Shirebound created this plot bunny: In FOTR, in Moria, Frodo wishes that he was back at Bag End, "mowing the lawn, or pottering among the flowers." How do hobbits mow their lawns? And why would Frodo be doing it, anyway?

Here is a possible answer:

Frodo stood on the lawn, looking at his gardener's new pride and joy. The spidery-looking article was being jointly displayed by Sam and his young friend Tom Cotton.

"It were Tom's idea," Sam said, holding the handle, which joined two slender rods to an axel that stretched between two big wheels that rested on the grass. Sam pointed to the cylindrical middle, between the wheels. "See, this part here, it's like a scythe, 'cept it goes round and round, 'stead of back and forth."

"I'd a mind to use something like this in the field," said Tom. "A bigger version, like to haul behind a heavy pair, come harvest."

"But this one's light," Sam hurried on, keen to sell Frodo on its virtues. "It won't get bogged down after a rain. And it's small enough that it can get into all the corners next the smial, and those tight bits round the shrubbery."

Frodo smiled wearily. "Sam, I understand that the garden is your province, and that you have your own ideas about how it should be cared for—"

"Oh, but it's not just me, Mr. Frodo!" Sam interrupted, and then reddened. "Begging your pardon, sir. But the neighborhood thinks this is a fine idea as well. So tidy, and so quiet! Why, you'd never even know the lawn was being mowed at all."

"I understand, Sam. But still," Frodo strode towards his 13-horsepower rear-engine model Riding Lawn Mower, and climbed into the seat. He clicked it on. The staccato roar of the engine shattered the silence of the Shire morning, frightening several birds from the trees. Sam winced.

Frodo, grinning, spun the wheel to aim for the large back field. "Sometimes," he yelled, over the engine's racket, "I just like the feeling of power." With an evil grin, he and his pet trundled away.

Sam watched him go, resigned. When the mower was sufficiently far down the hill that the noise had faded, he said to his friend, "I'll tell you true, Tom. The master worries me at times, and no mistake."