โ Koala Moon: Kids Bedtime Stories & Sleep Stories for Kids Podcast
Koala Moon: Kids Bedtime Stories & Sleep Stories for Kids Podcast
The Slumberjack ๐ค๐ณ Kids Sleep Stories
00:33:02
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Narrator
Hello and welcome back to Koala Moon, a podcast of original children's bedtime stories and meditations designed to make bedtime a dream. Or blow me down with a feather. I've just learned a new word. Yep, I was today years old when I heard the word slumberjack for the first time. And it's so cool. Oh, what is it? Well, a slumberjack is what a young girl called Willow Stump is. And it's more than just a job title. It's a whole way of life, a way of being. You see, Willow comes from a long line of lumberjacks, people who cut down trees and turn the trunks into logs and build with it. Or they heat the fireplace or who knows what the thing is. After reading a book one day, Willow realises that she's not meant to be a lumberjack cutting down trees at all. She's more drawn to the special job of looking after the animals in the forests, building them homes and habitats and making sure they have a comfy bed to sleep in. In other words, she is a very rare slumberjack. Before we begin, a quick message for the grown ups. If you'd like to support our podcast, Enjoy ad free listening, unlock four bonus stories per month and much, much more, you can join Coco Club. Subscribe in just two taps via the link in the show notes. But now here's a quick word from our sponsors.
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Willow Stump
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Willow Stump
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Narrator
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Mickey Mouse
And me, Mickey Mouse. Welcome to the clubhouse. I'll be right here.
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Willow Stump
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Narrator
Did you know you too can help give animals comfy homes? Whether it's a hedgehog house, a bird feeder or a bug hotel, why not think about what you can do for the wildlife near your home? It's food for thought. So mull that over whilst you lie back in bed and slowly start to breathe in deeply. In and out. In 2, 3, 4. And out, 2, 3, 4. Lovely. As you get relaxed and sleepy, I will begin the Slumberjack by Jane Thomas. In the centre of a tree lined clearing in the village of Lower Starry Skies stands Willow Stump's home, a log cabin made by her grandfather's great grandfather, the first of the famous Lower Starry Skies lumberjacks. The stumps have lived here for hundreds of years and have passed their lumberjack skills from father to son or in this Case from father to daughter. Not only do they take down trees when needed, but they transform wood into all manner of beautiful things, Their specialty being cabins just like this one. There's a porch that wraps its way all around the house, decorated with rocking chairs and endless strings of fairy lights. And there's a chimney at either end of the cabin, each of which has a little puff of white smoke coming out of it. Everything inside has been made by one stump or another, from the beds to the bookcases, to the plates they use for dinner, and the bathtub that sits beneath the skylight so you can lean back and look up at the stars surrounded by mounds of rainbow bubbles. So this is the life Willow Stump was born into. One where the outside is quite literally brought inside, and where she understands the rhythms and ways of nature and trees, the birds and the bushes, the deer that stand and watch her, and the squirrels that dance through swaying branches. And you might expect that this girl in the jeans and the checked shirt would grow up to do exactly as her father has done. But she has a secret that nobody knows, not even those in her family. Ever since she was born, Willow knew there was something different about her. It was only one day, when she was old enough to read, that she happened to take down the biggest, dustiest, heaviest book in the little library in their cabin. One that, of course, had a ladder that swung around on rails so you could reach even the books on the highest shelves with ease. And inside that book, she found tales of pixies and fairies of leprechauns and will o' the wisps. And somewhere in there was a page with a corner folded down and pictured. On that page was something called a slumberjack. As Willow read the description and looked at the image, she knew she was finding out all about herself. A slumberjack, she read, was a special, unusual kind of lumberjack. You see, cutting down trees too much and using all the wood for humans, if unchecked, could take habitats away from the animals who need them. So we need slumberjacks to maintain the balance. That's why slumberjacks often disappear to remote wild places and make sure the forests are thriving. They helped the animals create the cosiest homes high up in the trees, going to almost impossible lengths to make sure that every bush, baby and koala and squirrel and sloth could fall asleep in the cosiest of nests and dens and hidey holes. Willow looked at the picture and smiled, seeing herself on the page. It was a boy in the picture, but he had the same face as Willow and the same eyes, one blue and one green. His hair was the same rusty red as hers, and she recognised something about the way he stood, his hands deep in his pockets, his shoulders relaxed, his happy smile that was very much her. In that moment she found herself and understood her calling in life. Now it's all very well finding out that you are supposed to be a slumberjack and your purpose is to disappear to remote places. But remote places are, well, remote. Animals tend to live away from humans in our hustle and bustle. It was when Willow was 10 years old that she realised that Aunt Tilly, the mysterious wise lady of the village, who everyone called their Auntie, whether they were actually related or not, certainly had a lot of secrets hidden behind her smile and might be able to help her fulfil her Slumberjack destiny. It was a difficult topic to bring up. One afternoon over tea, they were sitting in Aunt Tilly's garden on a picnic rug, Willow stringing daisies together to make a chain, when she suddenly put down the flowers, took a deep breath and bravely announced, I think I'm not supposed to be a regular lumberjack like my family making things for humans. I think I'm supposed to be a slumberjack. She blurted it out all of a sudden and then turned bright red and went back to her daisies. But of course you are, dear, said Aunt Tilly, quite unfazed by the announcement. I knew that the moment you were born. Willow dropped the daisies, taken quite by surprise for a moment, and then realising in the next that of course Aunt Tilly of all people would know such a thing. I need a place to do my work, she said, leaving the hint hanging in the air, hoping Aunt Tilly would help her out. Aunt Tilly set down her teacup on its saucer and looked casually off into the distance. Rumour has it, she said after a pause, that if one were to go through the little gate at the end of the lane, and if one were to believe very much in what one might find, that one could discover a place called Sleepy Forest. She picked up the teacup and took a sip. Then she smiled across at Willow and I think Sleepy Forest is just the place for a slumberjack to do their work. I'll leave that with you, dear. And then Aunt Tilly changed the subject and started talking about the time she saw a tiger in India and always wished she had invited it to tea. In her next story, Tilly was riding on the back of a whale as it slipped through the waters to Sri Lanka, and Willow became so distracted by talk of the tea plantations that for a few days she quite forgot everything Aunt Tilly had said about Sleepy Forest. But of course she had remembered one night at two in the morning when she'd suddenly woken with a start and gasped. Willow had looked out of the window and seen a white owl swooping by, heading over the forest that Aunt Tilly had described. And from then on, every week Willow would find a way to slip through the little gate at the end of the lane and find her way into the heart of Sleepy Forest. And tonight she will disappear through that same little gate and she will meet with a bush baby called Daisy who is going to be getting a new little sister very, very soon to build a new bedroom for their nest high in the trees. But first she has to gather supplies. Willow Stump walks down the hill from upper starry skies to lower starry skies. She has her hands in her jeans pockets as she walks and the sleeves of her red and black checked shirt are rolled up. It's a warm evening and she's whistling softly as she goes, pausing to say hello to anyone she passes. She passes by, neither up nor down, and then comes to where there's a wool there's a way. Mrs. Woollingworth is waiting for Willow and her fluffball of a cat is also there on the counter, his tail waving slowly to and fro as he sits and watches the world go by. Outside the window. Mrs. Woollingworth smiles at Willow and hands over a basket of scraps of material she's gathered together over the last week, the leftover pieces from the curtains and clothes, tea towels and tablecloths she's made for people. Willow takes a quick peek inside and smiles to see the bundle of polka dots and flowered fabrics, stripes and checks, some velvet, some silk, some soft brushed cotton, and lengths of pale blue wool curled neatly around. Willow passes by rise and chime, waving to Mr. Timelove, who appears to be having a meeting with a gathering of cuckoos and mice, and then wanders past the church and the school, turning at the crossroads just in time to see Uma closing the doors of the dimpled dumpling. Past Mr. Featherman's garden she goes, where all the gnomes are poised in position, fishing rods reaching out over ponds, wheelbarrows filled with feathers, waiting for darkness to descend so they can head out into the world and gather up good luck charms. Outside Aunt Tilly's house, mellow yellow, the van seems to sparkle a smile across to Willow and then just Past the cottage where the roses seem to bloom the whole year round, Willow takes a small path that hardly anyone ever notices. It winds its way between high hedgerows, the scent of honeysuckle filling the air, and she walks along, still whistling softly, swinging the basket of scraps from Mrs. Willingworth until she comes to a clearing. Willow believes that nobody in her family knows she is a slumberjack. She believes she's kept this very much hidden and that she can sneak out under cover of darkness with none of them noticing. But of course they know. They all know. They knew it from the moment she opened her eyes and they saw one was green and the other blue and her hair was the colour of the setting sun. But it is better for everyone to work out who they are in life rather than and their family tell them. And so they had kept quiet and waited for Willow to figure it out for herself. They knew the day the biggest, dustiest, heaviest book in the library had been moved, for the little mouse who lived there had come to tell them. And they knew Willow had found the page with a Slumberjack's picture because one of her long flame red hairs was resting in the pages of the book. But they never said a word. So later that night, as Willow slips out of the house with her basket, believing that everyone thinks she's fast asleep in her bed, she holds her breath as she tiptoes past her grandfather in the rocking chair on the porch, who is busy pretending to be very, very asleep. She stops for a moment when she steps on a twig that snaps, the sound suddenly seeming so loud in the absolute quiet of the night. But no lights turn on and the rocking chair doesn't move, and she believes that once more she's leaving for her mission with nobody knowing. Willow goes down the path that winds its way between the high hedgerows and emerges onto the little lane. She sees lights twinkling in Aunt Tilly's house and imagines the tiny old lady sitting with a book late into the night, not knowing that she too keeps an eye out for the little slumberjack on the night she heads into Sleepy Forest. The gate creaks a little and Willow frowns, reminding herself to bring a can of oil next time. And then it is closed and Willow is heading down the path that rises to the left and dances to the right and heads across a little bridge over a stream made silver in the moonlight. And at the meeting place beneath the old oak tree, there is Daisy, the bush baby, waiting patiently for Willow to arrive. They greet each other with hushed voices not wanting to wake any of the folk who are busy in their dreams in sleepy forest. And head hand in hand towards the pine tree where Daisy and her family live. It's an easy tree for Willow to climb, one with big strong branches that reach out from the trunk just a few inches apart from each other. So it's as easy as climbing the ladder in the library at home for her to go high, high to the top of the tree. And there is the bush baby's home, one that Willow made a few years before. It's almost perfectly round, made from thin strips of wood that Willow cut and shaped and bent. One of the finest little homes she's built. There is a large round hole that serves as a door and smaller round holes that act as windows. And from the top, Willow notes with a smile, is a little puff of white smoke coming from the chimney. Curtains are drawn at all the windows and across the door and Daisy disappears inside to wake her father. He comes to the doorway and smiles out at Willow, explaining that with the little one on the way, they think it's time for an extra room and does she think she can manage that? Willow takes out her sketchpad and shows her design, which shows a separate completely round home, smaller than the first, attached to the main one. Underneath, it will hang on slender ropes she shows, looking for all the world like a hot air balloon with a basket beneath so the new bush baby can be rocked to sleep without disturbing the whole house. Daisy then shows her design for the inside, with a pattern of ferns across the nursery wall and a rocking chair for the mother and a rocking horse for the baby when she's old enough, and a little spiral staircase that links the two homes together. The design is beautiful, more than the bush babies could have dreamed. And Willow sets to work. Yes, there, high in the tree. She's as comfortable in the tree as you or I might be on the ground. She sets up her little workshop, hanging her tools on twigs. She walks along the branches until she finds the perfect pieces to cut and shape and bend in her hands, weaving everything together until it creates the shape she's after. She takes Mrs. Woollingworth's material from her basket, choosing a soft pink velvet piece for the bed and hanging poppy covered pieces over the windows. She adds matching cushions to the rocking chair she's made and weaves the little lengths of wool together to make the softest rug to be placed on the floor. And then Willow, oh so carefully makes the hole needed in the original home so she can add her spiral staircase made of woven reeds linking the two creations together. The final touch, once everything is a single home, is to turn on the light. In the new home, a soft glow can be seen behind the poppy curtains and Willow imagines Daisy's mother sitting in the rocking chair with her new baby in her arms, her foot pushing her back and forth, back and forth as she sings her lullaby. The night isn't finished yet for Willow, for a new family of koalas has moved into Sleepy Forest and she's busy making them their perfect home. They showed her pictures of their old cottage back where they used to live, and Willow is determined to make an almost perfect copy of this. So it's taking time. This will be her fifth night working on the home for them. Meanwhile, the koalas are having a lovely time camping out beneath the stars. Four little orange tents all pointed towards a fire pit in the middle where they sit together in the evenings and roast marshmallows on the ends of sticks. By the time Willow gets there tonight, the baby koalas are tucked up in their sleeping bags and fast, fast asleep. But Mr. And Mrs. Pebbles are waiting for their slumberjack to appear, blankets drawn over their knees and telescope in hand as they look up at the Milky Way. Willow stays with them a while before climbing up the great oak tree they've chosen as their home, reaching from branch to branch with ease as she approaches the cottage she's creating. Mrs. Pebbles is a great sower and she is making patchwork quilts for her new home. So Willow leaves the basket of scraps with her at the base of the tree. Mr. Pebbles continues his journey around the Milky Way while Mrs. Pebbles claps her paws in delight at the beautiful pieces she has to choose from tonight, starting with a square of red on white striped material to add to her quilt. The cottage is one of the cosiest Willow has created yet, with deep window seats for daytime dreaming and hammocks made from the thread of silkworms. Tonight she's adding the softest moss as carpet, deep and thick and green and warm. And on one of the walls she's painting the words of a poem she found. Twinkle, twinkle, little star. She paints slowly and carefully, her face screwed up in concentration. How I wonder when what you are up above the world so high Like a diamond in the sky. Twinkle, twinkle little star. How I wonder what you are. When the final curtain is added to the final window and the last pillow placed inside the last hammock, Willow climbs down the tree and beckons for Mrs. Pebbles to come and take a look the koala stands with her hands clasped in the doorway, looking in at her new home, taking in all the touches Willow has included. The stand for the telescope, the shelf for the books, the copper kettle on a stove in the corner. For a moment she wants to go and wake her children right away so they can see their new home too. But no, she will leave them asleep in their tents for one last night and then they will move up the old oak into their cottage. Willow heads slowly home, taking her time on the walk through sleepy forest. It is a magical place where fireflies dance and glowworms glow, where gnomes dab luck onto fallen acorns and search through fields for four leaf clovers, where animals from all over the world live side by side, happy and safe and free. She loves being in the forest, feeling the magic of the place wash over her. But then her eyes remind her how very tired she is. So she heads over the little bridge and along the path that winds to the left and the right. She goes through the gate and barely notices that this time it doesn't creak, barely stopping to wonder who might have come down behind her and poured a little oil onto the hinges. She reaches the lane and looks up to see Aunt Tilly's light still on and smiles as she imagines what a very good book it must be that Aunt Tilly is reading. And then she turns up the footpath that hardly anyone notices and goes up the path that winds this way and that with the high hedgerows on either side. And there in the clearing is the log cabin that her grandfather's great grandfather built, the one with the porch that wraps itself all around and the rocking chair where her grandfather still sleeps, one foot up on the railing, a hat tipped over his eyes. Willow tiptoes past him and into the cabin, taking the softest step she can as she heads up the stairs and towards her room. Her bed looks so warm and cosy, and her mother has left her night clothes neatly folded on the pillow. Willow takes off her jeans and checked shirt, leaving them in a pile on the floor that she will sort out tomorrow. Climbing into her soft pyjamas and snuggling down beneath the blankets, she turns this way and that, remembering she hasn't closed the curtains. From outside, the full moon seems to wink at her before disappearing behind a cloud. And there the room is, dark, with just a few twinkling stars a thousand years away. Willow thinks of the bush babies tucked away in their perfect round ball of a home and the cottage waiting for the koalas who are wrapped up in their sleeping bags in their little orange tents around the campfire, and Mrs. Pebbles sitting and sewing the final squares onto her patchwork quilt, and the slumberjack sighs happily as she falls asleep, imagining looking through a telescope at the silver sweep of the Milky Way and seeing a single star up above the world so high like a diamond in the sky.
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Willow Stump
Sam.
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Narrator
Sa.