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- [00:00]
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Hey Moth listeners, have you always wanted to tell your own story, but you don't know where to start? My name is Emily Couch and I'm the producer of special projects and radio at the Moth and one of the authors of the Moth's new guided journal called My Life and Stories. One thing I've learned through listening to thousands of true personal stories over the years is that stories are everywhere. Even seemingly small events in your life can shape you in unexpected ways, but it's not always easy to identify those moments. My Life in Stories is filled with prompts that will help you mine your memories and find those experiences, big or small, that have made you who you are. We believe everyone has a story worth telling. You can order My Life and stories@themost.org mylifeandstories that's themoth.org mylifeandstories at the end
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of a long day, the last thing I want to do is think about meal planning. Every year I swear this is the year I'm going to get organized. And every year reality happens. What finally clicked for me is realizing meals don't have to look perfect, they just have to fit your life. That's why Marley Spoon has been such a game changer for me. Some nights I cook, some night. Some nights I heat. Some nights I just need dinner done now. And Marley Spoon actually adapts to that. They give you over 100 recipes to choose from every week, from comforting classics to fresh, balanced meals, all made with quality ingredients. And when time is tight, their prepared meals and 20 minute options are lifesavers. My favorite Hack the tray bakes everything on one tray. No mess and they even include the tray. My favorite recent meal was the Taiwanese Chicken rice. It was one of those moments where you're like, I made this. This new year. Fast track your way to eating well with Marley spoon. Head to Marleyspoon.com offer Moth for 45% off your first order and free delivery. That's right, 45% off your first order AND free delivery. That's Marleyspoon.com offer MOTHMarlyspoon meals reimagined for real life.
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You know that moment when you're on the edge of a discovery that feels important, but the information you need is scattered, complex or hard to find entertainment. Meet Claude, an AI thinking partner that can search the web to gather context, surface relevant sources and help you make sense of the details. And here's something worth Ads are coming to AI Sponsored Responses Third Party Influence shaping what you see or hear Back Anthropic Just committed to keeping Claude ad free because once your AI is optimized to keep you scrolling instead of helping you understand something, the whole thing breaks. Anyone who's ever stared at a blank page trying to make sense of their own experience knows the value of sitting with uncertainty and of ensuring there are zero distractions to pull you out of focus mode. Claude is the thinking partner that helps you do just that. Try Claude for free at Claude AI Themoth and see why problem solvers choose Claude as their thinking partner.
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Welcome to the Moth. I'm Suzanne Rust America at 250250 years since the signing of the Declaration of Independence. 250 years of starting anew, yearning for freedom. 250 years of the American Dream. But what is the American Dream? Who exactly is allowed to have one? And what happens when the idea of America meets the reality of what it is? As America approaches this anniversary, we've decided to explore the American Dream. Not just the singular American Dream, but all of them. Because our dreams contain multitudes, we're dedicating our spring main stage season, as well as some special podcast episodes to exploring that theme. To kick it off on this episode, we have two stories about American iconography, but with a twist. First up, every culture has its folklore, and America is no exception. John Garcia told this at a Denver Grand Slam where the theme was Comfort Zone. Here's John Wipe them off.
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My parents told me the worst part was when they drove around it, how its body stayed completely still but its gaze followed them into the switchback. And it was dark. Really dark. They were driving over a remote Rocky mountain pass and out there, high beams only take you as far as the tree line, and behind that, a curtain of nothing. But here, illuminated by the headlights of an old Toyota, was something they told me. It had arms and legs, shaggy hair all over, and could seemingly stand upright. But if you ask them, they'll tell you the same thing they told it wasn't human. I was 6 years old when I first heard this story, Christmas Eve at my grandparents, and while the word Bigfoot hadn't yet entered my vocabulary, there was an earnestness in my parents voices. And that scared me. What scares me as an adult is knowing that I would believe in Bigfoot longer than I would believe in Santa. My mother is the straight man in my parents straight relationship, and while she may prefer to keep the bones of this story buried, my dad is the kind of guy who keeps a shovel in his back pocket. The old man knows how to spin a yarn. And while I truthfully remain a Bit of a skeptic. He's been right about enough things through the years to keep me on my toes. Bigfoot has become an unlikely lifeline for us. We'll call whenever a new video pops up and discuss whether the blurry figure is just a guy in a gorilla suit or the real deal. And I don't know how many times we've watched the Patterson Gimlin tape, which you all know it. It's the one with, like, the Bigfoot pose. And he'll say something like, look at the way Patty's thighs jiggle. That's not a suit. That's real muscle. So Paddy is the name of that Bigfoot. Also my mom's name. You might be wondering if that's Freudian or Oedipal. No, bipedal, because Bigfoot walks on two legs. The Bigfoot story hasn't changed, mostly through the years, but other things have. Dad and I are still close, but fishing trips are few and far between, and conversations can get a bit heated, comma, election time. Time forges a natural distance, and that's fine. I don't like watching old John Wayne movies anymore. And once he heard me listening to Sufjan Stevens and. And he said, and I quote, this sounds exactly how liberals think. Broken clocks. But Bigfoot. It's exactly the type of thing we can still bond over. He sits comfortably in that Venn diagram of life between politics and purpose, right in the middle, next to B movies burritos with green chili, blindly believing the Denver Broncos are going to win the super bowl every year. And, of course, big game hunting. I've heard the Bigfoot story around the campfire almost every year since I was a kid. So when my dad asked me to join him on another elk hunting trip, of of course, I was game, wild game. But this was a new area, unproven. And on the drive up, my dad told me that this was an area where mysterious tree knocks pierced through the silence, where arched tree structures lined the dirt roads and phantom noises echoed from the dark timber. By God, that's Bigfoot's music. The next morning, we were in our spot before dawn, just watching, waiting, listening. And like many wonderful days hunting, we didn't see a thing. And that was fine, because what I was really hoping to track was the quiet I used to find in hunting with him. Like when I was six and I fell asleep overlooking a ravine. He had to carry me back, and now I'm the one leading the trail. And while I'm not carrying him, I can feel the weight both from the gear and the ears. And I'm also very aware of the setting sun and how easy it is to laugh things off when songbirds are whistling melodies against a blue sky, and how when the sun dips behind the ridge, how pockets of pure darkness creep into the trees and anything could be watching from behind that curtain of nothing. It was just light enough to see the trail and nothing else. And about a quarter of a mile from camp, I looked left and froze 30ft ahead, 10ft in the air, a pair of white eyes staring right into mine, and they were surrounded by a coat of wavy, wild, reddish brown fur. My dad was oblivious, but in my cold sweat I knew in that moment I was looking at Bigfoot. And then the most amazing thing happened. It slowly raised its arm and waved. Then my eyes adjusted and not Bigfoot, a bearded bowhunter in a full camo suit sitting in a tree stand. When I pointed him out, my dad assured me that had it actually been Bigfoot, he would have blasted him straight to Valhalla with the old dissector. But with his arm around my shoulder, I felt relief. Not just because we weren't standing 30ft away from a 10 foot cryptid, but also the day we find Bigfoot is the day the old man and I stop looking. Hope that day never comes.
- [10:21]
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That was John Garcia. John sees himself as a father first, a friend second, and a creative third. Between small adventures, he reads in coffee shops, rides his bike on warm days, and scours Denver's thrift stores for vintage audio treasures. We asked John if he and his father had gotten any evidence of Bigfoot one way or another. Here's what he I'm not eager to find Bigfoot, but I like believing there's still some undiscovered magic out there. In a world that feels increasingly fractured, shared myths have been a way for my dad and me to to stay connected. That's so lovely to hear. American dreams is the theme of our spring mainstage season, and I've been struck by how differently our storytellers approach that theme, and it got me thinking about my own story. My paternal grandparents moved to New York from Panama and Jamaica to create what they hoped would be a better life. I know for a fact that some of those dreams were deferred, but I also know that they were proud of what they built here. There are so many stories told and untold that illustrate the struggle, the spirit, the humor, and the beauty of what it means to live in America, and I'm really excited that the moth will be shining a light on the vastness of those experiences. If you'd like to see those stories live, we're having main stages all throughout the country. For a show near you, check out our website@themost.org MainStage in the meantime, another story about American dreams. Back in a moment Quince is one of those brands that quietly becomes a staple in your closet. Their elevated essentials are designed to mix, layer and last so everything works together. Mornings can be hard, but at least Quince makes getting dressed easier and much more fun. From organic cotton sweaters to premium denim with stretch and cotton cashmere blends, they'd nail the basics in a way that feels modern and timeless at the same time. They also prioritize ethical production and cut out unnecessary markups, which means high quality fabrics like European linen and organic cotton without the inflated prices. My Quince cashmere sweater is perfection. It's soft, comfortable and makes me feel instantly pulled together without any fuss. It's the kind of sweater you'll want in every color. Refresh your wardrobe with quince. Go to quince.com moth for free shipping on your order and 365 day returns. Now available in Canada too. That's Q-U-I-N c e.com moth to get free shipping and 365 day returns.
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Quince.com moth if you, like me, are committed to staying burrowed indoors as much as possible this winter, then maybe you, like me, are occupying your brain by planning a refresh of your living space. Won't spring be that much better if we can meet it with fresh linens, upgraded storage, and better lighting? I think so, and Wayfair is my go to to make it happen. The matching green locker cabinets I got for my living room give a pop of color while helping me organize and display all my tchotchkes. The table lamps let me leave the big light and its unforgiving illumination behind while giving a much needed cozy vibe to my apartment. Next on my list is bedding so I can burrow like the hibernating creature I am. Wayfair makes it simple to refresh your entire home all in one place. Get organized, refresh and back on track this new year. For way less, head to Wayfair.com right now to shop all things home. That's W-A-F-A-I-R.com Wayfair Every style, every home.
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Welcome back. Now we head to the middle of the country where farm life has defined so much of the American dream. Our next story is from Lynn Swisher Spears, who told this at an Asheville story slam. The the theme was endings. Here's Lynne Swisher Spears.
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This is a story from my youth, a long time before I began my transition. And so it's going to be told from the perspective of who I was then. A young man growing up in the Midwest. I was raised on a small farm. And one of the things you learn early on from that experience is you can never do it all by yourself. You always need help. That's because on a farm there's just never enough hours in the day. Nor are there enough days from April to October to do all the things that have to be done. And so out of necessity, you find yourself calling upon your neighbors to lend you a hand. And they in turn look to you to do the same for them. There's that old saying, many hands lighten the load. Well, nowhere is that more true than on a farm. Now, our little farm, it was surrounded by four other neighboring farm families. North of us was Paul's place. Paul was my father's cousin. He was a crusty old guy, but underneath that coarse exterior, he was a real soft touch. Paul was married to Blanche, a fiery redhead with a foul mouth and an uncanny knack to antagonize any person that crossed her path. We put up with her. We had to. She was family. South of us was Leonard's place. Now, Leonard's last name was Bird and so everybody called him Chick. That's wry Midwestern humor for you there. Chick was a tough as nails kind of guy. Wiry, you'd never see him without a half smoked cigarette dangling out the side of his mouth. Chick was married to Helen, a beautiful, fragile woman who always had a kind word for everyone. East of us was Tom's place. Now, Tom was Paul and Blanche's son. He was long and lanky. Also had a foul mouth, which we all assumed he inherited from his mother. Tom had a long succession of wives, so many I could never remember all their names. But it does help to explain his nickname, which was Tom Catton. And then there was Glenn's place, which was west of us. Glenn was a big lump of a man married to Lois, a big lump of a woman. They had six kids, each and every one of them a big lump. Anyway, these five families, we would work together all summer long, from planting to cultivation to harvest. Some of the work we took on would take every spare hand we had, like balin hay. My father, Dale, he'd drive the tractor that pulled the baler. Chick would stand on the Front edge of the wagon, behind the baler. He'd pull the bales out as they came out, throw them back to me in the back of the wagon. I'd stack them up five or six high. It'd take us 30 minutes to fill a wagon. And then Paul would drive out on a tractor with an empty wagon. We'd swap them out. He'd take the full wagon back to the barn where he and Tom would offload the bales onto the elevator up into the hayloft where Glenn and his sons would stack them up. We'd work straight through to mid afternoon. Then we'd take a break. And then all the women would come out. My mother, Helen, Lois, Blanche, whoever the hell Tom was married to. Then they'd bring us lunch. Iced tea, ham salad sandwiches, sweet apple pie. We'd find a shady spot beneath the hay wagon to sit and eat and talk. And then after the women left, the men would break out the smokes and the beers. And we'd talk some more. And then we'd go back to work. And we'd keep working until it was too dark to see. The next morning, we'd get up and do it all over again. This was the important thing. Nobody ever kept track of who did what. There just wasn't any need. Without saying a word, everybody knew exactly what needed to be done. Everyone did their fair share. One summer, I'd come back from college to help out. We were shorthanded. In the spring, Chick had gotten real sick, put him in the hospital. Turns out it was the cancer. And so all summer long, the four families, we would work our crops and we would tend to our chores. And then we'd go over to Chick's place and we'd work his crops and tend to his chores. Most evenings, we'd wind up at the hospital, sitting around Chick's room, talking. Now, nobody ever wanted to talk about the challenges Chick was facing. That was going to be way too hard. So instead, we would talk about easy things. The weather, the price of corn. Maybe how the high school football team might do in the coming fall. It was on one of those evenings, late in the growing season. Chick was sitting up in bed, and he looks over at my father and he says, how them crops look, Dale? And my father said, well, they look good, Chick. The crops look real good. And Chick says, yeah, I figured that. I'd just like to see it for myself. And my father says, well, you will, Chick. You're going to get better. And you will see them crops. And right then, Chick, who was already pale and drawn, turned ash. And he looked around the room at everyone there and back at my father. And in a voice just barely louder than a whisper, he said, dale, I ain't getting better. I ain't ever getting better. And so right then, without saying a word, everyone in the room knew exactly what needed to be done. And so we unplugged Chick from the tubes and wires that had him hogtied. We slid him into a wheelchair and slipped him out the back door of the hospital when no one was looking, put him in a pickup, and we drove out to his cornfield, out to his farm and parked alongside his cornfield just as the sun was setting. Now, Paul, crusty guy, he had big, powerful forearms. He pulls Chick out of the pickup and slings him over his shoulder like Chick was a sack of potatoes and carries him out into the middle of the field, sets him down between two rows of corn, growing up straight and tall. The rest of us gathered round. Glen plucked a stem of brome grass to chew on and then plucked another one, handed it to Chick. And then we just sat there for a long time, not saying anything, just looking at the crop. After a good long while, Chick says to my father, you was right, Dale. Crop looks good. Looks real good. And my father says, don't it? Don't it, though? It was way past dark before we got checked back to the hospital. Head nurse stormed in, gave us all hell. Tom told her to shut the fuck up. We turned and walked out. Two days later, Chick died. That fall, the four families would harvest Chick's crop. They made sure all the proceeds got directly to Helen, plus a little bit more, because that's what you do for a neighbor out on a farm. They buried Chick up on a hillside overlooking a cornfield so that for all of eternity he could look out and see for himself how them crops was doing.
- [20:28]
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That was Lynn Swisher Spears. Lynn was a storyteller, architect, and in her retirement, a songwriter and musician. Unfortunately, she passed away in 2023, leaving behind two children and countless friends. That's her music you're hearing in the background from an album called Walking the Cat. It sounds like Lynn got it all in work, art and friends. Life feels like the real American dream to me. That brings us to the end of our episode. Thanks so much for joining us from all of us here at the mof. We hope you have a story worthy week, whatever your American dream is.
- [21:11]
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Suzanne Rust is the Moss Senior Curatorial Producer and one of the hosts of the Moth Radio Hour. In addition to finding new voices and fresh stories for the Moth stage. Suzanne creates playlists and helps curate special storytelling events. This episode of the Moth Podcast was produced by Sarah Austin, Janess, Sarah Jane Johnson and me, Mark Solinger. The rest of the Moth's leadership team includes Gina Duncan, Christina Norman, Marina Clouche, Jennifer Hickson, Jordan Cardinale, Caledonia Cairns, Kate Tellers, Suzanne Rust and Patricia Urenia. The Moth Podcast is presented by Odysee. Special thanks to their Executive producer Leah Rhys Dennis. All Moth stories are true as remembered by their storytellers. For more about our podcast, information on pitching your own story and everything else, go to our website themoth.org
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it's always amazing to see how quickly your child grows. And I'm not just talking about their height. From those early babbles to full on storytelling, getting to watch how their ideas, creativity and confidence develop over the years is honestly pretty incredible. Sometimes they surprise you with what they come up with and LEGO bricks can be right there with them through all of those stages. It's not just a toy, it's a full creative building journey that keeps evolving as they do. Lego Sets play starts as early as one and a half with Lego Duplo, the bigger bricks designed for little hands that are just starting to explore and build. Then around age 4, kids transition to the smaller LEGO bricks and suddenly you're watching real structures take shape, real ideas form and their imagination really take off. They begin with simple stacking, but over time they grow into full on creators, building worlds, stories and things you never would have expected. That's the kind of magic of Lego bricks. You're not buying a phase, you're starting a journey. Learn more and start building today with Lego bricks.
- [23:06]
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If you're the purchasing manager at a manufacturing plant, you know having a trusted partner makes all the difference. That's why hands down, you count on Grainger for auto reordering. With on time restocks. Your team will have the cut resistant gloves they need at the start of their shift and you can end your day knowing they've got safety well in hand. Call 1-800-GRAINGER clickgrainger.com or just stop by Granger for the ones who get it done.
- [23:36]
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Ever listen to the Moth and thought I have a story to tell? We'd love to hear it. The Moth pitch line is your chance to share a 2 minute pitch of your true personal story. Record it right on our site@themost.org or call 877-799-MOTH. That's 877-799-6684. Here's the thing. We listen to every single pitch. Your story could end up on our podcast, our stage, or inspiring someone who needs to hear it. Share your story@themost.org or call 877-799. Moth Everyone has a story worth telling. Tell us yours.