Introducing “The Hearth & Holler Gazette”

A Small-Town Paper from Little Red Bear’s Honey Hill Country

Before we get too far along, there is one small thing I would like to settle right from the start.

These days, the moment someone hears the words “weekly” and “email,” a little voice pipes up:

Oh no… not JAN.

Just Another Newsletter.

You know the kind.
Crowded inbox. Loud subject lines. Endless self-promotion.
More noise than nourishment.

And if that is what The Hearth & Holler Gazette were going to be — I would not blame you one bit for steering clear.

But here is the thing —
This is not JAN. Not even close.

The Gazette is not a newsletter.
There will be no book pitches.
No launch announcements.
No character reveals dropped like bait.
No “Pre-order Now!” or “Don’t forget to buy!” reminders elbowing their way into your morning.

Instead, think of it this way —

The Hearth & Holler Gazette is a fictional small-town paper, delivered once a week on Saturday mornings, the way such things used to be — its pages set in the early years of the twentieth century, beginning in January of 1904.

A place for:

Short Stories and Sketches
Bits of Humour
Kind News
Happenings and Events from Little Red Bear’s Honey Hill Country
Old-fashioned Advertisements that Exist Only for the Smile
And the sort of Gentle Company you might enjoy with a cup of coffee while the house is still quiet

It exists for one reason only —

To offer a pause.
A smile.
A little warmth.

That is the why.
Everything else grows from that.

One might think of The Hearth & Holler Gazette as something closer to Garrison Keillor’s Prairie Home Companion —
without the live music, and without needing to go buy a radio.

A familiar voice.
A small town and folks you come to know.
Stories and observations that take their time, and trust you to do the same.

Or perhaps it brings to mind Charles Osgood’s quiet pieces — the kind that never shouted for attention, yet somehow always earned it.

If you ever found comfort in evenings spent with The Andy Griffith Show, The Waltons, or Little House on the Prairie, then you already understand the spirit at work here.

Not because those stories ignored the wider world —
but because, for a little while, they set a different table.

That is the neighbourhood the Gazette hopes to live in.

For instance — here is the sort of small notice our Lifestyle Reporter, Felicity Merriweather, might tuck into a column after a visit to the Crab Orchard Christmas Festival:

From the notebook of Felicity Merriweather, Lifestyle Reporter

The Crab Orchard Christmas Festival was already well underway by the time I arrived, the air brisk enough to turn breath visible and conversation companionable. Steam rose from tin cups of cider. The rows of wooden booths — each one slightly uneven, as all the best ones are — were doing a lively trade in hand-knit mittens, ribbon-tied baked goods, and small treasures whose usefulness would undoubtedly reveal itself later.

A gentleman in a wool cap paused to hold a door for three people instead of one. A child dropped a mitten, which was promptly scooped up and returned before the child had time to notice, already having found something better to look at. Somewhere nearby, a fiddle tried out a tune, thought better of it, and tried again.

It was that kind of morning — the sort that does not ask to be hurried, and rarely is. I lingered longer than I meant to, and left before I was quite ready.

Over the next few weeks, I will share a few small tastes — nothing more — so you can see for yourself what sort of paper this intends to be.

No pressure.
No inbox clutter.
Just a standing invitation.

After all, every good paper starts the same way —

With a knock at the door, and someone saying —
“Morning. Thought you might enjoy this.”

From our little corner of Honey Hill Country to yours, we hope The Hearth & Holler Gazette brings a bit of warmth to your day, a smile where one is needed, and the comfort of familiar company — the sort worth settin’ a spell with.

— Jim (and Red!)