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May 21, 2026

Sea Oak

Dearest Liv,

Thank you for sending me a picture of your new ‘do. I love it. You are radiant. And despite popular belief, I do not believe your silver hair makes you look older. But even if it did, we are women in our 60s. There is no looking twenty years younger without a hefty dose of cash and manipulation of some kind. Right? Apparently, neither of us finds this proposition appealing.

I don’t care about your hair color anyway. Dye it or don’t dye it. It makes no difference to me. What I do care about is your happiness. And in that picture, you look not only resplendent but also serene and contented. That is the secret sauce, as “they” say, not the melanin content in your hair strands.

As you well know, I have never dyed my hair. I have always been too lazy to bother with the upkeep.

Now, I need to offer you a mea culpa, as I have not mentioned the Society in any of our correspondence since last February. I know you noticed, since every one of your letters asked for an update and subsequently complained when one was not forthcoming. As a result, I can attest that older sisters remain bossy from the cradle, not matter the age or the distance. I, younger sibling that I am, did not, however, cave to the pressure.

All joking aside, I was not trying to be coy. As you know, I had decided to go ahead with the Society. Yet, there were still hurdles to overcome. One of them was that I needed a space for the Society’s headquarters. Nothing big and certainly nothing costly, since I do not even know if the Society will grow much beyond Sea Oak. While the response has been positive amongst our residents, the long-term survival of the Society depends on all of its members here and outside Renssel County.

I needed a small place at little to no cost.

I had an idea, but I wasn’t sure I could carry it out.

As you know, my Gregory loved to build models—airplanes, boats, cars, and the like. It was his pleasure and his way to disconnect from life and be in the flow. He was so talented and derived so much pleasure from tinkering in his man shed. Said man shed has remained shut tight since he passed. I could not go into his domain. So there it sat. Closed. Collecting dust and probably far worse to boot.

I decided to turn Gregory’s workshop into the headquarters of The Whimsy Letter Society. There you have it. I said it. It was easier not to speak of it until the deed was done. If I remained mute and, subsequently, changed my mind, I could still back out gracefully. No one the wiser and my pride still intact.

I went to Arthur for this task, even though he has mostly left the company to his son and prefers to work in his woodshop at the mill. But Arthur knew Gregory, and I knew he would also understand how hard the whole process would be for me. And now, the conversion is done, and I am quite pleased.

We did not change much. We chased away the vermin. Cleaned. Painted. And best of all, we made it mine while keeping reminders of Gregory throughout. I have one of his model airplanes hanging from the rafter, among other things.

Hazel insisted on plants (no surprise) and roped Walter into helping (also no surprise). While the man has communication issues—how Flora has put up with this for God knows how long, I will never know—he speaks plants fluently. That man’s blood runs green; I am convinced of it.

As a final touch, Jane Harper delivered a new doormat.

Sweet Rosy declared that the grand reopening—which had not yet occurred—deserved a treat. She baked me a batch of my favorite cookies. What a dear. I had my doubts about that girl. But I shall say no more. You know how I refuse to gossip. You knew she was back, right? And under what circumstances?

See the attached picture of the finished headquarters of the soon-to-be-reopened Whimsy Letter Society and tell me what you think.

I wanted a space that was both functional and cozy. Mission accomplished.

You know, sis, the space still smells like him, and rather than make me sad, it makes me feel that he is still with me, holding me, and watching over me. In truth, if he were still here, he would complain with great vehemence about this trespass on his territory. But now that he no longer needs it, I imagine he smiles because his beloved shed has been put to good use rather than being left as a free-for-all for bugs and pests. He would be pleased most of all that I had the strength to do it, as am I.

Give your Everett, and your brood and their descendants my love.

All my love to you as well,

Erma

P.S. You would think I would see that son of yours more often than I do since we occupy the same village. But he manages to remain elusive. That boy needs to come visit his favorite aunt more often.

P.P.S. Our spring has been glorious, and our summer promises to be delightful as well. Just out of curiosity, has anyone ever incurred second-degree burns from sitting in their car or touching the steering wheel?

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A Note About Sea Oak
Sea Oak is a fictional place, although I like to imagine that somewhere it could be real. Its people, businesses, homes, and The Whimsy Letter Society are creations of my imagination. From time to time, their stories may brush against real people, places, and events from history or from my personal life. When they do, I have tried to treat the history with care, while allowing the fictional world of Sea Oak to grow around it. And with every letter received in the mail, I will always share what is fact and what is fiction.

While you will not find Sea Oak on any map, I hope that with every letter, it begins to feel a little more like somewhere you know and love.

I have had my fair share of pen pals over the years.

There is nothing like receiving happy mail.

About nine years ago, I tried to bring letters back. Now, I find out I was ahead of the curve and probably should have stuck with it. Oh well.

I just started a new mail club, and let me tell you, it has taken a life of its own. But what exactly is a mail club?

First, let me answer what it is not. It is not a pen pal club. You don’t write the letters.

So what is it?

What is a mail club?

A mail club is most often a subscription-based service that sends physical mail to its members. Many of the mail clubs I have encountered began as a way for artists to share their art with a wider audience. Other popular mail clubs cater to people who enjoy junk journaling.

The Whimsy Letter Society is neither of those.

The Society was created to send actual letters. The premise is that the letters come from the residents of a very special - and tiny - village. Every month, a resident writes, and you get to read the letter.

The reality is that I write all the letters, but I get to have fun taking on different personalities.

I love every minute of the creative process. I have had fun researching historical facts, exploring characters, and thinking of trinkets to include in each mailing.

As a what do you receive each month?

In my experience, mail clubs vary quite a bit in price, from as low as $7 to close to $30. Some offer various tiers, with each tier priced differently and containing additional items.

The Society does not offer tiers. Each mailing offers an experience that cannot be parceled out. offers an experience which cannot be parceled out. It arrives as one complete package.

To keep the membership affordable, untracked shipping is included in the membership price.

Every Society letter contains recurring pieces, along with other items that change to suit each month’s character and story.

• A letter from a resident of Sea Oak

• A note from me (sharing a few personal details and untangling fact from fiction)

• A postcard: It can be a recipe, a picture, or something else from Sea Oak

• Sea Oak’s monthly calendar and notices

• A coloring page

• A belly band to wrap it all together

• An envelope addressed by hand

• Bits and bobs: These change every month and might include faux postage stamps, bookmarks, little cards, newspaper clippings, recipes, invitations, vintage-style ephemera, notes, tags, photographs, or whatever else seems to have found its way into the envelope from Sea Oak.

Why are people enjoying mail?

We live in a world of instant everything, and some of us feel that we may have lost some of the whimsy along the way.

Mail clubs offer people a way to be creative, receive something fun, and stop doomscrolling (for a while, at least).

Mail clubs help us hit pause, and give ourselves an opportunity to breathe and have fun.

Physical mail also offers something tangible. For some of us, it is remembrance - a reminder of another time now gone. For others, it is a new experience and a chance to take part in a tradition that has largely disappeared.

For all of us, it is a way to see that digital and analog can coexist.

Why did I create The Society?

Actually, that is a question I answered in full in a previous article, which, you can find here.

In short, it was a way for me to be creative and to serve those who resonate with what I have to offer.

Receiving mail that isn’t junk or another bill is special. A personal letter reminds us that another human being took the time to write and send something meant for us.

How can you join?

Membership in The Whimsy Letter Society membership is open. The first letter will ship on November 2nd.

If you are interested in becoming a member of my mail club, you can join by using this link.

You can also follow me on Instagram, Facebook, or the website.

I would love for you to become part of the Society. If you have any questions that I have yet to answer, please contact me here.

-Florence

FAQ

How often does the mail club ship?

Once per month, usually during the first week.

Is the mail club a subscription?

Yes.

Can I cancel my mail club membership at any time?

Of course!

For the first letter in this series, go here, and the second here.

Sea Oak

February 19, 2026

Dearest Favorite Sister,

Your backyard does look marvelous when it is not dehydrated to a crisp in the summer heat.

By the way, have I mentioned that I have it on good authority that Missy Peabody has adjusted well to her new life in Florida with her family. They take such good care of her. Which is wonderful for her. A pity for us, because I miss that woman.

You would not recognize her cottage here in Sea Oak, but I will share no more details. You will have to visit to see the changes for yourself and enjoy nature at its finest. And I am not referring to what you call nature: the poky kind or the kind with minuscule leaves. I am talking about green leaves as large as dinner plates and grass as thick as shag carpet.

Liv, I was having second thoughts when your letter arrived. Do I really need a new endeavor, and one of this magnitude, when I am so close to retirement? Not that I plan to retire, really. I can’t think of anyone suited to take my place.

Anyway, what you had to say about letters really spoke to me. I mean, look at us, writing back and forth and cherishing each one. Letters are magic.

Last night, at book club, I decided to ask the group for their thoughts. While some are too young to remember the Society, others like Flora and Evie were part of it. The response was overwhelmingly positive. I even received TWO words from Walter. Not ONE word or a grunt, but a clear “Great idea!” Stellar endorsement. If the idea could get Walter that riled up, I think this may be the best idea since sliced bread. Seriously.

That man is a bear, and I think he has the vocabulary of a toddler, grunts included.

I would call the motion to reopen The Whimsy Letter Society officially Sea Oak approved.

The Society is therefore a go. You will find enclosed, as requested, the first member card issued to you.

Now, there are still logistics to plan. Many have offered to help. I have an idea for the headquarters of the Society, at least temporarily. I will not share it yet. Oh, I know, the suspense. I must admit, keeping you in the dark is half the fun. A little sister, always a little sister.

As for visiting, I have no plans to travel to Hades’ doorstep, although I will consider it next January. While things are slow in Sea Oak during that time, the weather makes up for it by working double time. Lounging in that delectable winter yard of yours would beat freezing my hiney every time I walk to the post office or anywhere else in Sea Oak.

I do miss you so. Everett is lucky that he is good to you, and that I like him, because stealing my sister and moving her so far away is sometimes hard to bear. Any more talk of relocating here?

I will keep you updated on the happenings. At this point, it is about location and logistics.

Liv, I couldn’t have asked for a better sister.

All my love,

Erma

PS: I completely forgot to mention your hair!!! While there is no shame in dyeing one’s hair, there is no glory in it either. I bet you rock those silvers just as Everett said.

PPS: Send a picture when you can.

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A Note About Sea Oak
Sea Oak is a fictional place, although I like to imagine that somewhere it could be real. Its people, businesses, homes, and The Whimsy Letter Society are creations of my imagination. From time to time, their stories may brush against real people, places, and events from history or from my personal life. When they do, I have tried to treat the history with care, while allowing the fictional world of Sea Oak to grow around it. And with every letter received in the mail, I will always share what is fact and what is fiction.

While you will not find Sea Oak on any map, I hope that with every letter, it begins to feel a little more like somewhere you know and love.

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The Whimsy Letter Society is not my first business. But it is probably the one I have been the most giddy over. Let me explain why.

1. Why this, why now

I think it is a combination of things, and if you allow me a bit of your time, I will do my best to paint a picture without being too long-winded.

• At about the age of ten, I was given my first library card. While I cannot recall who went with me, I remember with much clarity the building, the centuries-old wooden floor scuffed from the abuse of many feet, the card catalog, the hush of the place, and, of course, the books. Shelves and shelves of books. Worlds I could dive into and occupy for a time. I have never lost my love of books. It is a bit of an obsession really. Every year, I read hundreds of them, in paper form, digital form, and audio form. I also purchase them with great abandon. Books have been faithful companions through all the iterations of my life and all the places I have been.

• At around the age of fourteen, I wanted to write a book. I remember writing a chapter on an antique typewriter, no less. Each letter required far more than a gentle click or clack in the form of a forceful strike by my little digits. That typewriter was so old, there wasn’t even a correction ribbon. I remember reading that chapter to my father as I sat on the blue shag carpet and he sat on the edge of my brother’s bed. Although he was impressed, I never went any further. My mind was too preoccupied by characters, dates, and events, for me to be at ease. I could not wrangle them all into a cohesive whole. For this reason, I decided that while I was a consumer of the written word, I would not become a producer of it.

• Writing is what I turn to when my thoughts are jumbled or during the darkest of times.

• As a teen, I had a stationery collection and I have had a lifelong addiction to journals (most of them started but never finished because there is always another beautiful one with blank pages awaiting me.)

• In 1987, yes, NINETEEN eighty-seven, I found myself a freshman in a foreign country. No email. No cell phones. Calling long distance was very expensive. I received one phone call per week from my parents and, on occasion, from other family members. I, on the other hand, made none as they were not allowed on university phones. My lifeline to those I loved and who loved me was letters. The ones I sent. Also the ones I received, delivered to a tiny campus PO Box with a golden door and microscopic window. Letters from grandparents, friends, parents, aunts, and uncles. Letters on cards, paper, stationery, postcards, and, once even, a receipt roll.

• About ten years ago, I dreamed of starting a snail mail organization. That idea did not come to fruition and fell by the wayside.

Do you see it? The thread through it all?

Paper. Ink. Words.

A thread woven throughout my life. Faithful. Steady. True.

A few weeks ago, I decided I wanted to bring letters back. Mail delivered by the post office. With a real stamp. Not junk. Not a flyer. Not addressed to “current resident.”

Mail that makes you smile and eager to break the seal. Mail that makes you unplug and forget your “normal” life for a bit. Mail that lets you sigh deeply and relax.

The Whimsy Letter Society was born.

The issue was that I jumped on the name without a clear concept, swept away by the giddiness of the idea.

Then it came all at once: the story, the people, the feelings, the lessons, the laughter.

I lost sleep as names, dates, and backstories competed for my attention. Sleep-deprived, I spent the day doing historical research, teasing out my idea, my characters, their personalities, and their lives. By evening, exhausted, I had a village and its characters. And they had stories to tell.

2. What is The Whimsy Letter Society?

The village of Sea Oak is fictional. The Whimsy Letter Society is not. I am part of it, and I hope you will join me in it.

I believe in the power of the written word and the power of story to change lives. My home is full of black words on paper. In my closets are boxes of handwritten letters and notes.

The Society is real to me and I suspect it will be real to those who resonate with its mission. Letters in the mail that bring joy even if just for a moment.

Letters as refuge.

There is a backstory to how the Society came to be, and I will share it with you through letters. What I will tell you now is that the Society was created by a young woman, a long time ago, in a small village named Sea Oak.

A village where people believe, as I do, that the ordinary pieces of our lives are worth sharing because the beauty of said lives is found in the ordinary. Sometimes loving someone is as simple as putting pen to paper, adding a stamp, and sending a letter on its way.

The Society still writes and you can share in that experience. Each month, you will receive a letter from a resident of Sea Oak, a shorter letter from me (where I will share a bit about my life and unravel fact from fiction), and a few little extras to make a Whimsy Letter feel special. A recipe, a picture, a sticker, or something I have not even thought of yet.

Each letter will be different because each month’s writer will also be different. Some of Sea Oak’s residents are in their 20s while others are in their 80s. Some are feisty or vivacious, while others are quiet and composed. Some love gossip while others avoid it. Some are married, others divorced. You get the gist.

Sea Oak is us.

Sea Oak is a community as I remember it from childhood. It is people doing life together because they understand that we need one another.

When a neighbor’s cow was stuck in a ditch, we went to help. It did not matter if they went to a different church or no church at all. It did not matter how they voted. It didn’t even matter if they were a curmudgeon or the loveliest of beings.

We went because it was the right thing to do. And because when our cow was stuck in a ditch, they would come too.

These are the lessons I learned from grandparents who were children during WWI and who raised families during WWII in occupied France. During some of the worst of times, these are the lessons they learned and left me.

I want to carry that legacy. And because I am the creator of Sea Oak, I get to create the world I have imagined since I was a child. My one thing.

If you were filthy rich, what would you do, Florence?

My answer has always been the same: I would create a village.

And so I did.

3. Who is the Society for?

The Society is for people who miss getting something personal in the mail. It is for people who love paper, ink, books, fireplaces, rainy days, warm blankets, front porches, and, most of all, stories.

It is for people who, on occasion, want to step away from the noise and disappear into another place for a little while.

Mostly, though, I suspect the Society is for those of you who have made it all the way through this very long article thinking, Florence, you are talking about me.

I most certainly am.

4. What is the plan?

On October 1st, I will open membership in The Whimsy Letter Society. Members will receive their first mailing in early November, and another will follow each month thereafter.

Between now and then, I will be sharing prequel letters here so you can get a small taste of Sea Oak and begin to know some of its residents.

Once the Society begins mailing, as I already mentioned, you will receive a letter from a resident and Society member, a shorter letter from me, and whatever little extras I can think of to make opening the envelope a joy.

On social media, I may give you a hint about who will be writing the Society’s letter each month, but more than likely, it will remain a surprise.

I think there are far too few of them waiting for us in the mailbox.

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For the first letter in this series, go here.

Tucson, Arizona

January 24th, 2026

My dearest Erma,

Rather than talk about the niceties, as you call them, I will go right to the heart of the matter.

You found Grandma’s old ledgers? How delightful. So often, those “old” things are tossed away like yesterday’s trash. As a society, most of us see so little value in what is deemed old, as you well know.

Look at us! Women in our 60s, and we have stopped being seen. The commercials geared toward our age group are all about trying to hold on to our youth. As if! I would not go back to being 20. No siree. Unless, of course, I could keep the mind and perspective that have been hard-earned through the decades.

Seriously, it is as if we stop being human the moment a gray hair sprouts on our heads. The nerve of those pesky hairs, refusing to stay dark for the sake of our visibility and good standing in society.

This is the reason I succumbed years ago to youth in a bottle, also known as hair dye.

Talking about hair dye, have I told you that I have decided to embrace my gray? Everett told me from the beginning that he loved me as I was, even to the tips of my gray hair. I did not fully believe him. You know how kind he is. And I felt that, as his wife, I ought to be presentable. You know, the whole “don’t let yourself go” mantra.

I am not letting myself go. I am liberating myself to my fullest expression. That is far from letting go. What I am letting go of are the judgments, the chemicals, and a substantial hairdresser’s bill. I should be applauded for making an eco-friendly decision, shouldn’t I? Then again, to each their own. I applaud the women who love themselves best with the dye. It should be about us, the person, no matter the choice.

I will not send you a picture yet, as I think the two-toned hair is dreadful. I think I will go for a big chop when I go next. My natural hair is now long enough that I think I will feel comfortable with shorter hair.

But I digress.

As to your idea of reopening the Society, I am assuming you did not wait for my answer and have already run off with the idea. You have probably pulled off a few all-nighters, unable to sleep, your mind fizzing, as you call it.

When you chomp on an idea, you are like a tick on a dog and will not let go until you resolve all those loose ends or give up entirely.

I am writing to tell you: do not give up!

I am here if you need to talk or bounce ideas off me. But do not let go. It is a delightful idea.

We remember the joy of snail mail all too well. But think of this: there are people alive today who have never received any mail unless it was a bill, an advertisement, or a politician’s mailer.

How is that for dreadful?

Letters do matter.

I have kept many of Grandma Nora’s letters, as well as Everett’s love letters. I even have the letters from Jack and his sisters from the summers they spent with you. Handwriting all askance from hurry and dubious spelling. All so dear to my heart.

A letter is a gift. Gift of thought and time. A loved one’s handwriting. It all matters.

In this world which seems to move at such a fast pace, who will be the keeper of sweet things past? So, why not you, my sweet sister? Why not you?

Keeper.

Carry the legacy. Pick up the light and fan that flame.

I know that since your Gregory is gone, you have been heartbroken and suffered much from his absence. The hours must feel terribly lonesome without him. Even more so now during the winter months in Sea Oak, unless you are frozen from the cold, while I enjoy a magnificent 63. (I will even send you a picture of my view today.)

Maybe you can fill some of those desolate hours with something meaningful: the Society?

You know, you are welcome to visit if beautiful weather and even better company are what you are after. The mailbox is free of eggs this time of year, so you will like that.

Please keep me updated on your progress as soon as you are able. I pledge to sign up as soon as you have all your ducks in a row.

I aim to be the first member.

Until later, your favorite sister,

Liv

For the next letter, go here.

JOIN THE SOCIETY

A Note About Sea Oak
Sea Oak is a fictional place, although I like to imagine that somewhere it could be real. Its people, businesses, homes, and The Whimsy Letter Society are creations of my imagination. From time to time, their stories may brush against real people, places, and events from history or from my personal life. When they do, I have tried to treat the history with care, while allowing the fictional world of Sea Oak to grow around it. And with every letter received in the mail, I will always share what is fact and what is fiction.

While you will not find Sea Oak on any map, I hope that with every letter, it begins to feel a little more like somewhere you know and love..

Sea Oak

January 12th, 2026

Dearest Liv,

Thank you for the beautiful birthday card. It was delightful.

You shall not be surprised to find out the weather here at Sea Oak has been bitterly cold, although the icy scenery is stunning. The wind coming off the sea is especially biting and could freeze your eyelashes before you even blink. But this too shall pass, as the cliché goes.

Enough for niceties, guess what?

You will not believe it!

During the planned lull in January before tourist season starts up anew, I like to clean the post office as you well know. Guess what I found? I mean you will never guess. Grandma Nora’s Society ledgers. I do not mean society as the Brits talked about “society.” I do mean The Whimsy Letter Society ledgers, the very organization she created in December of 1917 to send letters near and far to those who needed someone to reach out.

The ledgers show all the members and the pen pals. The Society lasted quite a while, through the end of one world war, another one, and beyond. It flagged after Grandma’s death and completely dissolved in time. Such a shame. It brought joy to so many.

By the 2000s, things like letters had been declared obsolete. We were told “analog” was dead and buried (yes, you may read this word with disdain, like talking about cow patties in the middle of the road, with nostrils flared like when smelling cauliflower cooking).

Why would anyone want to put ink to paper when we had emails, and iPads, and cell phones? Speed. Convenience. Now we can even talk to our contraptions and they will write for us. Ha! I tried it once. My smart device decided to translate “hold on a sec” to “hold on to sex.” I was mortified when I hit send and realized the kerfuffle, and at the same time grateful the receiver was Hazel. She is not prone to gossip, and aside from a good laugh, she did not repeat it. One less inclined, who shall remain nameless, would have had it all over town in less than thirty minutes. Oh, the embarrassment.

Well, we have sped ourselves to early graves, if you ask me. Who takes the time to enjoy a cup of tea on the porch, shooting the breeze with a neighbor? No one, that’s who. It is true that I have been spoiled by Sea Oak. As you well know, we still do have it here in the “boondocks.”

Outside Sea Oak, it seems no one has the time, or knows their neighbor well enough, to do this anymore.

Nose on screen, even across tables. Such a shame.

Snail mail is dead, “they” say. You are well aware of my pet peeve when it comes to “they.” Those nameless faces who seem to want to control every area of our lives. Well, I think “they” are wrong, and not for the first time either. I don’t refer to letters as snail mail. It’s sacrilegious. I refer to them as happy mail. A loving and lovely letter never fails to make one smile.

But I digress. Liv, I am wondering. Oh, I am almost afraid to voice it, or write it. What if I reopened the Society? At first, here in Sea Oak where it was first created, but then open further to others who love to write and read letters. There must be other letter keepers in this world.

Am I crazy?

No, don’t answer that.

Is it crazy? What are your thoughts? I will be eagerly awaiting your input.

Your beloved sister,

Erma

P.S. Please visit us soon. I would love to see you, and you know Jack would as well. Our summers are still stunning and temperate while you swelter in three-digit temperatures. And do not give me that dry heat nonsense. Your only claim to fame is the ability to fry an egg in your mailbox, and all civilized humans know mailboxes are for happy letters, not omelettes.

Read the second letter here.

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To learn more about The Whimsy Letter Society and Sea Oak, please click here.

A Note About Sea Oak
Sea Oak is a fictional place, although I like to imagine that somewhere it could be real. Its people, businesses, homes, and The Whimsy Letter Society are creations of my imagination. From time to time, their stories may brush against real people, places, and events from history or from my personal life. When they do, I have tried to treat the history with care, while allowing the fictional world of Sea Oak to grow around it. And with every letter received in the mail, I will always share what is fact and what is fiction.

While you will not find Sea Oak on any map, I hope that with every letter, it begins to feel a little more like somewhere you know and love.