A Short List of Things That Are Still Just Plain Good

There are days when the world feels a little too loud and a little too busy explaining itself.

On those days, it helps to remember that not everything needs fixing, debating, improving, or shouting about. Some things are already doing their job just fine. They have been for a long time. They simply carry on, quietly, without asking for applause.

So here — for no particular reason other than it felt like a good moment — is a short list of things that are still just plain good.

Not perfect.
Not flashy.
Just . . . . good.


A fresh cup of coffee that tastes exactly the way you hoped it would.
Not better than expected. Not worse. Just right. The kind that lets you take a slow sip and think . . . . “Yes. That’ll do.”

A handwritten note.
Even a short one. Even a crooked one. The kind where you can tell the writer paused for a moment before finishing the sentence.

A dog asleep in the sun.
No ambition. No agenda. Just fully committed to a relaxing nap in the afternoon.

A cat choosing to sit near you.
Not because it was asked. Because it decided. Which somehow makes it feel like a small honour.

A well-worn book that falls open to a favourite page.
Like it remembers where you left off last time — and waited there for you.

The sound of someone laughing in the next room.
Especially when you do not know the joke, and it does not matter.

The sound of children laughing and playing.
Inside or outside. Close by or down the street. It always reminds us that things are going right somewhere.

A front porch — or whatever serves as one.
A chair by a window counts. So does a stoop. A step. Or the edge of a bed where you linger for a moment longer than planned.

Kindness that does not announce itself.
No trumpet. No explanation. Just a small adjustment or touch made for someone else’s comfort.

Old sayings that still manage to be true.
The kind you used to roll your eyes at — until one day you catch yourself repeating them.

Something that works the way it always has.
A lamp. A watch. A sunrise. There is a quiet relief in reliability, and in knowing some things still arrive on time..

And for me, a rainy afternoon with a new story waiting to be told.
Nothing urgent. Nothing polished yet. Just the promise of words finding their way.

But then again . . . . the feeling that today does not need to be extraordinary to be worthwhile.
Ordinary will do just fine.


None of these things will trend.
None of them will fix everything.

But taken together, they do something better.

They remind us that simple goodness has not gone anywhere. It has simply stayed where it always was — in familiar places, doing familiar work, waiting to be noticed again.

And perhaps that is just plain good enough for today, isn’t it?

What might you add to the list?

‘Til next time, then — Jim  (and Red!)



P.S.
Little Red Bear read this list over my shoulder and cleared his throat — politely — to point out that tea belongs on any list of good things worth keeping close.
He is not wrong. We are, after all, tea people.

“The Adventures of Little Red Bear: The First Holler!”


These illustrations were created with the assistance of AI.

Fresh Ink & Hot Coffee — Tomorrow, It Begins

A quiet word before Saturday morning arrives  . . . .

The press is warming, the quill has been freshly dipped, and in this neck of the woods the air smells faintly of biscuits and printer’s ink.

By lamplight, Little Red Bear is checking the final lines, pages stacked neat and waiting. Rusty and Percy are chasing down the last good headline, and somewhere nearby a kettle is whistling — the patient kind that knows its moment is almost here.

The very first issue of The Hearth & Holler Gazette is ready to roll — full of neighbourly news, small-town happenings, a little laughter, and a bit of country comfort to carry with you.

Tomorrow is the day.
The Gazette arrives.
Are you ready?

— 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.

Porch Notes From Little Red Bear

Hey, folks —

Jim is up to his ears with work on the Gazette right now, so asked me to fill in for him today. And I’ve got a few minutes so thought – “Sure. Why not?” Hope you don’t mind.

Farmer Turner dropped by earlier for no particular reason. That’s what folks do around these parts. Stopping by to visit. Just bein’ neighborly, is all.

As usual, we got to talkin’ about the weather. Lately it’s been like riding a seesaw. We seem to go from way above normal one day to way below normal the next. We set a record for both a record all-time high temperature and another record 62-degree temperature drop all in the same day last week. From 80F to 18F. I started the morning in my overalls and ended up wearing three different coats by the end of the day, each one heavier than the one before. I hear the birds down south are flyin’ in circles, not knowing whether to migrate back up north or stay put where they are. They can’t figure it out either, it seems.

Anyway, that’s what Farmer Turner and I were talking about — the weather. I will say, if ever you feel like talking about the weather with someone, just go find yourself a farmer. Farmers love talking about the weather. For them, it’s not just small talk, of course. It’s an important discussion about crop yields, planting schedules, and their very survival. Weather determines a farmer’s livelihood, after all.

Well, I see Aunt Ivy coming up the way, probably coming to trade some cookies for some of the fresh herbs we still have growin’ alongside the cabin. So, I’ll be going now. She may need my help gettin’ to some of the herbs. That, and I don’t want Jim spottin’ her coming and dashin’ out the door to beat me to any fresh cookies.

‘Til next time then.

— Little Red Bear (and Jim!)

If you’d like to spend a little more time in Little Red Bear’s world, Jim has gathered some of the stories and books together on his Author’s Page. You’re always welcome to stop by.

A Fresh Stack of Mornings

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.

You’re Welcome Here

Some Sundays end the way they should.

A good meal. Plates pushed back. Folks sitting around a little longer than planned. Nobody watching the clock. The talk wandering from one thing to the next, easy and unimportant in the best way. Somebody pours another cup of coffee or tea. Slices of pumpkin and pecan pies are served. Or maybe a slice of cake. Or two. And no one says much about it.

Those moments matter more than we sometimes realize at the time.

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