Issue 2 – Spring Edition
Yarbo Blackstone and the Art of Keeping Everyone Fed
In the heart of Feylight sits an impossible-to-miss blue building. Feylight Grocery has occupied this corner for decades—exactly how long depends on who you ask, but everyone agrees it’s always been here.
Wooden steps lead up to the porch where crates of produce sit arranged with precision—spring greens, radishes, herbs bundled with twine. The work of Yarbo Blackstone, the island’s grocer who takes his work seriously and everything else considerably less so.
Inside, Yarbo is restocking shelves. The gnome moves around the store like he could do it blindfolded. He probably could—he started working here as a teenager and hasn’t stopped since. Years of routine, perfected. He notices visitors and waves them over.
The Grocer:
“Spring inventory just came in,” Yarbo says, adjusting a display of carrots. “Lettuce, spinach, peas, radishes—the good stuff.”
Fresh herbs everywhere—bundles of thyme and rosemary hanging from hooks. Light pours through the windows onto colorful crates of spring produce.
A regular walks in. Yarbo motions to a crate of greens. “Spinach, right?” They nod, impressed. “I remember,” he says.
Someone’s at checkout with beets. Yarbo rings them up, hands them change. “Don’t spend it all in one place. Unless that place is here. Then definitely do.” They both laugh as Yarbo makes his way around the counter to hold the door for them. “The radishes should be restocked by Friday. See ya then!” he says with a wave.
After they leave, he heads to a back shelf and pulls down a bottle. “Bart’s coming by after work. He’s been fixing the old bridge at the end of Community Drive for weeks—wrapping up soon. Figure my buddy could use something to unwind.” He sets the bottle on the counter. “Ma Gamble’s raspberry cordial does the trick every time.”
The Pickles:
Next to where the cordial sits is a small shelf of jarred goods—jams, preserves, pickled vegetables. One section has a handwritten warning label: “Enchanted Dill Pickles – Do Not Stare Directly At Jar. We are not responsible for rogue pickles. Buy at your own risk.”
“Family recipe,” Yarbo explains. “Great-grandmother was a kitchen witch. These pickles have… personality.”
What happens if you stare directly at the jar?
“Might get a rash. Might have weird dreams. Might not. Depends.” He’s completely serious. Or is he? “Also they might bite when you open them. But hey, that’s half the fun. The other half is the taste. The third half is—” He stops. “Wait. That’s too many halves. This is probably why I failed math.”
A customer reaches for a jar. “Careful with that one,” Yarbo calls out. “It’s been giving me looks all morning.”
The Store:
Feylight Grocery isn’t fancy, but it’s dependable. Fresh produce, dry goods, basic supplies, local goods made by islanders. Everything organized with care. The old wooden floorboards creak in all the familiar places—Yarbo knows exactly which ones announce customers before they even reach the counter.
Yarbo runs it the way his mentor taught him—a bugbear named Gargouche Bergman who owned the store before him. “Everyone in town was terrified of him,” Yarbo says, straightening a display. “But I was sixteen, desperate to get out of the family gardening business, and saw his ‘Now Hiring’ sign. Best decision I ever made.”
Gargouche passed the store down to Yarbo years ago, then disappeared. No one knows where he went. Yarbo doesn’t talk about it much.
“He taught me everything,” Yarbo says. “Take care of your community, don’t cut corners, rotate your stock.” He grins. “I still remember when he told me my radish bundles were ‘acceptable.’ That was his version of ‘perfect.’ I took it to heart. That’s when I knew this is what I wanted to do.”
The Family:
Yarbo’s face lights up when he mentions his family. He’s married to Mayor Daphne Blackstone, has two teenage children—Thadeus and Sarbina. “Daphne and I both grew up here. She’s known me since I was that weird kid punching crabs for fun on the beach,” he says. “It took some time but with age we both learned to see past our… eh, hm, well, MY awkward years. Although some might say I’m still living through them.”
Thad helps restock after school, though he’d rather be anywhere else. “Teenager,” Yarbo says with a shrug. “He’ll appreciate it later. Maybe.”
The Routine:
The store opens six days a week, early morning to evening. Yarbo’s there every day—restocking, organizing, helping customers, occasionally making jokes nobody asked for.
“Good food, fair prices, occasional dad jokes,” he says, adjusting his apron. “That’s the business model. Someone’s gotta care about that.”
A customer walks in. “Hey, Yarbo, you got any thyme?”
“Sure. It’s about… 10:30.”
The customer stares.
“Herb section,” Yarbo grins. “Never gets old.”
It definitely gets old. He does it anyway.
That’s Yarbo Blackstone—anxious grocer, part-time comedian, keeper of enchanted pickles, exactly what Feylight is all about.
Next issue: TBD (let us know what you want to see!)
Stay Weird. 🍄
— Lona
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