Hearth and Holler Gazette

Something New Is on the Way

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An invitation, quietly extended.

Over the past several weeks, I have mentioned a new project taking shape just over the hill — something written carefully, assembled slowly, and meant to be read at ease.

With the first issue now nearly ready to be set before you, it felt right to let the editor speak for herself.

🖋 A Note from Clara Thimblewick, Editor

For some time now, a small staff has been at work — gathering items of interest, setting type, sharing a pot of coffee, and preparing a paper meant to be read slowly and kept close at hand.

We have taken care to make it worthy of your time.

The Hearth & Holler Gazette was created for readers who still find pleasure in neighborly news, in small observations, and in stories that do not hurry you along.

It is not meant to be exhaustive.
It is not meant to be loud.
It is meant to feel familiar.

If you care to join us, we would be glad to have you.

The first issue will be set before you this Saturday.

— Clara Thimblewick, Editor

Before we close, one small thing for clarity.

The Hearth & Holler Gazette is a make-believe newspaper from a make-believe place in Little Red Bear’s Honey Hill Country, staffed by characters who do not exist anywhere outside these pages.

The things they practice, however, most certainly do.

Kindness.
Compassion.
Looking out for one another.
Stopping long enough to notice.

Those are as real as it gets — and what it is all about.

If this sounds like something you might enjoy, the first issue will be waiting for you this Saturday.

We hope you will join us.

— Jim  (and Red!)

A small note for new readers:
Receiving The Hearth & Holler Gazette is as simple as being registered for this blog. There is nothing more to do.

A Fresh Stack of Mornings

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A quiet New Year arrives in Honey Hill Country, bringing stillness, reflection, and the promise of days yet to be read.

The New Year has come quietly to Honey Hill Country.

A cold winter morning has settled in. Snow lies clean and unbroken beneath the trees, save for a line of rabbit tracks stitching their way across the yard and disappearing into the brush. Frost rests easy on the fence rails, and the woods hold the kind of silence that only follows a good snowfall — deep, listening, and kind.

No fanfare, no fuss — just the slow turning of the calendar page, with a fresh stack of new mornings waiting to be opened on the kitchen table. The old year folded itself away politely, and the new one stepped in like a neighbour removing their hat at the door.

Out here, the year always begins the same way — with a pause.

There is time to look back at what was carried, what was learned, and what, perhaps, is ready to be set down. There is time to stand a moment longer at the window and consider what might yet come walking up the lane. And there is time — always time — to say, You Are Welcome Here.

Honey Hill Country remains much as you left it — and Little Red Bear is still right where he has always been.

The paths are familiar. The front porches are swept. The kettle is warm — Little Red Bear is keeping it so. Your choice, coffee or tea. Fresh biscuits, always. The stories continue — some by the fire, some on the page, and some quietly, heart to heart.

As the new year unfolds, there will be small kindnesses, ordinary miracles, and a few good surprises tucked between the days. There will be laughter that arrives unannounced. There will be reflections that linger. And there will be new rhythms settling gently into place, one week at a time.

Later this month, something long-planned and much-loved will find its way into the light — The Hearth & Holler Gazette, a weekly visit of tales, tidings, and old-time country comfort, shared from Little Red Bear’s corner of Honey Hill Country and meant to be read slowly, like the morning paper at the table.

But for now, there is no rush.

This first week of January is for standing still just long enough to take a breath, to look around, and to remember that beginnings do not need to be loud to be meaningful.

So welcome — to the New Year, to Little Red Bear’s Honey Hill Country, and to whatever good may yet come.

The gate is open. The light is on.
Come in when you are ready.

— Jim  (and Red!)

“A new year does not ask us to be different people,”
Clara Thimblewick once wrote,
“only to listen a little more closely to the better parts of ourselves.”

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

“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.

Continue reading →

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.

 

 

 

“Christmas Lives On Honey Hill”

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A Christmastime Poem from Honey Hill Country

There’s something about this time of year, isn’t there? When the evenings grow still, the air turns crisp, and the world seems to lean just a little closer to the heart. Christmas has a way of stirring memories long tucked away — quiet moments, warm gatherings, and the gentle light of home.

As we move through December together, I thought I’d share a little holiday verse from Honey Hill Country — a simple reminder that Christmas isn’t found in the rush or the noise, but in the places and people who help us feel rooted. Perhaps you’ve known that feeling, too?

Please enjoy this Christmastime moment from Little Red Bear’s world.

“Christmas Lives On Honey Hill”

The moonlight drifts through the walnut trees,
Soft silver on Honey Hill,
And something familiar keeps whispering there
In the quiet, deep, and still.
Down in the towns the lamplights glow,
And wagons roll through the square —
But my heart keeps turning to holler paths
And to all my friends who gather there.
For Christmas lives in these winding woods,
Where the creek runs slow and mild,
And stories rise like chimney smoke
From every home-bound child.
I’ve walked through cities dressed in lights,
And felt the winter’s bite —
But nothing warms a wanderer’s heart
Like a hearth fire burning bright.
So, I’m heading back through the frosted pines,
Where the evenings smell of tea,
Where Little Red Bear keeps an extra chair
At the table — just for me.
Where neighbors stray in two by two,
Old tales are passed around,
And laughter spills like fiddle tunes
Across the snowy ground.
Where the young and old lean shoulder-close
As the carols rise and fall,
The golden glow of candle lanterns
Shining hope for one and all.
And I’ll remember those gone on ahead,
Their love still here to guide me —
For love still lingers in these hills,
And guides my spirit home.
Yes — Christmas lives on Honey Hill,
In every heart and hand.
A place where the season’s truest gifts
Are easy to understand.
So let the moonlight drift through the walnut trees —
It knows where I long to be —
Back among friends in the quiet holler,
Where Christmas comes gentle and free.

Thank you for sharing a few quiet December moments with me today. Isn’t it comforting how a simple poem can call up warm memories when we least expect it? Wherever you may be this season, I hope a little Honey Hill spirit finds its way to your home and heart.

— Jim  (and Red!)

If this poem brought a little warmth or comfort your way, I’d be honored if you shared it with someone who might need the same.

And this Saturday, I will be sharing a brand-new Little Red Bear Christmas vignette — “The Lantern in Clara Thimblewick’s Window.” It is a gentle story of light, kindness, and the spirit of the season. I hope you’ll drop in and join us for it.

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