0:01

Welcome to Bedtime Stories

0:04

for everyone,

0:07

in which nothing

0:09

much happens, you

0:11

feel good, and then

0:14

you fall asleep. I'm

0:18

Catherine Nikolay. I

0:21

read and write all

0:23

the stories you hear on

0:25

Nothing Much Happens. Audio

0:29

Engineering is by Bob Witterersheim.

0:33

Today marks six years

0:36

of telling you bedtime stories, which

0:40

has become the most

0:42

exciting gentle adventure

0:45

of my life.

0:48

And it seems fitting that today

0:52

I can share something I've been working on

0:54

for quite a while, something

0:56

created just for you, bring

1:00

a piece of the village into

1:02

your homes and

1:04

to guide you into healthy wind

1:07

down routines that will feel

1:09

so good. This

1:12

month, we are releasing but

1:15

Nothing Much Happens wind Down

1:17

Box, a wellness box

1:19

of hand selected products

1:22

that I personally use and

1:25

that I love, along

1:28

with a few exclusive stories

1:31

to round out your cozy routines.

1:35

Each box features products

1:38

specially selected for your relaxation,

1:41

from Everescio Wellness's Chill

1:44

Now, a high potency

1:47

organic certified Raschi mushroom

1:49

extract to nutri

1:52

Champs tart cherry gummies great

1:54

for sleep and reducing inflammation,

1:57

and they taste great. There's

2:01

a lavender candle to

2:03

mark your moment. Of calm from

2:06

our favorite small batch candle

2:08

maker's Vella Box. A

2:12

meditative activity for you

2:14

by way of a Brighter Year's

2:17

mini coloring book, a

2:20

fantastic way to disconnect

2:22

from your screen and tap

2:24

into your creative self before bed.

2:29

Then more mushrooms, this time in

2:31

chocolate specially formulated

2:33

for sleep, from the lovely

2:36

team behind Alice Mushrooms. And

2:39

some delicious essential oils

2:43

to rub on your wrists and neck from

2:45

our friends at Woolsey's. And

2:48

of course some melotonin for those

2:50

who need an extra helping hand to rest

2:53

by way of new strips. Place

2:55

it on your tongue and it dissolves

2:58

in seconds. Like

3:01

everything in this village,

3:04

we took our time to create this for

3:06

you. It's

3:08

such a pleasure to be able to

3:11

help so many of you, to

3:13

tuck you in at night and

3:16

to keep watched till the morning. And

3:19

I'm excited to help create comfort

3:22

in new ways with our first

3:24

ever wind Down Box. Head

3:28

over to Nothing Much Happens dot

3:30

com for more information. Now,

3:34

let me tell you a bit about how

3:36

to use this podcast. It's

3:41

designed to help you quiet down your mind

3:44

and ease it to sleep. It

3:48

does that by giving your mind a

3:50

place to rest that

3:52

isn't the tangle of thoughts you might

3:55

have been caught in all day. The

3:59

story is simple and

4:01

not much happens in it, So

4:04

just follow along with my voice

4:06

and the soft details of the story,

4:10

and before you know it, you'll be

4:12

waking up tomorrow feeling refreshed

4:16

and recharged. I'll

4:19

tell the story twice.

4:22

On the second time through, I'll go a

4:24

little slower. We're

4:27

training your brain along the way, and

4:30

the more you use the stories, the

4:33

faster you'll settle and sleep.

4:37

So have a bit of patience if you're

4:40

new to this. Our

4:42

story tonight is called Opening the Cottage,

4:46

and it's a story about the first stay back

4:49

in a well loved, familiar place.

4:53

It's also about the little traditions that

4:56

make up the history of a family, a

5:00

sandwich eaten on the end of a dock,

5:04

and the soft, happy feeling of

5:06

summer arriving. Now,

5:14

turn off your light, put

5:17

away anything you've been looking at,

5:21

and snuggle your body down into your

5:23

favorite sleeping position. Pull

5:28

the blanket up over your shoulder and

5:32

tuck your pillow in just the way you like it.

5:36

Take a deep breath in through your

5:38

nose and

5:43

out through your mouth. Let's

5:48

do one more in and

5:54

out. Good

6:03

opening the cottage.

6:08

It is perhaps a distinction

6:12

that not every one will agree with, But

6:15

as far as I am concerned, cabins

6:19

are in the woods and

6:21

cottages are by the water. A

6:26

cabin might live in a shady glade,

6:29

tall pines or ancient oaks

6:31

standing close by, with

6:34

branches curling overhead.

6:37

It might have dark paneled walls and

6:39

a wood burning stove for warming

6:42

feet and thick socks.

6:45

It might be the best place to be on

6:48

a foggy autumn morning, or

6:52

at the first snow of the year, with

6:55

a cup in hand and

6:57

eyes on the slowly blanketing

7:00

landscape.

7:04

But a cottage sits on the edge of a river

7:08

or by a broad lake. Its

7:13

walls are painted a faded shade of

7:15

yellow or white.

7:19

It has weeping willows for neighbors, their

7:22

buds, the first to go green in the

7:24

early spring. It

7:29

is the best place to be on

7:32

the cusp of warm months,

7:35

with a glass of iced tea in the afternoon,

7:38

and eyes always on the moving water. And

7:45

so we were

7:47

on our way to open the cottage.

7:53

The car was packed with a few days

7:55

worth of clothes good for

7:57

cleaning and walking in paper

8:01

grocery sacks of provisions,

8:05

a couple of dogs, and

8:08

our giddy selves.

8:13

The drive was familiar roots

8:15

we'd been taking for years.

8:20

Here's the shop we sometimes stop at

8:22

for ice drinks and sweet corn

8:24

in the late summer. Here's

8:27

the little town with one stop light and

8:30

the old depot overgrown with

8:32

ivy and wisteria.

8:36

Turn on the state road, Circle

8:39

past the house with shrubs cut to

8:41

look like animals and train cars,

8:45

and keep going just a

8:47

bit longer till

8:49

the air starts to smell different. Finally,

8:55

lean forward in your seat, squint

8:58

a bit, and catch

9:00

sight of the front porch and familiar

9:03

trees of the cottage.

9:07

It was an old place, built

9:10

at the beginning of the last century, with

9:14

white clattered siding and

9:16

a front full of windows.

9:20

We pulled up, dogs dancing

9:22

in our laps. They

9:25

knew where we were and were

9:27

as excited as we were.

9:33

When we opened the doors. They jumped

9:35

down and started a determined

9:37

sniffing investigation of

9:39

every blade of grass. They

9:44

were checking the guest book as

9:46

it were, seeing

9:49

who exactly had passed through since we'd

9:51

closed up in the fall. We

9:56

let them sniff and did our own

9:58

bit of inventory,

10:01

checking for loose screens in the windows.

10:04

We noticed a few branches that had fallen

10:07

on the roof during a storm, and

10:09

the buds of lilacs on the bush. We

10:15

stepped up onto the front porch and

10:17

the dogs rushed to follow us in their

10:20

whole bodies wagging now and

10:22

noses pressed up against the crack under the

10:24

door. I

10:28

found the key on my ring, the

10:31

one with a tiny red heart daubed

10:33

on in nail polish, and

10:36

wiggled it into the lock. I

10:41

pushed the door open, and

10:44

the dog shot through the place, running

10:46

from room to room, and

10:50

we started to pull back curtains,

10:53

roll up blinds, and

10:56

open windows. Under

11:01

the closed up, musty smell, I

11:04

could already detect the scent that

11:06

was so deeply tied into this place. It

11:11

was like old wood warmed

11:13

in the sun,

11:16

like old books and the cases they had

11:19

lived in for years, and

11:22

with it the smell of fresh water

11:25

and hundreds of breakfasts cooked late

11:27

on Saturday mornings.

11:31

It was simply the best smell

11:34

in the world. Once

11:40

the car was unpacked and the

11:42

dogs had worn themselves out with sniffing and

11:45

found spots to lay in the sun

11:47

of the front porch. We

11:50

rolled up our sleeves and started

11:53

to work our way through the little house. We

11:59

put fresh on the bed and swept the

12:01

floors. We

12:04

stocked up the kitchen cupboards and filled

12:06

the fridge.

12:10

We put clean towels in the bathroom and

12:12

wiped the dust from the surfaces.

12:17

We frowned at the fuse box and

12:19

water heater and flip switches

12:22

until we'd figured it out. We

12:27

should write down how we did that, so

12:30

we have it for next year, I said, mm

12:33

hm. We

12:35

both knew we wouldn't. It

12:38

was part of the tradition. We

12:43

strung the clothes line up in the back yard, knowing

12:46

soon it would hold exclusively

12:48

beach towels and swimsuits.

12:53

We waved at neighbors, called

12:56

out hellos, and how

12:58

our ewes. There

13:02

was more to do, but we'd done all we wanted

13:04

for the day. So

13:06

we stood shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen

13:09

and fixed some sandwiches. Carried

13:12

them out to the water. We

13:17

walked to the edge of the dock and

13:20

sat down with our legs dangling

13:22

over toes,

13:24

a few inches away from the still chilly

13:27

flowing river. We'd

13:32

been saving this moment and

13:35

we both knew it.

13:40

Is it this way for everyone? That

13:44

water calls you like home, that

13:47

you get antsy an edgy when

13:50

you're too long away from it, and

13:53

that as soon as you're back you

13:55

feel yourself restored. Is

14:00

it because I grew up here, because

14:03

I'd slept on the front porch, swing a hundred

14:05

times as a kid, and jumped

14:08

off this dock in every year of my

14:10

life since I could walk? Or

14:14

does water pull every one the same? If

14:19

I'd grown up in a desert, walked

14:22

dunes of dry sand, and

14:25

celebrated the days of my life in the rare

14:27

shade of palms, would

14:29

I feel called by the arid heat

14:36

beside me? An arm was raised and

14:38

a finger pointed down the length of the river

14:41

at a long dash of steel in the distance.

14:44

Ship Ship,

14:47

I said back. We'd

14:49

see a hundred before the summer was over, but

14:52

it never stopped being exciting.

14:56

Some we knew well, having seen

14:59

them for years, and having looked them up

15:01

in the ship's book. We

15:04

knew how long they were, what

15:06

they carried, and could see

15:09

just by looking at them if they were full or

15:11

empty of cargo. This

15:15

one looked brand new, fresh

15:17

paint and sleek lines. I

15:21

looked forward to hearing the ship's horns

15:23

in the night, to seeing their

15:25

lighted boughs and sterns

15:28

slipping through the black water. There

15:32

was no sleep like cottage sleep,

15:35

and no waking like cottage mornings.

15:40

We heard the paws of the dogs behind us,

15:43

and they crept down the dock to sit beside

15:45

us. A

15:49

furry head came to rest on my thigh, and

15:52

I slipped my hand over her shaggy ear

15:55

and stroked the spot between her eyes. We

16:01

were all quiet together, just

16:04

looking out at the slow moving ship,

16:08

the wake building at her bow, on

16:12

the water birds overhead. I

16:16

was sure that cabins held their own joys,

16:20

but this was a cottage and

16:23

it was the best place to be for the summer

16:31

opening the cottage.

16:35

It is perhaps a distinction

16:38

that not everyone will agree with, but

16:44

as far as I am concerned, cabins

16:47

are in the woods and

16:50

cottages are by the water. A

16:55

cabin might live in a shady glade,

16:59

tall pines or ancient oaks

17:01

standing close by with

17:03

branches curling overhead. It

17:09

might have dark paneled walls and

17:12

a wood burning stove for warming feet

17:14

in thick socks.

17:20

It might be the best place

17:23

to be on a foggy

17:25

autumn morning, or

17:28

at the first snow of the year, with

17:33

a cup in hand and

17:36

eyes on the slowly blanketing landscape.

17:43

But a cottage sits on the edge of

17:45

a river or

17:47

by a broad lake. Its

17:53

walls are painted a faded shade

17:56

of yellow or white.

18:02

It has weeping willows for neighbors,

18:07

their buds, the first to go green in the

18:09

early spring. It

18:14

is the best place to be on

18:16

the cusp of warm months,

18:21

with a glass of iced tea in the afternoon,

18:25

and eyes always on the moving

18:28

water. And

18:32

so we were on our way

18:35

to open the cottage.

18:39

The car was packed with a few days

18:42

worth of clothes good for cleaning

18:44

and walking in, paper,

18:48

grocery sacks of provisions,

18:51

a couple of dogs, and

18:53

our giddy selves.

18:59

The dry was familiar roots

19:04

we'd been taking for years.

19:08

Here's the shop we sometimes stop

19:11

at for ice drinks and

19:13

sweet corn in the late summer. Here's

19:19

the little town with one stoplight

19:22

and the old depot overgrown with

19:24

ivy and wisteria. Turn

19:31

on the state road, circle

19:34

past the house with shrubs cut

19:36

to look like animals and train cars,

19:40

and keep going just a bit

19:42

longer till the

19:44

air starts to smell different. Finally,

19:50

lean forward in your seat, squint

19:53

a bit, and catch

19:56

sight of the front porch and

19:58

familiar trees of the cottage.

20:06

It was an old place, built

20:09

at the beginning of the last century, with

20:13

white clabbored siding and

20:16

a front full of windows. We

20:23

pulled up dogs

20:25

dancing in our laps. They

20:30

knew where we were and

20:33

were as excited as we were. When

20:38

we opened the doors. They jumped

20:41

down and

20:44

started a determined sniffing

20:46

investigation of every

20:48

blade of grass. They

20:53

were checking the guest book as

20:55

it were, seeing

20:58

who exactly had passed through

21:01

since we closed up in the fall. We

21:07

let them sniff and did our own

21:09

bit of inventory, checking

21:14

for loose screens in the windows. We

21:18

noticed a few branches that had fallen

21:20

on the roof during a storm, and

21:24

the buds of lilac on the bush.

21:30

We stepped up onto the front porch on

21:33

the dogs rushed to follow us in their

21:37

whole body's wagging now and

21:40

noses pressed up against the crack

21:42

under the door. I

21:47

found the key on my ring, the

21:51

one with a tiny red heart

21:54

daubed on and nail polish and

21:58

wiggled it into the lock. I

22:02

pushed the door open, and the dog

22:05

shot through the place, running

22:07

from room to room, and

22:10

we started to pull back curtains, roll

22:14

up blinds, and open windows.

22:21

Under the closed up, musty smell,

22:25

I could already detect the

22:27

scent that was so deeply tied

22:29

into this place. It

22:35

was like old wood warmed in

22:37

the sun, like

22:39

old books and the cases

22:41

they've lived in for years.

22:46

And with it was the smell of fresh water and

22:49

hundreds of breakfasts cooked

22:51

late on Saturday mornings.

22:56

It was simply the best smell

22:59

in the world. Once

23:05

the car was unpacked and

23:07

the dogs had worn themselves out with sniffing

23:11

and found spots to lay in the

23:13

sun of the front porch, we

23:17

rolled up our sleeves and

23:19

started to work our way through the

23:21

little house. We

23:27

put fresh sheets on the bed and

23:29

swept the floors. We

23:32

stocked up the kitchen cupboards and filled

23:34

the fridge.

23:38

We put clean towels in the bathroom

23:41

and wiped the dust from the surfaces. We

23:46

frowned at the fuse box and

23:48

water heater and

23:51

flipped switches until we'd figured

23:53

it out. We

23:58

should write down how we did

24:00

that, so we have it

24:02

for next year, I said, hm

24:05

hmm. We

24:08

both knew we wouldn't. It

24:11

was part of the tradition. We

24:17

strung the clothesline up in the backyard,

24:21

knowing soon it would hold

24:23

exclusively beach towels and

24:25

swimsuits. We

24:30

waved at neighbors, called

24:33

out hellos and how are yous?

24:39

There was more to do, but

24:42

we'd done all we wanted for the day. So

24:46

we stood shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen

24:49

and fixed some sandwiches, carried

24:53

them out to the water. We

24:59

walked to the edge of the dock and

25:02

sat down with our legs dangling

25:04

over toes,

25:06

a few inches from the still

25:09

chilly, flowing river. We'd

25:14

been saving this moment, and

25:17

we both knew it.

25:22

Is it this way for everyone?

25:26

That water calls you like home, that

25:31

you get antsy an edgy when

25:34

you're too long away from it, and

25:38

that as soon as you're back you

25:40

feel yourself restored.

25:46

Is it because I grew up here, because

25:50

I'd slept on the front porch swing a

25:52

hundred times as a kid and

25:55

jumped off this dock in every

25:57

year of my life since

25:59

I could walk? Or

26:04

does water pull every one the same? If

26:10

I'd grown up in a desert, walked

26:14

dunes of dry sand, and

26:17

celebrated the days of my life

26:20

in the rare shade of palms.

26:23

Would I feel called by the arid

26:25

heat beside

26:31

me? An arm was raised when

26:34

a finger pointed down the length of the

26:36

river at

26:39

a long dash of steel in

26:41

the distance. Ship

26:45

Ship, I said back. We'd

26:50

see a hundred before the summer was

26:53

over, but it

26:55

never stopped being exciting.

27:02

Some we knew well, having

27:05

seen them for years, and

27:08

having looked them up in the ship's

27:10

book. We

27:13

knew how long they were, what

27:16

they carried, and

27:19

could see just by looking at them if

27:22

they were full or empty of

27:24

cargo. This

27:29

one looked brand new, fresh

27:32

paint and sleek lines.

27:38

I looked forward to hearing the ship's horns

27:41

in the night, to

27:44

seeing their lighted boughs and

27:46

sterns slipping

27:48

through the black water. There

27:54

was no sleep like

27:57

cottage sleep, no

28:00

waking like cottage mornings.

28:07

We heard the paws of the dogs behind

28:09

us, and

28:12

they crept down the dock to sit

28:14

beside us. A

28:18

furry head came to rest on my thigh,

28:22

and I slipped my hand over her

28:24

shaggy ear and

28:27

stroked the spot between her eyes. We

28:35

were all quiet together, just

28:39

looking out at the slow moving ship,

28:45

the wake building at her bow, and

28:50

the water birds overhead.

28:56

I was sure that cabins held their

28:58

own joys, but

29:02

this was a cottage and

29:06

it was the best place to be

29:09

for the summer. Sweet

29:15

dreams