I started my Substack column three years ago today. There was no specific plan for me to start inflicting it onto unsuspecting friends and strangers alike on my 65th birthday; the timing of figuring out how to set up a simple webpage and subscription service just worked out that way. But I’m glad I picked Oct. 8 to press the launch button. Now I will always remember when the fun started.

It’s my birthday! Subscribe!

I began by strong-arming four people to subscribe. Of course, I picked the four who couldn’t say no – my children, Anna and Tim, and two of my siblings, Claudia and Tim. The first year, I gained 600 subscribers. Now I have just under 4,000 subscribers, which includes you, dear reader. You are ever so patient with my weekly rants and my writing, a mix about life on a small Connecticut farm and my attempts to deal with politics without tearing my hair out or lunging for the razor blades.

It is so rewarding to hear from readers. Connecting has made the time I spent writing 161 posts worthwhile. Otherwise, I would be swilling nonalcoholic beer from a paper bag and shrieking into the void. (As my friend Emily from New Zealand wrote to me when she subscribed, “We have to keep your head from exploding!”) You keep me from that fate, my friends. Sorting through Substack statistics gives me a dizzying sense of where my words end up.

Although I have lived in Connecticut for 37 years, the state with by far the most subscribers of my column is Ohio, at 450. (Thank you, Connie Schultz, and my Dayton friends.) New York State comes in second at 166, augmented by the efforts of my beloved former classmates of my small but powerful girls school in Buffalo, N.Y. (thank you, dears!). I have more subscribers from Canada (115, and happily, that includes Marie) than Connecticut (85). Even Australia, at 92, beats out my home state (Here’s looking at you, Genevieve!). Substack tells me that I have readers in 74 countries. I hope most are not bots, but you never know. I remain grateful for readers wherever they might reside.

When writers set up a Substack, they have to pick a name for their writings. I wanted a play on my last name, Casey, but I ran into just how common that is. No surprise there; in America, Casey is the third-most common Irish name behind Sullivan and Murphy.

So I was stumped about thinking of a unique name until I ran into a webpage called the Red Hook Daily Catch, which covers the news from the towns of Rhinebeck and Red Hook, N.Y. Hey, I like fishing, too, so I dubbed my column Casey’s Catch, satisfied that none of the shouting, happy Caseys (distant cousins, no doubt) scribbling away on Substack would copy that as a name. So far, so good.

When I began, I intended to write about politics more often, but I found that focus too narrow, and the toxic brew simmering in America right now is too much to take in every single week. Also, there is far more to life than the bilge spewing from the White House, the Trump enablers in Congress and those on the Supreme Court. So I write about current affairs when I think I should and every day I look for ways to throw sand in the gears of the plans and actions of the toads – er, people – who do not have the morals to be in public office, but squat there anyway. I fight when I can and in the interim, I take deep, yoga breaths to stay centered.

We will all get to the other side of this, I promise.

In the meantime, allow me to continue writing about simple things – the falling leaves of autumn, the joys of grandchildren, relationships, the sight of the stars at night and the ordinary moments of daily life.

It matters. You matter. And I am so grateful that you read my words. Thank you, thank you.