Disclaimer: Tolkien's the genius, not me.
Stormy nights always reminded him of his voyage across Belegaer. Ossë was always fond of storms; his great hurricanes often wreaked havoc on the shores of Middle-earth, and he had been in a particularly playful mood when Gandalf, still unused to his mortal frame, had been floating alone atop the waves. It had been the first time he had experienced illness of any sort, and a part of him was still annoyed with Ossë for it.
But there was no stormy rocking in Bag End. Only comfortable chairs, the smell of cooking mushrooms and pipe weed, and laughter among friends.