Things I Never Thought I’d Need To Know

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One of the things I have discovered while putting together the new Hearth & Holler monthly magazine is that creating a magazine set in 1904 often requires learning things I never expected to know. Or having the need to know. Welcome to magazine week.

Most people probably assume magazine week involves writing articles, selecting images, correcting spelling mistakes, and occasionally convincing fictional contributors to stay within the boundaries of proper grammar and word limits.

And they would be right.

Mostly.

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An Unexpected Visitor

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A few weeks ago, after saying goodbye to my little Chihuahua, Allie, I was sitting quietly at home when an unexpected visitor stopped by my window.

Now, before I tell you about the visitor, I should probably explain something.

Birds and I are already on fairly familiar terms.

A pair of House Sparrows built a nest this spring in a ventilation outlet just outside my apartment on the third floor. For weeks, they came and went carrying bits of grass, feathers, and whatever else sparrows use when decorating a nursery. Not long ago, the young ones finally fledged. For several days afterward, the babies could often be seen perched nearby and on my windowsill itself, fluttering their wings and loudly demanding food as though they had never been fed a meal in their lives.

As a result, birds visit my windowsill rather regularly.

Sparrows stop by.

Finches stop by.

Occasionally a woodpecker appears, drilling in the bricks and mortar for insects, spiders, and insect pupae hiding in the crevices. they inspect it all with great seriousness.

Birds come and go so often that seeing one outside my window or on my window ledge is hardly unusual.

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The June 1904 Issue of Hearth & Holler Has Arrived

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Today marks the beginning of something new.

After much thought, planning, writing, illustrating, and more than a few cups of tea, Hearth & Holler has taken on a new format as a Monthly Magazine — a collection of stories, people, places, gardens, recipes, traditions, and adventures from across Honey Hill Country.

For readers visiting Honey Hill Country for the first time, the stories and features in Hearth & Holler are set in the fictional world of Honey Hill Country in the year 1904, the home and time period of my primary story character Little Red Bear. Through the eyes of its residents, contributors, and occasional bears and animals, we explore a simpler time filled with gardens, front porches, festivals, railroads, riverboats, animals and humans living side-by-side, and everyday life.

Inside this month’s issue you’ll meet one of Honey Hill Country’s most beloved shopkeepers, climb to Inspiration Point with Willow Meadows, visit a Jeffersonian garden in bloom, enjoy strawberry season at the Packet House Hotel, and travel with Felicity Merriweather to the St. Louis World’s Fair.

You’ll also find hummingbirds, festivals, good-natured nonsense, front porch reflections, and a few surprises along the way.

Rather than presenting everything in a single post, each feature now has its own page, allowing readers to explore the magazine much as they might wander from article to article in a traditional publication.

I invite you to pour yourself a cup of something good, settle in, and spend a little while with us in Honey Hill Country.

👉 Click here to visit the June 1904 issue of Hearth & Holler.

Thank you for visiting and spending part of your day with us!

— Jim  (and Red!)

The illustrations accompanying this issue were created with the assistance of AI and lovingly prepared in a watercolor style for the world of Little Red Bear and Honey Hill Country.

Life Without Supervision

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The Continuing Adventures of a Very Small Warden

A few weeks ago, I said goodbye to my little Chihuahua, Allie.

At fourteen years old, she had been my writing companion, supervisor, schedule keeper, occasional employer, and friend for a very long time.

Like many good dogs, she occupied far more space in a life than her small size would ever suggest.

As with many small dogs, Allie seemed to have 120 pounds of heart, adventure, and spirit all crammed into a little 12 pound body. It is always amazing how a creature so small can leave such a large space behind and oversized hole in your heart.

It has taken me a few days to come back to this.

Not out of reluctance . . . . but out of respect, I think.

Some things do not ask to be written right away.
They ask to be sat with first — quietly — until the edges soften just enough to be held without breaking.

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A Conversation on the Morning Air

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There are some Spring mornings that feel as though they’ve been set out just for noticing.

Last week offered one of those.

The air had that early-season softness — not quite warm, not quite cool — in between — the kind that carries sound a little farther than usual and lets the world arrive in layers. Across the street stood a White Dogwood in full bloom, its branches lifted and spread like open hands, each one holding those unmistakable cross-shaped blossoms that seem less like flowers and more like small, quiet declarations.

And there, settled comfortably among them, was a Cardinal, its crimson feathers glowing in the sunlight.

Not just present — but singing.

Filling the morning air with his full-throated melodies. Steady, and sure of himself, as Cardinals tend to be. The kind of song that doesn’t ask for attention so much as assuming it will be given.

On my side of the street, just ahead, stood a Red Maple — not yet committed to Spring, its branches still mostly bare, holding back just a little longer before leafing out. And from somewhere within those branches — though I could not see him at all — came the bright, quick voice of a Carolina Wren.

It is one of those things, where if you know that sound, you know it — sharp, cheerful, almost insistent, as if every note matters. Such a loud song coming from such a tiny bird.

And then something curious happened.

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