Author: jrmilson

Introducing “The Hearth & Holler Gazette”

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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.

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A Christmas Blessing from Honey Hill Country

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This morning in Honey Hill Country, the air feels different — softer somehow — as if the whole hollow has agreed to speak in a whisper. There is wood smoke lingering in the distance, a hush on the porch boards, and that rare kind of quiet that does not feel empty. It feels held.

Somewhere, a kettle is warming. Somewhere else, a pan of cinnamon rolls is nearly ready for the oven. Orange juice is being poured, chairs are being pulled close, and the day is just beginning to stretch awake.

And before the hours fill themselves with meals and messages, memories and visiting, Little Red Bear and I wanted to leave a small Christmas Blessing here — simple, neighbourly, and meant to be kept.

May your Christmas morning find you welcomed, whether your house is full of laughter and wrapping paper, or wrapped instead in a gentler quiet. Some folks wake today to stockings and noise and the happy clatter of family traditions. Others wake to softer rooms — and the quiet is not always easy.

So let this blessing be for both kinds of mornings.

For the full tables, and for the empty chairs.
For the hearts that feel light today, and for the ones doing their best just to carry kindness forward.
For joy that arrives easily — and for joy that must be noticed in smaller, braver ways.

May warmth find you today — in your kitchen, in your memories, or simply in the knowledge that you are not forgotten. May peace rest easy in your home, even if only for a moment at a time. And may the love that Christmas promises — quietly, faithfully, year after year — feel close enough to touch.

Little Red Bear padded in long enough to add this, and he insists it be included —

“If your heart feels full today, share it.
If it feels a little tender, guard it gently.
And either way — you belong at the table.”

From our little corner of Honey Hill Country to yours, we wish you a Christmas filled with warmth, grace, and the comfort of being held — by memory, by love, and by hope that still knows the way home.

— Jim  (and Red!)

May warmth find your door, light fill your window, and peace know your name — this Christmas and always.

Merry Christmas.

 

A Year’s Worth of Little Good Things

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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.

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“Yes, Virginia — The Story Behind the Letter That Still Warms the World”

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A Black & White Holiday Feature

As Christmas draws near each year, I find myself returning to a handful of stories that never lose their warmth — stories that remind us of who we were, who we are, and who we still hope to be. One of those is the classic newspaper reply known today simply as “Yes, Virginia.”

If you’ve ever paused during the holiday bustle and wondered where the magic of Christmas hides itself these days — haven’t we all felt that? — the history of this little letter has a way of lighting the lantern again. And like all good stories, there’s more to it than most folks remember.

Here is the story behind the story — the people, the newspaper, the unlikely pairing, and the words that continue to shine like a window candle more than a century later.

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Meet Clara Thimblewick — A Holiday Note from Little Red Bear Land

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From the Winter Desk of Clara Thimblewick

INTRODUCTION —

As we make our way through this busy December stretch, I thought it might be nice to pause for just a moment and share a quiet word from someone new in our Honey Hill world — someone many of you first met a few days ago in “The Lantern in Clara Thimblewick’s Window.”

Clara Thimblewick will soon be stepping into an important role in our community. Beginning in January, she will serve as the Editor of The Hearth & Holler Gazette, guiding our weekly wanderings through Honey Hill, Hopper’s Holler, Round Corners, and beyond with a steady hand and a thoughtful eye.

After spending much of her life working in newspapers back East, Clara has returned to Missouri to take up this new post and, in her words, “to resume a more measured life than present-day city rhythms permit.”

As a small seasonal greeting — and an early chance to become acquainted — Clara wished to offer a brief message to readers here on The Writing Pages. I am delighted to share her note with you today.

A Holiday Note from Clara Thimblewick —

It is my hope that this message finds you in a moment of quiet, however small such moments may be in December. The soft light of winter has a way of inviting reflection, even in the midst of the season’s many demands, and I am grateful for the opportunity to address you for the first time.

Although my name may be unfamiliar to you at present, please allow me to offer a brief introduction. I was raised in Missouri during childhood, later sent East for my schooling, and remained there for many years while building a career in the newspapers. I have now returned home to serve as Editor of The Hearth & Holler Gazette, a responsibility I accept with both humility and resolve. It is my intention to honor the stories of this community with clarity, fairness, and respect.

There is much work ahead as we prepare the Gazette for its January debut. New ventures often bring with them a quiet sense of anticipation, and I feel it very keenly. In time, I hope to become a familiar presence in your weekly reading — not by insistence, but by steady and conscientious service.

For now, I simply wish to extend to you my warmest regard during this winter season. May the quieter hours be gentle company to you and may the small lights along your path — a lamp in a window, a friendly word, a simple kindness — bring you a measure of comfort as the year draws to its close.

With sincere respect,
Clara Thimblewick 
Editor, “The Hearth & Holler Gazette” 

 

 

CLOSING THOUGHTS —

I hope Clara’s note brought a touch of calm to your day. She will be joining us more regularly once the Gazette begins its weekly visits in January, and I am looking forward to the steady presence she will bring to our little corner of Honey Hill Country.

Thank you for reading and settin’ a spell with us today.

— Jim (and Red!)

If you would enjoy a weekly visit to Little Red Bear’s Honey Hill Country, you are already in the right place. A simple subscription to The Writing Pages is all that is required. Beginning in January, the Hearth & Holler Gazette will arrive automatically each week, bringing a small slice of Honey Hill Country to your doorstep.

 

P.S. from Little Red Bear — “Clara is too polite to say it, but I am not — you ought to sign up for the Gazette. Good things are on the way, and I would hate for you to miss out.”

Blessings Along the Way — Reflections on a December Birthday

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A Quiet Pause, a Warm Cup of Tea, and a Few Thoughts at Seventy-Six

Along with the steady accumulation of years, there’s something about December that slows a fellow down a bit, isn’t there? The days grow short, the evenings settle early, and the whole world seems to take a long, frosty breath before Christmas comes shining around the bend. It’s a fine time to step back for a quiet moment, look around, and take stock of the blessings scattered along one’s path — some large, many small, all of them worth noticing.

And as it happens, today is my birthday — another turn around the sun, another year of stories shared, friendships cherished, and small joys gathered up like pinecones on a woodland walk.

Seventy-six of those turns now, which seems as good a number as any to pause for a moment and look back with a bit of gratitude — and perhaps a chuckle or two. I don’t make much fuss of birthdays anymore. These days, there’s more comfort in a warm cup of tea, a cozy chair, and the gentle thought that I’ve been granted one more year to try and put a little good into the world. Isn’t that enough of a celebration all on its own?

As I sit with that thought, I find myself feeling grateful — deeply so — for all of you who stop by to spend a few moments with me here on The Writing Pages and out in Honey Hill Country. Your kindness, your notes, your visits — they brighten my days more than you may know. In a world that can feel hurried and rough-edged at times, this little community has become a place of warmth and neighbourly goodwill. And that is a rare and treasured gift.

If birthdays teach anything, it’s to take nothing for granted — the people in our lives, the quiet mercies, the laughter that catches us by surprise, and the steady companionship of stories. And speaking of laughter, I find myself laughing more freely these days — from those spontaneous outbursts when something just plain tickles my funny bone, to shared belly laughs with friends and family, to the occasional gut-busting guffaw that invites a touch of embarrassment now and again. I’ve learned over the years that not taking oneself too seriously is good for the soul — and for the blood pressure. The world could do with a little more laughter, don’t you think?

And along with laughter, I’ve come to believe something simple but steadfast about folks in general — that if you look for the best in people, you’ll usually find it in good abundance. Will Rogers said, “I never met a man I didn’t like,” and I’ve found that, by and large, to be true in my own wanderings. Left to our own accord, most people are good-natured, helpful, and doing the best they can with the lives they’ve been given. Inside, we’re all more alike than different — hoping for a bit of steadiness, a touch of joy, and a safe, loving place for those dear to us. It’s a thought I may return to in more detail after the new year, because it feels worth lingering on — especially in the times we’re living through.

We each must follow our own wandering trail through life, but it surely helps to have a bit of company along the way. One of my most faithful companions these past years has been Little Red Bear, living rent-free in my head — though he’d tell you he pays his way in stories, laughter, and the occasional good idea.

Red and his friends, and all the kindly souls of Honey Hill Country, are always reminding me to meet the world with a bit more compassion, a bit more patience, a generous helping of good humour, and to be a light for others where we can. Those old, shared teachings — the simple ones about kindness, compassion, empathy, love, and helping others — seem to echo through their adventures. And Red asked me to mention he’s saying hello, but he’s whispering it because he doesn’t want me raising his rent.

Another year older? Yes. But also another year of trying to notice the good along the way, appreciate the simple, and share a bit of light wherever possible. In the end, aren’t those the things that carry us through the years and seasons?

So thank you, truly, for walking this path with me. For reading, for caring, for sharing a portion of your own days here. The road ahead is sure to bring its share of hills and hollers, but travelling it with good company makes all the difference.

Here’s to another year of shared stories, hope, kindness, and whatever small wonders and adventures we may enjoy along the way.

— Jim (and Red!)

P.S. from Little Red Bear —
Little Red Bear says he’s happy to walk this winding path with me — but he wants everyone to know he’s the one carrying the snacks.