In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole. It was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.

Bright round doors in summery hues dot the lush, grassy hillsides of Hobbiton like wildflowers. Behind each doorway, comfortably appointed burrows wind into earth: each one home to a hobbit, or a family of the Shire's rosy-cheeked little-folk.

Every hobbit-hole is unique, expressing the personality of its inhabitants with colour, prettily adorned gardens, furniture, and the rustic debris of everyday life.

In hues of soft butter, this dwelling stands apart from its neighbours on the southern edge of Hobbiton, its peaceful air disturbed only by the rare passing cries of a Baggins setting forth on some grand adventure.