Little Birdies,

Perhaps it’s bit silly to put any amount of whimsy and joy into something such as a regular newsletter. To that I say, “I am a fan of silly and whimsy.” I am also a fan of very old houses with more stories to tell than time to hear them. Many may view this effort and expression as a futile coin tossed into the void. As our inboxes overflow with nonsense, so little of it of substance or personal at all. Companies and organizations hurriedly deliver the latest calendars with sterile subtext to save a moment or two in our hectic world.

But I do not exist in today’s world. Not fully, anyway. I exist in a Gilded Age mansion in Lenox, Massachusetts. A place which is set back from the bustling street. It is shielded from today’s world by a crescent of greenery filled with hundreds of birds and spirits all working together to drown out the relentless roar of the 21st century. It is a place which I believe you exist too. Perhaps not as often as I, but in the same search for to be taken instead of saved.

While you may have never quite noticed or spotted me, I am in, around, and of the house. I live in liminal spaces which allow me to hear all those who may have valuable tidbits to pass on to you. I am neither elite nor limited. As I gather laundry, tea dishes, or messages from callers, I might also gather some trite, but more often useful gossip of the happenings at this grand estate.

Oh yes, I’ve heard the quips and queries in the Hall.
“Who is that gossip in the newsletter? And why does she call us her Little Birdies?”
As a Lady never reveals her sources, and more importantly- as this is valuable information shared with only the best of intentions- I rely on you, a wondrous and widespread flock of Little Birdies to spread the news where my scribbles do not reach.

I, myself, rarely speak except for my faithful messages to you, which leaves much time and space to hear the grapevine grow. If you listen closely to anything or anyone, you will begin to understand the value in what they offer, whether it arrives in the form of note, a story, a song, a basket of plums or a memory of days past at Ventfort Hall.

As such, I do see information as a reciprocal invitation. A newsletter doesn’t have to be a stiff one-way transmission. And as your self-assigned gossip, I do accept all forms of information, deliciously taboo or above-board. In doing so, I have curated a cherished hoard of insider wisdom and external resources, as all good gossips have.

While the next round of delightful dalliances dances itself into order, I took a peek at the flock size and reach of this particular modern telegram. There are certainly a fair bit more of you now than there have been. About 500 more since April to be more revealing. Welcome welcome, starlings & darlings! What a wondrous year of growth we’ve had, which has also been quite the whirlwind. So much so that, in fact, I lost my manners all together and forgot to introduce myself to you in Springtime. I shall take the opportunity to do so now.

What an honor it is to be your well-intended resident gossip flibbertigibbet at Ventfort Hall!

--
Mistress Songstone
at your
Tea-Spilling Service