0:01

Welcome to bedtime

0:03

Stories for grown ups

0:06

and which Nothing Much happens,

0:09

You feel good and

0:11

then you fall asleep. I'm

0:14

Catherine Nikolay. I

0:17

write and read all the stories you hear

0:20

on Nothing Much Happens.

0:23

Audio engineering is done by Bob Wittersheim.

0:28

Thank you for listening and for sharing

0:30

our stories with anyone you know who

0:34

likes relaxation and good sleep.

0:38

You can follow us on Instagram

0:40

and Facebook on Twitter for

0:43

a bit of extra cosiness.

0:48

If you need a little more nothing Much

0:50

in your life, head

0:53

to Nothing Much Happens dot com,

0:55

where you can find some special pieces

0:57

inspired by the show. Let

1:01

me explain a little about how to

1:03

use this podcast. Just

1:07

like when you are a child being

1:09

tucked in for bed, you're

1:12

about to hear a story to send you

1:14

off to dreamland. The

1:19

story is meant to be a soft landing place

1:21

for your mind, so

1:23

that instead of circling through the same thoughts,

1:27

you can rest in a sweet, peaceful

1:29

place. I'll

1:33

tell her story twice, and I'll go

1:35

a little bit slower the second time through.

1:40

If you find yourself still awake at

1:42

the end of the first or second telling,

1:45

don't worry. Take

1:47

your mind back to the beginning of the story and

1:50

walk yourself back through the details

1:52

that you can remember, especially

1:56

any bit that felt particularly

1:58

cozy. You're

2:03

training your brain and body to wind

2:05

down, and the more often you do

2:07

it, the faster you will fall asleep.

2:10

So have a bit of patience at the beginning, and

2:14

if you find yourself awake again later

2:16

in the night, think back

2:18

through the story again to go right

2:20

back to sleep. Now

2:25

it's time to turn off the light and

2:27

put away anything you've been playing with or

2:30

looking at. Take

2:33

some time to cozy your body down into

2:36

your preferred sleeping position, get

2:40

the right pillow in the right spot,

2:44

and let everything relax. In

2:50

time, all of this becomes

2:52

a signal for your brain, a

2:55

signal that says it's

2:58

time for sleep. Now,

3:04

let's take a deep breath in through

3:06

the nose and

3:10

a soft sigh through the mouth. Good,

3:17

do that one more time in and

3:23

out. Our

3:31

story tonight is called the First

3:33

Cool Days, and

3:36

it's a story about that pivotal time

3:39

between seasons and

3:41

how lovely it can be to go from

3:43

the heat of the lakeside to

3:45

the cool, shadowy days of September.

3:50

It's also about being allowed some time

3:53

to be alone and quiet, a

3:56

candle burning on a kitchen window sill,

4:00

and the best bite of watermelon

4:05

the first cool days.

4:09

It was one of the first cool days

4:12

of the fall. Just

4:15

a few days ago, we'd been in our shorts and

4:17

take tops, ringing the last

4:20

bits of summer from the season. We'd

4:24

had one more day at the lake, stretched

4:27

out on giant beech towels and running

4:29

into the waves every half an hour to paddle

4:32

around and splash.

4:36

Even when grown ups forget to

4:38

play, something about

4:40

being in the water reminds them.

4:44

Suddenly we start skating our hands

4:46

across the water, splashing

4:49

and turning in circles.

4:52

We hang off each other like otters, laugh

4:56

and turn somersaults in the waves. We'd

5:01

stayed all day by the water, sleeping

5:05

in the shade, eating watermelon

5:07

and sandwiches from the picnic basket, and

5:11

being as lazy as we could manage.

5:17

The watermelon was particularly

5:19

good at the peak of its

5:21

season, and

5:24

as I bit into it, I

5:26

remembered hearing once that

5:28

in some language, maybe

5:32

German, they

5:34

had a separate word for the frosty

5:36

sweet core of the watermelon, a

5:41

different word for the best bite. I

5:45

liked that when

5:49

something is special, it deserves its

5:51

own word, a

5:53

way to acknowledge a superlative moment

5:58

like that moment, the warm

6:01

end of the summer water, the

6:04

rustling of the leaves high above us,

6:08

and the way that the heat felt in

6:10

my body, knowing

6:12

that the cool, crisp autumn was coming

6:14

soon. Waking

6:19

to day, I felt

6:21

it. The

6:24

air smelled differently. The

6:28

sunlight cutting through the trees had a golden

6:30

tone that it simply hadn't had

6:32

a few days before, I

6:36

took a favorite sweater from my closet.

6:41

I hadn't kneaded one in months, and

6:43

it felt so good to slip it on and

6:46

feel that shiver of warmth in my

6:48

skin. I

6:53

trade it in my flip flops for sneakers

6:56

and carried my coffee out to the deck. Why

7:00

do we like the contrast of cool and

7:02

warm so much? To

7:07

stand in the chill morning air with

7:09

that cup in my hands felt

7:11

like well,

7:14

It felt like it needed its own word to

7:16

say how good it was. I

7:21

lingered on the deck for a while, sitting

7:24

on the steps with my knees to my chest, just

7:26

looking out into the trees. My

7:31

cup was kindly and quietly refilled

7:33

for me. Everybody

7:37

needs some time every day

7:40

to just be, to

7:43

let the wheels inside lose momentum

7:45

and run out of steam. I

7:50

sat till I felt truly quiet. It

7:55

took a while, but I was patient.

8:00

When the quiet was in every bone stitched

8:04

into the fabric of my breath, I

8:08

stood, dusted off, and

8:10

took my cup back inside.

8:16

I opened a few windows and

8:18

let the cool air into the house. I

8:22

lit the candle that sat on the window sill

8:24

above the kitchen sink. I

8:28

took a paper sack of apples from the fridge

8:31

and started to peel them in long, curling

8:34

strips. I

8:38

cut the apples into chunks and dropped

8:40

them into a huge ceramic bowl. I

8:44

sprinkled on cinnamon and squeezed

8:46

in some lemon juice.

8:50

I took a special jar of sugar from the

8:53

pantry. A

8:56

few weeks before, I'd used a vanilla

8:58

bean and a recipe, carefully

9:01

slicing it open and scraping out

9:03

the black seeds with the back of my knife.

9:08

The seeds had gone into a cake, dotting

9:11

its white sponge with one of the best flavors

9:13

in the world. I'd

9:18

saved the pod and put

9:20

it in the bottom of a clean glass jar,

9:25

poured in table sugar to fill it,

9:27

and sealed it back up. Now,

9:32

when I opened the jar, the scent

9:34

of the vanilla drifted out, and

9:37

the sugar had gone slightly golden as

9:39

it drank up the nectar. I

9:45

added a few heaping tablespoons

9:48

of it to the apples and stirred

9:50

them around. I

9:53

set the bowl aside and took out flour

9:57

and a plate of cubed cocoanut oil I'd

10:00

set in the fridge the night before. I

10:04

dropped the oil into a bowl with

10:06

flour and a pinch of salt. You

10:11

can do this in a food processor, and

10:14

maybe that's even the best way, so

10:16

that the warmth of your hands doesn't melt

10:18

the oil. But

10:21

I liked rubbing it through. I

10:25

liked feeling it come together in my hands.

10:31

I added one spoonful of iced

10:33

water at a time until the dough

10:35

was smooth. I

10:39

slipped it into the fridge while I warmed

10:41

the oven and found my pie plate

10:44

and rolling pin. The

10:47

pin was smooth marble, handed

10:51

down through generations of piemakers.

10:55

The stone was naturally cold and

10:58

would keep the pastry cool as I rolled it

11:00

out. I

11:03

dusted the counter with flour and brought the pie

11:05

crust back out. It

11:09

would be a double crust pie. So I

11:12

divided the pastry into two and

11:14

slowly rolled out even disks.

11:19

I lined the pie plate and checked

11:21

on my apples. They

11:23

were juicy and fragrant with the vanilla

11:26

and the cinnamon, and I sprinkled

11:28

a few spoonfuls of ground almonds

11:30

into the open crust before

11:34

I spread the apples out. The

11:39

almond flower would soak up the juice cast

11:41

off as it baked, and

11:44

keep the crust flaky and crisp.

11:51

I laid on the top crust and crimped

11:53

all the way around the edge, just like

11:56

all those piemakers had done before

11:58

me. With

12:01

the tip of a sharp knife, I cut a few

12:03

slits in the dough to let the steam out and

12:06

slid it into the oven. The

12:09

wind was picking up outside. I

12:12

heard that rushing in the branches of

12:15

a thousand leaves colliding that

12:18

comes right before a storm,

12:22

and I let the cool current of air blow

12:24

around me as I ran a sink full

12:26

of hot water to wash the dishes in. I

12:33

was quiet as I washed each bowl, slow

12:36

and attentive. Even

12:39

washing dishes can be a meditation

12:42

if you let it. As

12:46

I finished, I began to smell the pie

12:49

baking in the oven behind me. I

12:54

thought about the sweet core of the watermelon,

12:58

the warm cup of coffee on the deck, and

13:02

the first bite of apple pie. On

13:05

the first cool day of the autumn,

13:10

the rain began to fall. The

13:18

first cool days. It

13:24

was one of the first cool days of the fall.

13:30

Just a few days ago, we'd been in our

13:32

shorts and take tops,

13:35

ringing the last bits of summer from

13:38

the season. We'd

13:43

had one more day at the lake,

13:47

stretched out on giant beech towels

13:50

and running into the waves every

13:52

half hour to

13:54

paddle around and splash.

14:01

Even when grown ups forget to play,

14:04

something about being in the water

14:06

reminds them.

14:11

Suddenly we start skating our hands

14:13

across the water, splashing

14:16

and turning in circles.

14:20

We hang off each other like otters, laugh

14:24

and turn somersaults in the waves. We'd

14:31

stayed all day by the water, sleeping

14:35

in the shade, eating watermelon

14:38

and sandwiches from the picnic basket,

14:41

and being as lazy as we could

14:44

manage. The

14:48

watermelon was particularly good

14:53

at the peak of its season, and

14:56

as I bit into it, remembered

15:00

hearing once that

15:03

in some language, maybe

15:06

German, they

15:09

had a separate word for

15:11

the frosty sweet core of the watermelon,

15:18

a different word for the best

15:20

bite. I

15:24

liked that when

15:27

something is special, it

15:31

deserves its own word, a

15:35

way to acknowledge a superlative

15:37

moment, like

15:43

that moment, the

15:46

warm end of the summer water, the

15:51

rustling of the leaves high above us,

15:56

and the way that the heat felt in my

15:58

body, knowing

16:01

that the cool, crisp autumn was

16:03

coming soon. Waking

16:07

to day, I felt

16:09

it the

16:14

air smelled differently. The

16:19

sunlight cutting through the trees had

16:21

a golden tone that

16:23

it simply hadn't had a few days

16:25

before, I

16:30

took a favorite sweater from my closet. I

16:36

hadn't needed one in months,

16:39

and it felt so good to slip it on and

16:44

feel that shiver of warmth

16:46

in my skin. I

16:52

traded in my flip flops for sneakers.

16:56

I carried my coffee out to the deck. Why

17:03

do we like the contrast of cool

17:05

and warm so much? To

17:11

stand in the chill morning air with

17:14

that cup in my hands felt like

17:18

while it felt like it needed

17:20

its own word to say how

17:22

good it was. I

17:28

lingered on the deck for a while, sitting

17:32

on the steps with my knees to my

17:34

chest, just

17:38

looking out into the trees. My

17:44

cup was kindly and quietly refilled

17:47

for me. Everybody

17:51

needs some time every day

17:55

to just be, to

17:58

let the wheels inside lose momentum

18:01

and run out of steam.

18:06

I sat till I felt truly

18:08

quiet. It

18:11

took a while, but I

18:13

was patient. When

18:18

the quiet was in every bone stitched

18:23

into the fabric of my breath, I

18:27

stood, dusted

18:29

off, and took my cup back

18:32

inside. I

18:38

opened a few windows and

18:40

let the cool air into the house. I

18:48

lit the candle that sat on

18:50

the window sill above the kitchen sink. I

18:56

took a paper sack of apples from the

18:58

fridge started

19:00

to peel them in long, curling

19:02

strips. I

19:07

cut the apples into chunks and

19:09

dropped them into a huge ceramic bowl.

19:16

I sprinkled on cinnamon and

19:18

squeezed in some lemon juice.

19:23

I took a special jar of sugar

19:25

from the pantry. A

19:29

few weeks before, I'd

19:32

used of vanilla bean in a recipe,

19:35

carefully slicing it open and

19:38

scraping out the black seeds with

19:40

the back of my knife. The

19:46

seeds had gone into a cake, dotting

19:48

its white sponge with one of the best

19:51

flavors in the world. I'd

19:56

saved the pod and

19:58

put it in the bottom of a clean glass

20:00

jar, poured

20:03

in table sugar to fill it, and

20:05

sealed it back up. Now,

20:12

when I opened the jar, the

20:15

scent of the vanilla drifted out, and

20:19

the sugar had gone slightly golden

20:21

as it drank up the nectar. I

20:29

added a few heaping tablespoons

20:31

of it to the apples and stirred

20:33

them around. I

20:38

set the bowl aside and took out

20:40

flour and a plate of cubed

20:42

coconut oil I had set in the fridge

20:44

the night before. I

20:49

dropped the oil into a bowl with flour

20:52

and a pinch of salt. You

20:57

can do this in a food processor, and

21:00

maybe that's even the best way,

21:03

so that the warmth of your hands doesn't

21:06

melt the oil. But

21:10

I liked rubbing it through. I

21:14

liked feeling it come together in my hands.

21:20

I added one spoonful of iced

21:22

water at a time until

21:25

the dough is smooth. I

21:30

slipped it into the fridge while I warmed

21:32

the oven and found my pie

21:34

plate and rolling pin. The

21:40

pin was smooth marble handed

21:43

down through generations of piemakers.

21:49

The stone was naturally cold and

21:52

would keep the pastry cool as I rolled

21:54

it out, dusted

22:00

the counter with flour, and

22:03

brought the pie crust back out. It

22:10

would be a double crustpie.

22:13

So I divided the pastry into two

22:16

and slowly rolled out even disks.

22:23

I lined the pie plate and checked

22:26

on my apples. They

22:28

were juicy and fragrant with

22:30

the vanilla and cinnamon, and

22:34

I sprinkled a few spoonfuls of

22:36

ground almonds into the open crust

22:40

before I spread the apples out. The

22:47

almond flour would soak up the juice

22:49

cast off as it maked, and

22:52

keep the crust flaky and crisp.

22:58

I laid on the top crust and

23:01

crimped all around the edge, just

23:04

like all those piemakers had

23:06

done before me. With

23:11

the tip of a sharp knife, I

23:14

cut a few slits in the dough to

23:17

let the steam escape

23:22

and slid it into the oven. The

23:29

wind was picking up outside. I

23:34

heard that rushing in the branches of

23:36

a thousand leaves colliding that

23:40

comes right before a storm,

23:45

and I let the cool current of air blow

23:47

around me as I ran a sink full

23:50

of hot water to wash

23:52

the dishes in. I

23:57

was quiet as I washed each bowl,

24:01

slow and attentive. Even

24:07

washing dishes can

24:09

be meditation if you

24:11

let it. As

24:16

I finished, I began to smell

24:18

the pie baking in the

24:21

oven behind me. I

24:26

thought about the sweet core of the

24:28

watermelon, the

24:32

warm cup of coffee on the deck, and

24:37

the first bite of apple pie. On

24:41

the first cool day

24:43

of the autumn, the

24:48

rain began to fall. Sweet

24:55

dreams