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Get more Nothing much happens with bonus episodes, extra long stories and ad free listening, all while supporting the show you love. Subscribe now. You know those days when your brain just won't cooperate? When you're staring at your to do list, hopping from call to call and the mental fog just gets thicker? I've been there and I used to reach for another coffee only to end up jittery and then crashing later. That's why I've been trying Nature Sunshine Brain Edge. It's a clean, plant powered drink mix that blends wild harvested yerba mate with nootropic botanicals to help with focus, memory and mental clarity without the crash. I've used it before, recording, before writing, and I noticed I could think more clearly, I could stay present and I could actually finish what I set out to do. I like that it fits right into my wellness routine. Warm and cozy in a mug or poured over ice. And it feels good to know that the yerba mate is sourced responsibly from indigenous communities in the rainforest. Plus, Nature Sunshine has over 50 years of experience sourcing pure, potent ingredients, so I trust what I'm drinking. Don't fight through feeling foggy and lethargic. Ignite your mental performance with Brain Edge. Nature Sunshine is offering 20% off your first order plus free shipping. Go to naturesunshine.com and use code Nothing Much at checkout. That's code nothingmuch@naturesunshine.com 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 unbound dedicated to ending human poverty in all its forms. Learn more about them in our show Notes. We have some lovely things coming up in the Village in the near future, including my second book, Eek. More to come on that soon there's going to be a live show you can watch and participate in from anywhere in the world and not too long after that, an app that is the next best thing to actually living in the Village of Nothing Much. So follow us on socials and sign up for our newsletter. I don't want you to miss out on any of this cozy fun. There's a link in the notes for that. And as always, for Ad Free and bonus apps, click subscribe in Spotify or Apple or go to nothingmuchhappens.com Bedtime stories aren't a new invention, but recognizing just how effective they are for sleep training for folks of all ages and needs kind of is all you need to do is listen. I'll tell the story twice and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through. If you wake later in the night, don't hesitate to restart an episode with practice. Falling and returning to sleep will happen within mere moments. Our story tonight is called the Gatekeeper Tree and folks, it is ever so gently a spooky bedtime story. And I know that's not for everyone, so if it doesn't sound like it's for you, the good news is that we have hundreds of other episodes to listen to. Always at your fingertips. This story is about a late night expedition, the flickering light of a lantern in the woods, tree roots that might trip you or make way depending on whether or not you ought to be there, a fox kit and a fairy circle and the prize found at the journey's end. Okay, it's time. Maybe you've been waiting all day for this moment, the moment when nothing else is needed from you, when there is no expectation of you were there. Let everything go. Take a deep breath in through your nose and sigh through the mouth. And again, breathe in and out. Good. The Gatekeeper Tree in the thick of the forest, the light from my lantern bounced off the tree trunks and mossy roots. I could hear the crunch of twigs and dried leaves under my feet, the sound of my breath a little fast from the climb, but not much else. Then, at the edge of the tree line, the sound of flapping wings startled me. A bird by the sound of it, a large bird set off into the dark sky. Tonight's walk wasn't just for the joy of it. I was on a mission as a member of the friendly circle of village witches, the task of foraging something special from the wood. As the veil thinned and fallen to me, the path leveled off and I stepped out into a clearing full of moonlight. The difference was so stark that I blinked for a few moments as my eyes adjusted to it. I let my arm drop to my side, the lantern knocking against my knee, and took a deep breath of cool air. In and out. I could smell so much in this field, the damp soil after the recent rain, old logs and fallen branches slowly breaking down. Leaves, crisp and spicy, were the top note of this perfume, and somewhere in the middle was just the open, uncluttered scent of nighttime. My breath fogged in the air and I began to walk again before the cold could take hold of me. I was headed somewhere further out, and though I didn't have a paper map to follow, there was one written in the land and so far I'd been able to follow along. I scanned the edge of the wood opposite until I found what I was looking for. When I spotted it, I lifted the lantern again to confirm and whispered under my breath, there she is. The tree stood a bit apart from the others and right at the edge of a clear, worn down path. Many of its roots were exposed and crossed over the trail to the ground cover on the other side. The Gatekeeper Tree Every magical wood has one. One at least in fact. A tree that, like a ticket taker on a carnival ride or a bouncer behind a velvet rope, inspects and possibly welcomes those who pass through. I approached with some respect, just pausing and breathing down deep into my belly. When trying to communicate with something that doesn't use a spoken language, it's wise to rely instead on the most ancient language ever devised. Sensation. So I paid attention to what I felt in my body. The calm beat of my heart, the warmth in my tissues from the exercise, the fresh feeling on the back of my neck as the cool air blew over it. I reached out slowly and laid a hand on the gatekeeper's trunk. I'd read about a study done a few years before in which intention communicated through touch was tested. Two people separated by a barrier so they couldn't see each other. One reached out and for a few seconds touched the arm of the other, trying to encode that bit of contact with an emotion. Love, embarrassment, envy, surprise, gratitude. Then the recipient of the touch reported what emotion they felt had been transmitted. If they'd simply guessed, they would have been correct about 8% of the time. But they were correct nearly 70% of the time. We can speak through touch. I thought of that whenever I said hello to a tree. Whenever I hugged a friend or shook the hand of someone I hoped would become one. I did my best to say now to the gatekeeper that I was good hearted, respectful of the woods, and here to play and learn. I felt a slight vibration in the bark, a warmth that traveled from the wood into my palm. I heard branches high up shaking and shifting, and a few dry leaves showered down over me as they touched the earth at my feet. I noticed the roots that crossed the path wriggle themselves deeper into the soil so that I wouldn't trip over them. And one of the fallen leaves shimmered as it turned back to the glossy dark green it had been in the peak of summertime. I bent and scooped it up, and in my hand it continued to glow and shift from green to deep red and bright yellow and fiery orange. That's where it settled, and I wove its stem into a lock of hair in my braid and stepped into the forest. I thought of the time I had been tripped by the roots of a gatekeeper tree on my way into the woods. It was before I understood much about speaking the language of trees, before I relearned to trust my instincts. I'd laid a hand on the bark and had felt a twist in my stomach, but I hadn't paid any attention to it, just barreled forward brazenly, only to fall flat on my face on the dusty trail. Even then I hadn't listened. I dusted myself off, shaken my head at my own clumsiness, and continued on my way. The quiet of the birds hadn't registered, nor had the heavy branch I'd found across my path. It wasn't until I noticed an unnatural darkness looming ahead and felt a sudden cold wind blowing on what had been a warm day that I finally tuned in to the alarm that was ringing through my tissues. The gatekeeper had tried to turn me away that day. The whole forest had heard her call and added their voices in the ways that they could. I don't know exactly what fate I'd been saved from, but once the chill hit me and I realized I was somewhere I oughtn't be, I spun on my heel and made my way out and to safety in a flash. That day, when I'd learned that important lesson about listening to my instinct and trusting a literal gut feeling had been a bright, sunny midsummer day. Now, in the dark of night at the tail end of autumn, I felt safer than I had then. I could feel down to my bones how welcome and protected I was among these trees. They had helped make me a dryad, and when I was here, I was as safe as a fox kit snuggled in its den. I pulled my braid over my shoulder and smiled as I noticed that the single orange leaf had become a beautiful chain of golden maples and acorns and luminous moss that glowed as it fell down my back. I smiled, thinking of how I just might brag to my sister witches about this garland I'd acquired, how the trees themselves had clearly dubbed me quite. In a clearing ahead of me, I finally found what I'd been looking for. Inside a ring of saplings was a pumpkin patch with ripe orange gourds on prickly stems, just waiting to be picked and carried away. They were growing in a fairy circle. A full moon. And so they carried within them the magic of the forest and the protection of the Gatekeeper Tree. We would carve them and set them out along the ley lines of the village. To our neighbors they would seem just like any other Halloween decoration, but they would assure that the season of All Hallows would be safe for all. Not a single trick or treater would so much as skin their knee from a fall while our pumpkins were lit. I set my lantern down on a stone at my feet, took a breath, and stepped into the circle. The Gatekeeper Tree in the thick of the forest. The light from my lantern bounced off the tree trunks and mossy roots. I could hear the crunch of twigs and dried leaves under my feet, the sound of my breath, a little fast from the climb, but not much else. Then, at the edge of the tree line, the sound of flapping wings startled me. A bird by the sound of it, A large bird setting off into the dark sky. Tonight's walk wasn't just for the joy of it. I was on a mission as a member of the friendly Circle of Village Witches. The task of foraging something special from the wood as the veil thinned, had fallen to me, the path leveled off and I stepped out into a clearing full of moonlight. The difference was so stark that I blinked for a few moments as my eyes adjusted to it. I let my arm drop to my side, the lantern knocking against my knee, and took a deep breath of cool air in and sighed it out. I could smell so much in this field, the damp soil after the recent rain, old logs and fallen branches slowly breaking down. Leaves, crisp and spicy, were the top node of this perfume, and somewhere in the middle was just the open, uncluttered scent of nighttime. My breath fogged in the air and I began to walk again before the cold could take hold of me. I was headed somewhere farther out, and though I didn't have a paper map to follow, there was one written in the land, and so far I'd been able to follow along. I scanned the edge of the wood opposite until I found what I was looking for. When I spotted it, I lifted the lantern again to confirm and whispered under my breath, there she is. The tree stood a bit apart from the others and right at the edge of a clear, worn down path. Many of its roots were exposed and crossed over the trail to the ground cover on the other side. The Gatekeeper Tree Every magical wood has one. One at least. In fact. A tree that, like a ticket taker on a carnival ride or a bouncer behind a velvet rope, inspects and possibly welcomes those who pass through. I approached with some respect, just pausing and breathing down deep into my belly. When trying to communicate with something that doesn't use spoken language, it's wise to rely instead on the most ancient language ever devised. Sensation. So I paid attention to what I felt in my body. The calm beat of my heart, the warmth in my tissues from the exercise, and the fresh feeling at the back of my neck as the cool air blew over it. I reached out slowly and laid a hand on the gatekeeper's trunk. I'd read about a study done a few years before in which intention communicated through touch was tested. Two people separated by a barrier so that they couldn't see each other. One reached out and for a few seconds touched the arm of the other, trying to encode that bit of contact with an emotion. Love, embarrassment, envy, surprise, gratitude. Then the recipient of the touch reported what emotion they felt had been transmitted. If they'd simply guessed, they would have been correct about 8% of the time. But they were correct nearly 70% of the time. We can speak through touch. I think of that whenever I say hello to a tree, whenever I hug a friend or shake the hand of someone I hope will become one. I did my best to say now to the gatekeeper that I was good hearted, respectful of the woods, here to play and learn. I felt a slight vibration in the bark, a warmth that traveled from the wood into my palm. I heard branches high up shaking and shifting, and a few dry leaves showered down over me as they touched the earth at my feet. I noticed the roots that crossed the path wriggle deeper into the soil so that I wouldn't trip over them. And one of the fallen leaves shimmered as it turned back to the glossy dark green it had been in the peak of summertime. I bent and scooped it up, and in my hand it continued to glow and shift from green to deep red, then bright yellow and fiery orange. That's where it settled, and I wove its stem into a lock of hair in my braid and stepped into the forest. I thought of the time I had been tripped by the roots of a gatekeeper tree on my way into the woods. It was before I understood much about speaking the language of trees, before I relearned to trust my instincts. I'd laid a hand on the bark and had felt a twist in my stomach, but I hadn't paid any attention to it, just barreled brazenly forward, only to fall flat on my face on the dusty trail. Even then I hadn't listened. I dusted myself off, shaken my head at my own clumsiness, and continued on my way. The quiet of the birds hadn't registered, nor had the heavy branch I'd found across my path. It wasn't until I noticed an unnatural darkness looming ahead and felt a sudden cold wind blowing on what had been a warm day that I finally tuned into the alarm that was ringing through my tissues. The Gatekeeper had tried to turn me away, that the whole forest had heard her call and added their voices in the ways that they could. I don't know exactly what fate I'd been saved from, but when the chill hit me and I realized I was somewhere I oughtn't be, I spun on my heel and made my way out and to safety in a flash. That day, when I'd learned that important lesson about listening to my instinct and trusting a literal gut feeling had been a sunny, bright midsummer day. Now, in the dark of night at the tail end of autumn, I felt safer than I had then. I could feel down to my bones how welcome and protected I was among these trees. They had helped make me a dryad, and when I was here, I was as safe as a fox kit snuggled in its den. I pulled my braid over my shoulder and smiled as I noticed that the single orange leaf had now become a beautiful chain of golden maples and acorns and luminous moss that glowed as it fell down my back. I smiled, thinking of how I just might brag to my sister witches about this garland I'd acquired, how the trees themselves have clearly dubbed me Queen. In the clearing ahead of me, I finally found what I'd been looking for. Inside a ring of saplings was a pumpkin patch with ripe orange gourds on prickly stems just waiting to be picked and carried away. They were growing in a fairy circle on a full moon, and so they carried within them the magic of the forest and the protection of the Gatekeeper tree. We would carve them and set them out along the ley lines of the village. To our neighbors they would seem just like any other Halloween decoration, but they would assure that the Season of All Hallows would be safe for all. Not a single trick or treater but so much as skin their knee from a fall while our pumpkins were lit. I set my lantern down on a stone at my feet, took a breath, and stepped into the circle. Sweet dreams.