← Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep
Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep
Off the Beaten Path
00:32:58
Season 18, Episode 8
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Transcript15 lines
- [00:01]
A
Get more Nothing Much Happens with bonus episodes, extra long stories and ad free listening, all while supporting the show you love. Subscribe Now. Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone in which Nothing Much Happens. You feel good and then you fall asleep. I'm Kathryn Nicolai. I write and read all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving to Marine Mammal Care center, inspiring ocean conservation through marine mammal rescue and rehabilitation, education and research. Learn more about them in our show Notes in our virtual village of Nothing Much on our app. You can of course listen to all of our shows ad free as well as take yoga and meditation classes from me, dive into courses on journaling and mindful drawing and just come to live events. Hang out with your neighbors. I'd love to see you there. It's all@nothingmuch happens.com. your mind is a bit like a truck with a brick on the gas pedal. It will keep going even if there is no one there to steer it. This podcast gives you a pleasant track to roll it onto a safe space to let it slowly run out of gas and deliver you to dreamland. I'll read our story twice and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake again in the night, don't hesitate to just push play and you'll drop right back off. Our story tonight is called off the Beaten Path and it's a story about a bit of summer adventuring and the delight of coming across something you never knew was there. It's also about stalks of lavender and a copper still in a field, turkeys and tree houses, and taking a road that leads somewhere new.
- [02:49]
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One of my favorite little summer luxuries
- [02:52]
A
is climbing into bed at the end
- [02:54]
B
of the day and finding that the sheets are actually cool. That's one of the reasons I've become such a fan of quince. Their bedding feels beautiful and my linen sheets have only gotten softer with every wash. Quince makes bedding from high quality materials like 100% European linen and organic cotton that are breathable and perfect for warm nights. They also have lovely extras like mulberry silk pillowcases and eye masks, along with clothing, home goods, cookware and furniture. What I appreciate just as much is that quince works directly with ethical factories and cuts out the middleman so you're getting exceptional quality without the luxury markup. Everything is priced about 50 to 80% less than similar brands. Make your summer bedding feel better. Go to quince.com nothingmuch for free shipping on your order and 365 day returns. Now available in Canada too. That's Q-U-I-N c-e.com nothingmuch for free shipping and 365 day returns. Quint.com nothing much.
- [04:09]
A
It's time. Lights out. Devices down. Get the right pillow in the right spot and let everything relax. You are right where you're supposed to be and there's nothing left to do but rest. Take a deep breath in through your nose. Let it out your mouth. Nice. One more. Breathe in
- [04:52]
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and out.
- [04:57]
A
Good. Off the beaten path I've always been one to turn off the main roads and go looking for someplace I've never been before. Maybe I'm still looking to be surprised by something, to see some hidden rune rising out of a clump of trees, or to stumble across a waterfall where I'd never known there to be one. Mostly I find more woods, more fields, more old houses tumbling down on forgotten farmland. But even those things are pretty magical. Sometimes I spot an old tree house still holding its own in the branches of a tall tree. I like to think about who had climbed the planks tacked into its bark to shout out the rules of a new game and play pretend from the tiny house above and where they might be today, and if sometimes, in the middle of a busy meeting or while folding laundry on a rainy day, they
- [06:34]
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stop
- [06:36]
A
to remember the way the wood felt under their fingers as they climbed. Today was a perfect day for exploring, with blue skies and warm summer air coming in through the open car windows. I stopped at a shady intersection and looked up and down the rutted dirt road in front of me. I picked a direction and turned, bits of gravel skittering out from under my tires and the sloping land on either side rising to show exposed roots of old hemlocks and sugar maples. The roads were a bit rough and hilly and tended to be crisscrossed constantly by chipmunks and squirrels, so I went slowly and stopped every now and then to get a better look into a field or grove of trees. I turned another corner and stopped short so a rafter of turkeys could peck and strut and flap their way across the road. I kept driving, feeling a bit lost and enjoying it. I had no place to be, so wherever I was was just right. The hills smoothed out into broader, flattening fields, and I saw a few silos in the distance. The road ran alongside a few busy farms. I could see tractors and thrashers moving over the land beyond the meadows of corn and wheat, I saw a field covered with a bright purple haze. I tipped my face toward the window and breathed in the sweet herbal smell. Fresh, growing lavender. Further down the road I saw a drive that turned toward the purple fields and at its entrance a sign saying they were open and happy to have visitors. I'd never seen so many left lavender plants in one place. They covered the fields on either side of the drive in neat, evenly spaced rows. They surrounded a small house and parking lot and continued as far back as I could see into the acres beyond. I parked my car in their small lot beside one or two others and left my windows down with the hopes that the flowery scent in the air would settle into it. I just walked for a while through the rows of plants, stopping now and then to press my hand into the shrubby stems and feel their short green leaves, which looked a bit like rosemary. Their bright purple flowered heads left my skin scented with the clean and almost minty aroma that, while being something like the soap on the shelf in my shower, was a thousand times more potent and astonishing. I thought that if I had been a healer living centuries before and had stumbled upon these plants for the first time, I would immediately have recognized them as medicine. I followed a gravel path that circled through the fields and saw a few small structures and cleared spaces to explore. They had a humble shop built from an old shed with shelves lined with homemade soaps and satchels filled with tiny purple grains. They had small bottles of potent essential oil, but the man behind the counter proudly told me they distilled themselves. They had glass jars of lavender water to spray on linens and laundry, and candles speckled with green and purple flecks of the plant. I gathered a small collection of items, including a precious tiny bottle of the oil, and paid my dollars, which went into an old tin box under the counter. The man pointed further down the path and invited me to keep wandering. I thanked him, took him up on the offer. I found another shed, this one with every inch of wall space dedicated to drying lavender. It hung in overlapping bundles with heads down and stems in the air. There were hundreds of bouquets, and the air inside was hot and thick with the scent. I stood and let it settle over me. I breathed it in and felt calm and relaxed. I had never been in a spa that smelled this good, and I thought about how old these techniques were and that sometimes modern luxuries just can't recreate what nature produces so prolifically. Outside the drying shed was a tall copper still and beside it a small gray haired woman who was attaching a coiled tube to the boiler. She smiled up at me and asked if I knew how they turned their fields of lavender into the oil they sold in their shop. I said that I didn't, but was eager to learn. She pulled off thick work gloves and reached into a basket to bring out a handful of fresh lavender stalks. She told me she cut them that morning close to the flower head without much stem, as that produces the best quality oil. As she told me the story of distillation, how the kettle would be packed full of lavender and steamed slowly to extract the oil, she walked me around the still and we squatted down together to see where it would separate from the vapor and be caught in a glass bottle. I guessed she'd given this same talk hundreds, if not thousands of times before, but was still excited and proud to share the secrets of her process with me. She put her gloves back on and went back to packing the belly of the copper kettle with the flowers. She tilted her head toward the path and asked if I'd found the labyrinth yet. I'd set out today to explore, expecting not to find much more than the usual fields and forests, guessing I already knew all the secrets that these acres held. As I followed the path to the labyrinth, or whatever I might find next, I reminded myself how sweet it is to be surprised, how good to wander off the beaten path. Off the beaten path. I've always been one to turn off the main roads and go looking for someplace I've never been before. Maybe I'm still looking to be surprised by something, to see some hidden ruin rising out of a clump of trees, or to stumble across a waterfall where I'd never known there to be one. Mostly I find more woods, more fields, more old houses tumbling down on forgotten farmland. But even those things are pretty magical. Sometimes I spot an old tree house still holding its own in the branches of a tall tree. I like to think about who had climbed the planks tacked into its bark to shout out the rules of a new game, play pretend from the tiny house above and where they might be today. An if sometimes, in the middle of a busy meeting or while folding laundry on a rainy day, they stop to remember the way the wood felt under their fingers as they climbed. Today was a perfect day for exploring, with blue skies and warm summer air coming in through the open car windows. I stopped at a shady intersection and looked up and down the rutted dirt road in front of me. I picked a direction and turned bits of Gravel skittering out from under my tires and the sloping land on either side rising to show exposed roots of old hemlocks and sugar maples. The roads were a bit rough and hilly and tended to be crisscrossed constantly by chipmunks and squirrels,
- [20:58]
B
So I went
- [20:59]
A
slowly and stopped every now and then to get a better look into a
- [21:10]
B
field
- [21:12]
A
or grove of trees. I turned another corner and stopped short so a rafter of turkeys could pack and strut and flap their way across the road. I kept driving, feeling a bit lost and enjoying it. I had no place to be, so wherever I was was just right. The hills smoothed out into broader, flattening fields, and I saw a few silos in the distance. The road ran alongside a few busy farms. I could see tractors and thrashers moving over the land. Beyond the meadows of corn and wheat, I saw a field covered with a bright purple haze. I tipped my face toward the window and breathed in the sweet herbal smell, a fresh growing lavender. Further down the road I saw a drive that turned toward the purple fields and at its entrance a sign saying they were open and happy to have visitors. I'd never seen so many lavender plants in one place. They covered the fields on either side of the drive in neat, evenly spaced rows. They surrounded a small house and parking lot and continued as far back as I could see into the acres beyond. I parked my car in their small lot beside one or two others and left my windows down with the hopes that the flowery scent in the air would settle into it. I just walked for a while through the rows of plants, stopping now and then to press my hand into the shrubby stems and feel their short green leaves, which looked a bit like rosemary. Their bright purple flowered heads left my skin scented with the clean, almost minty aroma that, while being something like the soap on the shelf in my shower, was a thousand times more potent and astonishing. I thought that if I had been a healer living centuries before, had stumbled upon these plants for the first time, I would immediately have recognized them as medicine. I followed a gravel path that circled through the fields and saw a few small structures cleared spaces to explore. They had a humble shop built from an old shed with shelves lined with homemade soaps and satchels filled with tiny purple grains. They had small bottles of potent essential oil that the man behind the counter proudly told me they distilled themselves. They had glass jars of lavender water to spray on linens and laundry, and candles speckled with green and purple flecks of the plant. I gathered a small collection of items, including a precious tiny bottle of the
- [27:21]
B
oil,
- [27:24]
A
and paid my dollars, which went into an old tin box under the counter. The man pointed further down the path and invited me to keep wandering. I thanked him and took him up on his offer. I found another shed, this one with every inch of wall space, dedicated to drying lavender. It hung in overlapping bundles with heads down and stems in the air. There were hundreds of bouquets, and the air inside was hot and thick with the scent. I stood and let it settle over me. I breathed it in and felt calm and relaxed. I had never been in a spa that smelled this good, and I thought about how old these techniques were and that sometimes modern luxuries just can't recreate what nature produces so prolifically. Outside the drying shed was a tall copper still, and beside it a small gray haired woman who was attaching a coiled tube to the boiler. She smiled up at me and asked if I knew how they turned their fields of lavender into the oil they sold in their shop. I said that I didn't, but was eager to learn. She pulled off thick work gloves and reached into a basket to bring out a handful of fresh lavender stalks. She told me she'd cut them that morning close to the flower head without much stem, as that produces the best quality oil. As she told me the story of distillation, how the kettle would be packed full of lavender and steamed slowly to extract the oil, she walked me around the still and we squatted down together to see where it would separate from the vapor and be caught in a glass bottle. I guessed she'd given this same talk hundreds, if not thousands, of times before, but was still excited and proud to share the secrets of her process with me. She put her gloves back on and went back to packing the belly of the copper kettle with the flowers. She tilted her head toward the path and asked if I'd found the labyrinth yet. I'd set out today to explore, expecting not to find much more than the usual fields and forests, guessing I already knew all the secrets that these acres held. As I followed the path to the labyrinth, or whatever I might find next, I reminded myself how sweet it is to be surprised. How good to wander off the beaten path. Sweet dreams.