As the year begins to slow down and we edge closer to Christmas, I have found myself thinking less about what was accomplished and more about what quietly mattered — the small moments, the kindnesses that did not make headlines but made days a little better.

A few evenings ago, Little Red Bear asked if he might stop by the Writing Pages for a few minutes to share some of the things that stayed with him this year. Not the grand events, but the everyday goodness he noticed along the way. I was glad to say yes — and this is his note.

A Letter from Little Red Bear

Dear Friends,

As the year draws to a quieter close and these short winter days settle in around us, I have been spending a little more time on my porch in the evenings — hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea, thinking back on things that have stayed with me.

Not events so much as moments — the small, everyday kindnesses that pass almost unnoticed, yet somehow shine the brightest.

This year, I found myself reminded again and again that goodness is rarely loud. Most often, it shows up quietly, doing its work before anyone thinks to ask. It feels like a fine time for looking back — not at accomplishments or tallies, but at the things that made a difference in quiet ways.

I thought I might share a few of them with you.

One afternoon, Cinnamon Charlie trotted past me carrying a small tin of fishing lures. He had found a youngster down by the creek who had snagged and lost his only hook for the day. Charlie sat with him for a while, shared what he had, and made a new friend in the process. I am not sure which made him happier — the sharing, or seeing that boy’s face light up. Either way, it reminded me that the smallest things often carry the biggest weight.

Over around Butterfield, goodness seems to pass from hand to hand like that.

Take Myra Cookson. Folks think of her as the one who keeps the town fed with comfort, but what most do not see is what happens at closing time. Every evening, after the Pie Pantry & Goodies Shoppe closes, she sets aside whatever pies, muffins, or biscuits did not sell that day and sends them over to the volunteer firehouse.

She always says the same thing — “Just in case the folks come in hungry after a long night.”

Some nights they do; some nights they do not. But the gesture is there all the same, faithful as the sunrise. I have watched tired firefighters step through that door with soot on their coats and gratitude in their eyes. Myra says baked goods do not put out flames, but they sure help settle minds after facing them.

And then there was the barn fire out Round Corners way.

Not long ago, after a lightning strike set an old barn ablaze on the edge of town, the volunteer firefighters and others from the community — along with yours truly — spent the better part of a night battling the flames to keep the fire from reaching the farmhouse.

When we finally returned, soot-streaked and worn through, the townspeople were waiting for us with hot stew, biscuits, assorted desserts, and more than a few warm blankets. No one had organized it. Folks just came. As simple as that.

Watching everyone pitch in like that, well — it does a bear’s heart good.

I have seen smaller things too, moments that stayed with me just as strongly. A youngster at the schoolhouse sharing his lunch with a classmate who forgot his. People holding doors, checking in on neighbors, offering rides, lending tools, or listening when listening was the only thing needed.

What I have learned this year, more than anything, is that kindness is seldom loud. It is steady. It is shared. It shows up early and stays late. And it is almost always found in the simple places — a hand offered, a chore done quietly, a meal carried across town, a child sharing a bit of lunch or good fortune, a comforting hand on the shoulder.

I have come to believe that these moments — quiet, steady, almost ordinary — are the true riches of a community. You cannot measure them, and you rarely read about them, but they are what hold everything together when life leans a little heavy.

So, if you will permit me one small reflection at year’s end, it is this:

Goodness is never far away. Kindness grows wherever someone makes room for it.
A little space in our day.
A little patience in our words.
A little generosity in our choices.

Most of the time, it is waiting for us in the simple act of noticing someone else’s need and choosing to make their day a little easier, a little warmer, or a burden a little lighter.

Thank you for being part of this little corner of the world. May the coming year meet you gently, and may kindness find you often — and also flow from you, wherever you go.

With warm wishes,
Little Red Bear
Honey Hill Cabin

I hope Little Red Bear’s reflections offered a bit of warmth as we head toward Christmas and the close of another year. Thank you, as always, for settin’ a spell with us here and for being part of this little corner of Honey Hill.

From my porch to yours, may the days ahead be gentle and the year to come bring steady friends, quiet joys, and more kindness than you expected.

Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays from all of us here in Honey Hill Country.

— Jim (and Red!)

P.S. — The Hearth & Holler Gazette will be making its first appearance in January, sharing more small stories, quiet moments, and good things from Honey Hill Country.

Pen-and-ink illustrations created with the assistance of AI and lovingly styled for Little Red Bear Land.