(He bought the One Ring.)

(Update 9/26/2024: I have most of the LotR set, minus some collector cards)

I also have LotR to thank for the stories I create with my scale models. Each has a story, not that I’ve shared many of them. Maybe one day. I can only hope to spawn a world on the level of Middle Earth—a sliver of creative inspiration and motivation.

Whenever I speak or reflect on the works of Tolkien, it brings bittersweet memories of my time spent with my grandfather. I often find myself longing for those blissful summer days spent in his studio surrounded by things arcane and whimsical. Reminiscent of youthful daydreams, tales of heroes, and creatures. Boundless creativity.

I’m glad to think that it played a part in my own hero’s journey.

(On a humorous end note, I use a “fool of a took” to describe individuals more often than I probably should.)