A Weekly Visit of Tales, Tidings, and Old-Time Country Comfort

Welcome!

It is shaping up to be a lively week in Honey Hill Country, as March Madness Days begin in earnest and the Square fills once more with banners, brass, and bright expectation.

As always, The Hearth & Holler Gazette is a work of fiction set in a place that exists most clearly in the imagination — though from time to time it may resemble somewhere you have known. But for first time visitors, it may help to know where — and when — we are, and what I am talking about

The Hearth & Holler Gazette hails from Honey Hill Country, a small, rural corner of the Missouri Ozarks, as it might have been known in the year 1904 — a time of front porches and wagon roads, oil lamps and handwritten letters, when news traveled at a human pace,  where animals and humans interact and live side-by-side, and a Saturday paper was meant to be read slowly, with coffee close at hand. This is not a paper of breaking news or loud headlines. It prefers instead to notice it — the small, human-sized moments that once filled a morning without asking much in return.

The Hearth & Holler Gazette is a work of fiction — a made-up paper from a made-up place, written in the spirit of an earlier time. Any resemblance to real towns, people, or events is entirely coincidental, though we do our best to make it feel otherwise.

This must be understood at the beginning — the towns, fields, and citizens described here exist only within these pages. With that firmly agreed, the small and ordinary wonders of the week may unfold as they will. That is the way of things here. That is all we need to know, and that ought to be enough.

With that understood, come along — the Square is lively, the rabbits are ready, and there is a place waiting along the rail.

And would you prefer Coffee or Tea with your newspaper?

 

 

 

 

 

THE HEARTH & HOLLER GAZETTE

Sharing Stories and Smiles from Little Red Bear’s World
— A Weekly Visit of Tales, Tidings, and Old-Time Country Comfort —
Serving Honey Hill, Hopper’s Holler, and Beyond | Est. 1904

Saturday Morning Edition

February 28, 1904
Honey Hill Country • Cricket Hollow County

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Vol. I — No. 6
Price: Five Cents (If You Have It) • Free to Read (If You Do Not)

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Published Weekly on Saturday Mornings
From the Front Porches, Back Rooms, Kitchens, Workshops, Hillsides, and Quiet Corners of Honey Hill Country

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UPRIGHT AND TRUE — MARCH MADNESS DAYS OPEN

Local News from Around the Holler

Filed by Percival “Percy” Puddlesniff, News-Hound
With Field Notes from Rusty the Fairydiddle, Roving Reporter

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MARCH MADNESS DAYS OFFICIALLY DECLARED IN BUTTERFIELD

For five full minutes, everything proceeded exactly as planned.

Banners lifted in the breeze without tangling. The brass quartet maintained tempo without wavering. The Square held steady in expectant quiet as Bartholomew “Barty” Burrows, Presiding Rabbit in Chief for Seasonal Affairs, Celebrations, and Shenanigans, stepped forward onto the balcony overlooking Butterfield.

Below him, a ceremonial teacup — polished and positioned with care — waited at the center of the Square.

With two assistants managing the considerable length of the scroll, Barty unfurled the Opening Proclamation and read with measured authority:

“I, Bartholomew ‘Barty’ Burrows, by the authority vested in me as Presiding Rabbit in Chief for Seasonal Affairs, Celebrations, and Shenanigans, do hereby proclaim and establish this month as March Madness Days.

Let it be known across the hedgerows and throughout the orderly districts of Rabbitdom that the banners are raised, the hats secured, the eggs prepared, and the steam of the season set properly to rise.

By this declaration, I do hereby signal that the March Madness March shall commence, that the Rabbit Games are officially open, and that upright enthusiasm is not only permitted but strongly encouraged.

So ordered. So declared. So hopped.”

The response from the gathered crowd was immediate and wholehearted. Pennants waved. Young rabbits bounced in carefully restrained excitement. Human spectators leaned forward for a better view. Applause rippled across the Square in a sound that felt less like noise and more like agreement.

Following the proclamation came the Lighting of the Steam — a tradition rooted in the earliest March gatherings, when tea was first served in the Square to mark winter’s passing and welcome the promise of Spring. The rising steam has since come to symbolize both warmth returning to the fields and the orderly enthusiasm of the season.

At the appointed signal, heat was applied beneath the ceremonial cup. A dignified curl of steam rose skyward, steady and unmistakable.

For five perfect minutes, Butterfield stood aligned — banners true, whistles ready, hats properly secured.

Then, with the Steam properly lit and Oaths duly sworn by Miss Clover Thimblefoot and Master Oliver Bramblewick — each followed by the calm declaration, “Upright and True” — attention turned from ceremony to procession.

The March Madness March stepped forward.

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THE MARCH MADNESS MARCH STEPS FORTH

Once the Steam rose and the Oaths were declared, Butterfield Square shifted from ceremony to celebration.

The March Madness March advanced beneath snapping pennants and carrot-shaped bunting strung from storefront to storefront. Brass horns sounded bright and steady. Drums rolled with civic enthusiasm. For a full stretch of Butterfield’s main thoroughfare, banners waved from windows and balconies alike.

At the head of the procession walked the Co–Grand Marshals of the inaugural March Madness March:

Horace Thistletuft and Millicent “Millie” Meadowbun.

Horace stood impeccably upright, sash secured with precision, executing a wave of such measured consistency that one might have set a metronome to it. Millie, gracious and warm, offered a smile that managed both dignity and delight without ever abandoning composure. Together they led with ceremonial calm — a study in coordinated poise.

Behind them followed the March Madness Band, resplendent in pressed jackets and polished brass, performing a lively arrangement of “The Meadowland Stride.” Spectators tapped shoes and paws in rhythm as the parade moved steadily forward.

Carrot growers from Cedar Ridge rolled past atop a wagon draped in orange bunting, distributing polished baby carrots to eager youngsters along the route. Children waved them overhead like miniature batons before promptly eating them.

Not to be outdone, members of the Rabbit Games Committee tossed commemorative “March Madness Days 1904” pin-back buttons into the crowd — small circular badges bearing crossed carrots and the rising curl of Steam at center. Human spectators pinned them proudly to lapels. Young rabbits compared designs and declared allegiance with surprising seriousness.

A float representing the forthcoming Hat & Tea Precision Event drew particular admiration. Participants demonstrated refined teacup balancing while navigating gentle turns, drawing applause for steadiness under pressure.

The atmosphere was neither unruly nor restrained — but something in between. Jubilant. Orderly. Purposeful.

For a moment, Butterfield did not merely host March Madness Days.

It embodied them.

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YOUNG VOICES STEADY THE SQUARE

Oaths Delivered at Opening Ceremony

In a moment both solemn and unexpectedly tender, two young competitors stepped forward from the gathered assembly to represent all participants of March Madness Days.

Miss Clover Thimblefoot, chosen to deliver the Official Oath of Upright Hopping, approached the balcony rail with composed determination. Though her whiskers trembled ever so slightly at first, she steadied herself — ears held admirably high — and spoke clearly into the bright morning air.

For a brief and remarkable instant, even the banners seemed to pause in their fluttering as Butterfield leaned in to listen.

Her voice grew stronger with each line:

“I pledge to hop upright,
To steady my whiskers and hold my ears high,
To wear my hat with courage,
To color my egg with care,
To sip my tea without unnecessary sloshing,
And to conduct all shenanigans with dignity and good cheer,
Throughout the days of March.”

At the final phrase, a soft murmur of approval moved through the Square before the assembled rabbits responded together, calmly and in unison:

“Upright and True.”

Master Oliver Bramblewick followed with the Competitors’ Oath of Rabbitdom. His opening words were delivered with admirable gravity, though witnesses report a brief pause — possibly at the word “govern” — before he resumed with renewed resolve.

He raised his paw solemnly and declared:

“In the name of all competitors gathered,
I promise that we shall take part in these March Madness Games,
Respecting and abiding by the rules that govern them,
Committing ourselves to uprightness without wibble or wobble,
In the true spirit of rabbitship,
For the glory of bunnies, rabbits, and hares everywhere,
And for the honor of our teams and all rabbitdom.”

Once more, the Square answered:

“Upright and True.”

Observers noted that both young representatives conducted themselves with admirable composure. If there were tremors, they were the kind that come from taking something seriously — and that seriousness was met with encouraging smiles from every corner of Butterfield.

For many in attendance, the sight of youth stepping bravely into tradition proved as moving as any banner or brass fanfare.

The Games, it seems, are in steady paws.

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SCHOOLHOUSE ROOF INSPECTION CONTINUES

Further examination of the Butterfield Schoolhouse roof has revealed that additional structural supports may require closer review before repairs proceed.

While the original estimate of $198.40 addressed roofing materials alone, recent inspection suggests that several interior beams will need reinforcement prior to installation. Officials emphasize that no immediate danger exists, and classes continue without interruption.

Materials remain on order.

A more detailed report is expected in the coming weeks.

EDITOR’S DESK

— Clara Thimblewick, Editor

March has arrived with ceremony befitting its reputation.

The Square in Butterfield this week bore witness to a display both spirited and orderly — a combination not easily achieved, yet accomplished with admirable precision. That such a gathering may include youth upon a balcony, brass upon the march, and banners upon every corner without descending into disorder speaks well of the character of this community.

The Lighting of the Steam, observed with suitable solemnity, reminded many in attendance that celebration need not abandon its roots. Traditions, when tended properly, do not confine a town; they steady it.

Particularly notable was the composure of the young oath-bearers. It requires no small courage to speak before a multitude. That they did so with resolve should reassure us that the future of March Madness Days rests in capable paws.

In the weeks ahead, there will be contests, judgments, and no doubt a degree of rivalry in matters both athletic and culinary. It is to be hoped that enthusiasm remains upright, and that good cheer continues to accompany it.

Elsewhere in town, quieter matters continue their course. The inspection of the schoolhouse roof proceeds with due care, and further information will be reported as it becomes available.

For the present, however, the banners are raised and the Square is lively. One may permit a town its season.

— C.T.

Letters to the Editor

Our readers are invited to share their thoughts, observations, and neighbourly remarks. Letters may be shortened for space, but never for spirit.

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To the Editor,

A Fine Display

Edgar Wilkes, Round Corners

Miss Thimblewick,

The Co–Grand Marshals conducted themselves admirably. I have attended many public gatherings and cannot recall a wave executed with such measured consistency as that of Mr. Thistletuft.

Yours in appreciation,
Edgar Wilkes

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To the Editor,

A Matter of Trajectory

Mr. Lionel P. Crandall, Butterfield

Miss Thimblewick,

While I wish to express my general approval of the March Madness March and its spirited presentation, I feel compelled to raise a modest concern regarding the distribution of baby carrots along the parade route.

It appears that certain enthusiastic tosses exceeded what might be termed a reasonable arc. I observed at least one carrot achieving notable altitude before descending in close proximity to a hat brim.

No injury occurred, and the carrot in question was ultimately consumed. Nevertheless, I respectfully suggest that future distributions might benefit from a slightly moderated trajectory.

With continued regard for public safety and root vegetables alike,

Lionel P. Crandall

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To the Editor,

In Defense of Clover Root

Mrs. Adelaide Weatherby, Butterfield

To the Editor,

While I have no intention of diminishing the enthusiasm surrounding Hedgehop Fizz, I must state plainly that Clover Root possesses a steadiness not to be dismissed. It is balanced, dignified, and does not startle the palate.

There is much to be said for composure in both beverage and citizen.

Sincerely,
Mrs. A. Weatherby

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To the Editor,

A Small Contribution

Dear Miss Thimblewick,

I raked Mr. Barlow’s yard on Tuesday and earned four cents. I am putting it toward the school roof. I will try to find more leaves if there are any left.

I like the March parade very much. I saw the steam go up. I think the roof should not leak when it rains on steam days.

Respectfully,
Thomas Hale
Age 9

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The Gazette prints letters of interest to the community and does not inquire overly into the private identities of correspondents.– The Editor

EDITORIAL CARTOONS — by C. “Clary” Moss

Mr. Moss reminds us about the follies of over-management, civic optimism, the instinct to regulate the inevitable, the belief that we are responsible for natural things rising properly.

Each week, Mr. Moss offers a pen-and-ink observation of life in Honey Hill Country. This week’s illustration accompanies the ongoing discussion regarding the Butterfield Schoolhouse roof.

Mr. Moss brings a practiced eye for the small ironies of civic life and a steady hand in their illustration. His drawings will appear regularly, offering visual commentary on matters of local interest — with due regard for both humor and fairness.

We trust our readers will receive his work in the spirit in which it is offered.

Crops & Markets Report

By Virgil Stone

Trade remained steady this week across the Three C’s, though several merchants report modest upward pressure on select building materials.

Tin roofing sheets have increased two cents per panel since the first of the month, with distributors attributing the adjustment to heightened demand from larger municipal orders eastward. Freight agents note that rail capacity continues to favor shipments connected to preparations for the upcoming Exposition in St. Louis.

Local carpenters indicate that sound lumber remains available, though higher-grade beams suitable for structural reinforcement are seeing firmer pricing than in January. Most agree that purchasing sooner rather than later may prove prudent.

In routine matters, feed corn holds steady. Oats softened slightly after last week’s deliveries from Cedar Ridge County. Eggs remain in respectable supply, though competition for prize hens ahead of March festivities has increased inquiries.

Carrot growers, for reasons that require no explanation, report brisk sales.

Several grocers observed increased interest in specialty ingredients, including clover extract and root flavorings, the cause of which can be readily deduced by anyone who has recently walked past a refreshment stand.

Merchants overall describe conditions as “orderly.”

Spring planting preparations continue as weather permits.

— Virgil Stone

Hillside Chronicles

By Silas Thorne

There is a certain morning sound that does not arrive all at once, but piece by piece.

First comes a single cardinal, clear and confident, as though he has decided it is time whether the calendar agrees or not. Then another answers from across the hollow. Bluebirds take up quiet positions along fence rails, as if inspecting the light. Song sparrows stitch quick phrases into the air.

And somewhere in the background — always — the mourning doves begin their low, patient cooing. Not urgent. Not excited. Just steady.

Along the lake edge this week, red-winged blackbirds have returned to the cattails. Their call carries differently — sharper, more declarative — as if announcing that winter’s lease has expired whether it knows it yet or not.

The ground is not fully committed. Frost still lingers in shaded places. But there are moments — particularly just after sunrise — when a thin breath of steam lifts from the warmer water and drifts across the surface in quiet ribbons. It does not last long. It does not need to.

A fox squirrel was seen digging where he buried his autumn certainty. A groundhog crossed a field still pale with cold. Neither appeared concerned with proclamations or parades.

Spring does not begin with fanfare in the hills.

It begins with listening.

And if one stands still long enough — before the wagons roll and the banners rise — the land will tell you that something has shifted.

Not loudly.

But enough.

— Silas

Farm & Home — Notes From the Farm & Field

By Myrtle Mae Meadowbloom

While whistles and lane markers tend to draw the loudest attention at the outset of March Madness Days, it would be a mistake to overlook the steady preparations taking place under canvas and cookstove alike.

The March Food Fair, scheduled for formal judging on the third weekend of the month, is already well underway in spirit if not yet in ribbon. Tables are being measured. Ovens tested. Recipes reconsidered and quietly adjusted.

Carrot Pie will, as always, anchor the Traditional Division. Early murmurs suggest a strong showing this year from Cedar Ridge bakers, particularly in the double-crust category. The Bread Division promises variety, with at least one entrant rumored to be experimenting with clover-honey glaze.

In the Hearty Table category, Carrot & Parsnip Stew and several ambitious casseroles are expected to compete closely, though final entries have not yet been posted.

However, conversation across Butterfield this week has centered most noticeably around the Beverage Division, and more specifically the newly established prize for Top Fizzzy Drink.

Two sparkling contenders have emerged early — Clover Root Fizz and Hedgehop Fizz — each claiming loyal supporters and confident vendors.

Clover Root Fizz carries a gentler meadow sweetness, with several tasters praising its “lingering character” and steady finish. One competitor described it as “the sort of drink that settles a rabbit before the starting line.”

Hedgehop Fizz, by contrast, is brisk, clean, and lively, with a bright finish said to “stand upright in the glass.” A young entrant was heard declaring, “Hedgehop clears the throat for victory.”

It should be noted that both beverages are entirely non-alcoholic, properly refreshing, and fully suitable for all divisions of rabbitdom.

Judging remains several weeks away. In the meantime, tasting continues — strictly for comparison purposes, of course.

A Closing Thought

Competitions are lively things, and ribbons may shine brightly for a season. But a well-baked pie, a steady hand at the stove, or a drink prepared with care can warm a gathering long after the cheering has settled.

In March, as in the kitchen, balance matters.

— Myrtle Mae

Fleet on the Field

By Fleetwood “Fleet” Hopperson

The frost had not yet lifted when the first hurdle fell behind a clean pair of heels.

That is how this week began.

I spent the early hours along the High Fence course, and no one is easing into March. Clearances are tight. Landings steadier by the day. One young buck skimmed the rail by half an ear and stuck it. That counts. Put the biscuit in the basket and line up again.

The Open Pasture Dash may well be the early spectacle. Cedar Ridge brings speed. Butterfield brings discipline. Copper Creek brings something quieter — and quiet competitors tend to surprise.

Long Jump practice drew a small cluster of onlookers before breakfast. One doe reached full extension — whiskers forward, ears locked — and landed clean. No theatrics. Just a nod and back to the line. Boom. That is how confidence grows.

The High Jump bar has not moved. Nor should it.

Now, a brief word on the matter of Fizz.

Clover Root steadies. Hedgehop sparks. I remain professionally neutral, though I have observed certain athletes choosing their glass with strategic seriousness.

I overheard one competitor say, “If I wobble, I wobble forward.” That is not wobbling. That is intent.

Records? Too soon to call.
Upsets? Entirely possible.

When the whistle blows this weekend and someone breaks clean — he… could… go… all… the… way.

And when it happens, you will not need me to shout it.

You will feel it.

I will be there.

— Fleet

Where Folks Gather in Good Company

By Felicity Grace Merriweather

The banners were not the only things fluttering this week.

Between brass notes and bunting, I found eager faces everywhere I turned.

“I have never hopped this seriously in my life,” declared young Edmund Tiller, age eleven, adjusting his sash with visible concentration. He is entered in both the Open Pasture Dash and the Long Jump, and reports feeling “entirely prepared, except perhaps for the wind.”

Miss Harriet Willowby, sporting a hat of admirable steadiness, confided that she had practiced her Parade Wave in front of a mirror. “You must not overdo it,” she explained gravely. “A wave must breathe.”

Along the edge of the green, a pair of brothers from Cedar Ridge debated strategy in hushed tones. “Form first,” insisted the elder. “Speed first,” argued the younger. They agreed only that their grandmother would be watching.

Near the refreshment stands, two competitors were engaged in earnest debate over Clover Root Fizz versus Hedgehop Fizz. “One steadies,” said one. “One sparks,” countered the other. Neither was prepared to concede. A third onlooker suggested mixing the two, which was received as a bold but controversial proposal.

A father from Round Corners lifted his small daughter to better see the balcony and told her, “Remember this. It does not happen every day.” She nodded solemnly and asked if the steam would come back tomorrow.

It will.

Not far from the judges’ table, I encountered a young doe studying the hurdle course with narrowed eyes. “It looks taller up close,” she admitted, before adding, “That is how it should look.” She then squared her shoulders and joined the line.

If this first day is any indication, March has arrived not only on the calendar, but in the hearts of those determined to hop upright, wave properly, and sip carefully.

There is excitement here, certainly — but also something steadier. A sense that everyone understands their small part in the larger spectacle.

And from what I observed, they are more than ready.

— F.G.M.

From Around Our Way

By Lillian Harper

If one wished to understand March Madness Days, one might do well to step away from the balcony and walk instead along the edges of the Square.

There, between bunting and brass notes, the true measure of the morning could be found.

A young rabbit mother from the western hedgerow adjusted the sash of her son with deliberate care, smoothing it twice before allowing him to hop forward toward the competitors’ assembly. “He has practiced standing upright all week,” she confided, not without pride.

Near the fountain, a gentleman from Butterfield, hat tipped back and spectacles lowered, declared he had “never in all my years seen so many respectable hats behaving so boldly at once.” He remained in place for nearly an hour, smiling in spite of himself.

Two human children, perched upon their father’s shoulders, waved carrot pennants with unwavering commitment. When asked what they most anticipated, the elder replied, “The part where they march very seriously,” while the younger admitted to hoping for sweets.

Merchants along the Square expressed quiet satisfaction at the turnout. Mrs. Ellery of the dry goods shop reported brisk sales of ribbon in orange and green. A refreshment vendor remarked that “certain fizzy matters” were already inspiring strong opinions.

Perhaps most telling was the demeanor of the competitors themselves. One young doe, ears held with visible determination, confessed that she felt “entirely brave, except for a small flutter.” Another young buck stated simply that he had polished his shoes twice.

Throughout it all, there was a prevailing sense that the town — human and rabbit alike — understood something special had begun.

Not chaos.

Not folly.

But a shared agreement to celebrate the season with both enthusiasm and care.

And if, from time to time, a banner tugged loose or a pennant fluttered out of line, it was swiftly set right by willing hands.

That, more than anything, may be the true mark of our way.

— L.H.

The High Brush Chronicles

Hickory Secures a Spot. Or Not.

Hickory Pinenut of High Brush Farm

Hickory Pinenut arrived in Butterfield with what he later described as “ample foresight.”

He came early. Very early. Early enough that Butterfield Square still carried the quiet of preparation and the faint smell of bunting being untangled. With thirteen children arranged in descending order of height and a wagon containing blankets, sandwiches, and two thermoses (carefully labeled to prevent what he called “cross-fizz complications”), he selected what appeared to be a prime viewing location along the parade route.

Blankets were unfurled. Stakes were pressed firmly. Children were assigned approximate sitting coordinates.

Hickory stood back, hands on hips, satisfied.

It was at this moment that a rabbit in a sash marked PARADE MONITOR approached with dignified composure.

“Good morning,” the monitor said pleasantly. “Might I inquire whether you are aware that this is the designated clearance lane for the Long Meadow Dash?”

Hickory was not.

Relocation proceeded in orderly fashion.

Blankets were gathered. Children reassembled (though not in original height order). The wagon was turned with some effort.

A second location was selected — this one slightly nearer the ceremonial teacup and, in Hickory’s estimation, superior in shade.

Again, blankets. Again, thermoses. Again, approximate coordinates.

Again, satisfaction.

A second parade monitor approached, this one bearing a small clipboard.

“Terribly sorry,” she said, consulting her page. “This area is reserved for the Hat & Tea Precision Event observation zone. It requires a high degree of stillness.”

Hickory looked meaningfully at Child Number Seven, who was practicing a hopping maneuver of enthusiasm.

Relocation proceeded once more.

The third position was secured near the edge of the Square, adjacent to what Hickory believed to be a most reasonable stretch of open ground. The children were seated with renewed firmness. The thermoses were placed centrally. Allegiances between Clover Root Fizz and Hedgehop Fizz were re-negotiated with only moderate debate.

Hickory stood back, hands once more on hips.

It was at this moment that a third parade monitor, wearing an expression of patient duty, approached.

“Sir,” he began gently, “this space is designated as the turning radius for the Co–Grand Marshals’ carriage.”

Hickory considered this information.

He surveyed the blankets. The wagon. The thirteen children, now invested in a discussion regarding beverage superiority. The approaching crowd. The steady curl of Steam.

He nodded.

“Of course it is,” he said.

Relocation did not proceed.

Instead, Hickory folded one corner of the blanket inward, repositioned the thermoses atop the wagon seat, and declared that a standing view, when properly arranged in ascending order, offered remarkable perspective.

The parade passed beautifully.

Hickory reports that from his final vantage point, he observed at least one sash, two pennants, and a most dignified wave.

All thirteen children report seeing everything.

The family from High Brush Farm returned home tired, orderly, and only slightly rearranged.

Community Notices & Small Tidings

Items of interest from Honey Hill Country and nearby hollers. Notices are printed as received and offered in good faith.

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The Games Committee has released the following schedule for the upcoming weekend of competition:

The Annual Grand Hop-Off
To be held on the main green, immediately following morning assembly. Participants will be judged on form, elevation, and sustained upright composure.

High Fence Hurdles
Preliminary heats begin at ten o’clock. Competitors are reminded that fences are regulation height and shall not be adjusted upon request.

Open Pasture Dash
A straight-course sprint across marked meadow lanes. Spectators are asked to remain clear of the running boundary.

Long Jump & High Jump Trials
To occur adjacent to the cedar stand. Landing areas have been inspected and declared suitably forgiving.

Best Decorated Burrow Competition
Judging committee to visit registered entries Saturday afternoon. Emphasis will be placed upon seasonal creativity, structural tidiness, and tasteful bunting.

The Carrot Carving Exhibition
Entries must be submitted by noon. Sculptural integrity and imaginative execution will be considered.

Additional Food Fair tastings will continue throughout the day, including ongoing comparisons within the Top Fizzzy Drink division.

Residents are encouraged to consult the posted bulletins near the Square for timing adjustments, should any be required.

Notice: All Events Are Weather Dependent and Subject to Adjustment Accordingly.

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A Small Reminder

If you have a notice to share — a gathering, a need, a thank-you, or a simple word worth passing along — you may leave it with the Editor by letter or in person. Space is limited, but goodwill is not.

Classifieds

Notices are printed as submitted. Replies may be made discreetly, or not at all.

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WEATHER FORECASTS — SHORT & LONG TERM
Mr. Edward R. Burrows, Groundhog & Seasonal Prognosticator

Having recently completed my annual shadow consultation, I am prepared to offer limited forecasts for parades, games, burrow judging, and related outdoor gatherings.

Predictions rendered promptly. Accuracy subject to atmospheric reconsideration.

Located near the west hedgerow, third burrow past the split rail fence.

Reasonable rates. Reasonable forecasts.

Payment in coin or carrot acceptable.

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CARROT HAND PIES FOR MARCHING APPETITES
Fresh-baked each morning. Flaky crust, sweet root filling, suitable for parade viewing and upright nibbling. Available at Mrs. Penbury’s Stall, north side of the Square. Early purchase advised.

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HOPPIN’ JOHNS (No Relation to Any John in Particular)
A hearty blend of field peas, rice, and carrot bits for those requiring steadier fare between events. Served warm. Inquire near the cider press wagon.

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CLOVER ROOT FIZZ — REFRESHMENTS SERVED PROPERLY CHILLED
Now available by the glass or by the respectable refill. Ask for the meadow blend. Do not jostle while pouring.

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HEDGEHOP FIZZ — BRISK & UPRIGHT
Clear the throat. Bright finish. Said to stand proudly in the glass. Available near the east bunting arch.

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VOLUNTEERS NEEDED — BURROW DECORATION JUDGING
Applicants must possess sound eyesight, firm moral compass, and willingness to crawl when necessary. Apply with the Committee Clerk before Friday noon.

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LOST
One carrot pennant, orange with green stitching. Last seen achieving unusual altitude during parade toss. Finder may retain carrot.

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FOR SALE
Gently used stepping crate, suitable for young speakers of ambition. Inquire at the rear of the mercantile.

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NOTICE
Extra seating planks available for family viewing areas. Kindly return borrowed planks to their rightful fences.

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A Small Reminder

Classified notices may be left with the Editor in person or by letter. Brevity is appreciated. Honesty assumed.

Country Chuckles

By Cousin Orville P. Dithers

The Hat That Declared Spring

Even for a human, Mr. Percival Dunnwick had outdone himself.

In observance of March Madness Days, he arrived upon the Square wearing what he described as “a modest tribute to seasonal renewal.”

The tribute included:

• Three miniature pennants.
• A polished brass thimble.
• A decorative carrot of assertive posture.
• And a carefully planted arrangement of living greenery.

The greenery was not cut.

It was rooted.

Mr. Dunnwick had, with horticultural optimism, embedded a shallow soil tray within the crown of the hat itself.

At first, it was tasteful.

A sprig or two.
A gentle suggestion of meadow.

Then the sun came out.

By the second brass selection, witnesses observed measurable upward ambition.

Tender shoots reached.
Leaves unfurled with confidence.
One vine appeared to be making decisions independently.

The decorative carrot, once symbolic, became partially obscured by foliage.

During the March, the arrangement achieved such density that Mrs. Weatherby briefly mistook it for a commemorative shrub.

The matter escalated when a sparrow landed.

The sparrow departed.

The sparrow returned — with a twig.

Shortly thereafter, a second sparrow arrived with architectural interest.

By mid-parade, active consultation appeared to be underway atop Mr. Dunnwick’s person.

Mr. Dunnwick remained dignified.

When gently informed that avian tenancy was forming, he replied, “Nature must be encouraged.”

The greenery, encouraged, continued.

At the height of the festivities, a small ribbon tied to the brim disappeared entirely beneath advancing vegetation.

Two children were heard debating whether the hat required watering.

A Parade Monitor, after careful review, declared the structure “technically compliant but agriculturally ambitious.”

By afternoon, the hat cast a shadow consistent with small infrastructure.

Sporting a neck brace the following day in place of the hat, Mr. Dunnwick announced that next year’s design will incorporate “more drainage” and “less invitation.”

The sparrows have not yet issued a statement at this time.

— Cousin Orville

Heart of the Holler

By Abigail “Abby” Whitcombe

Quiet Things Before the Brass

The Square was lively this week, and the banners flew high. Much will be said of parades, proclamations, and properly measured steam.

But there were quieter things, too.

Earlier in the week, during practice for the High Fence Hurdles, a young doe misjudged her takeoff and landed in an undignified heap beside the cedar stand. Before the committee could so much as adjust a clipboard, another competitor — entered in the same event — had already stepped forward.

No fuss.
No spectators.

She offered a paw, steadied her rival, and said simply, “Try again.”

The jump was cleared on the second attempt.

No announcement was made. None was required.

Elsewhere, long after bunting had been folded and brass polished, a light remained burning in an upstairs window near the Square. There, a local seamstress — who has requested her name be withheld — mended and reinforced parade sashes for several young participants whose attire required attention.

When approached for comment, she declined both recognition and interview, stating only that “they ought to feel ready when they step out.”

The next morning, the sashes sat straight.

It is often the larger gestures that draw applause.

But in every season, it is the smaller ones that hold.

— Abby W. 

Front Porch Reflections

Steam in the Evening

March Madness Days always begin with noise.

Brass in the Square.
Banners snapping in the wind.
Young competitors shifting their weight from one foot to the other, trying not to show it.

But what lingers is not the noise.

It is the look exchanged across a hurdle.
The paw offered after a stumble.
The way an entire town leans forward when a whistle sounds.

Competition, when it is healthy, does not divide. It sharpens. It reveals. It asks something of us and then stands back to see what we will do.

The young ones feel it most clearly. Their excitement is not rehearsed. It spills out of them in bursts — in practiced waves, in polished shoes, in carefully tied sashes. They stand taller because they have been asked to.

Older rabbits, watching from along the rail, remember their own first opening morning. They remember the steam rising against a cool sky and how large the Square seemed from below the balcony. They remember wondering whether they would wobble — and deciding to wobble forward anyway.

Time does that.

It carries us from the line to the rail, from competitor to spectator, from breathless to steady.

And yet, the steam rises just the same.

It rises because someone believes in beginning again.

It rises because a town agrees, for a few bright days, to measure itself not by victory alone, but by effort, fairness, and cheer given freely.

In the end, the Games will conclude. The bunting will be folded. The chalk lines will fade.

What will remain are the small things.

A steadying paw.
A practiced wave.
A rival who says, “Try again.”

That is the part worth keeping.

And if one listens closely, even after the Square grows quiet, it is possible to hear it still — not the brass, not the cheering — but the softer sound of a community choosing to stand upright together.

We will see you again next Saturday.

— Jim (and Red!)

The Hearth & Holler Gazette is a work of fiction, created for entertainment and storytelling purposes. The people, places, events, and notices appearing within its pages are imagined, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

© 2026 James Milson. All rights reserved.

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

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