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“To bed time stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens, you feel good, and”
then, you fall asleep, I'm Catherine Nikolai, I write and read all the stories you hear on nothing much happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Woodersheim. We are bringing you an on-core episode tonight, meaning that this story originally aired at some point in the past.
It could have been recorded with different equipment and a different location, and since I'm a person and not a computer, I sometimes sound just slightly different, but the stories
are always soothing and family-friendly, and our wishes for you are always deep-brast and
sweet dreams.
“Now, if you are new to this, let me say a few things about how this works.”
This is a form of brain-training. We are training your brain to respond to the sound of my voice, and the soft texture of my stories, with relaxation and sleep. Might take a little while to accomplish that training, so please be patient if you're just starting out.
Most listeners report that within a month of regular use, they are asleep within two to three minutes of pushing play. Those folks, they're already asleep. Just listen along as I tell you a story in which nothing much happens, I'll tell
it twice, and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through.
Our story tonight is called Special Delivery at Weather Rain Farm, and it's a story about getting chores done in the farm yard on a summer afternoon. It's also about the animals having their say, a rest with the cows in their pasture, and an invitation stuck to the fridge with a heart-shaped magnet. I don't have kids, but I have enough parents in my life to know that feeding them
can somehow become a full-time, logistical operation all by itself. And I think one of the things parents are constantly in being asked to do is choose between convenience, and feeling really good about what they're feeding their kids.
“And that's what I love about Little Spoon.”
They make meals and snacks for babies, toddlers, and bigger kids, with options designed specifically for each developmental stage. There are baby blends and biteables for the littleesteaters, heat and eat plates for bigger appetites, lunchers for busy days, and snacks made with ingredients, parents can actually feel good about.
And their baby and toddler recipes are tested for more than 500 contaminants, including heavy metals. Feeding the kids doesn't have to be complicated. Little Spoon makes it easy, with real, nutritionally balanced meals and snacks designed for every stage.
It shows up ready to go, takes the pressure off, and somehow still gets devoured, veggies and all. No artificial dyes, flavors, or sweeteners either. And you know what, that's when I would take every time.
Get 30% off your first online order at littlespoon.com/nothingmuch, with code nothingmuch.
That's littele SP-O-O-N.com/nothingmuch, with code nothingmuch for 30% off your first order. Now it's time to tuck yourself in, make yourself as comfortable as you can. I'll be here, reading, watching over, even after you fall in the sleep. The day is done, and you are safe.
Take a deep breath in through your nose.
Get it out your mouth.
“Nice, one more, breathe in, and out, good, special delivery at weather vein farm.”
Nothingmuch happens on the farm.
But the animals don't tell us about. Our old rooster, crows, not only as the sun rises, but also every time we start the tractor up. The donkey's bray when their feed runs out. The pigs grunt happily when they spot the ducks, coming back to the barn from the pond.
“And our cows let out slow, ringing moose whenever the male truck trundles up to the box.”
So when I heard them lowing, while I was spreading straw in the barn, I leaned my
rake against the door frame, and braced my hands against my lower back for a good stretch. Time for a break, I thought. This summer had been a hot one, and with a lot to do to take care of our rescue animals. We make sure to stop frequently, for cold drinks, and just to enjoy our work, so we don't overheat or burn out.
“I took my water bottle from the high shelf, where the barn cats like to sleep in the”
afternoons, and took a long drink. I filled it with ice, and slices of ginger, and a few mint leaves, and it was refreshing and the dusty heat of the barn. I heard the cows again, and headed out to them in the field. We only had the two, a mama that we had rescued the autumn before, not knowing that she
was pregnant. And her calf, who was now, might stop to count on my fingers, almost 10 months old. He had pretty golden fur, which was how he'd gotten the name Winnie the Moon. Though we usually just call him when, unless he was naughty, knocking over his kitty pool, or nosing the gate latch, till he managed to pop it open and let the goats out.
Then we called him Winnefred, Theodore Moosef, I didn't stop him, but it made us chuckle as we refilled the pool, or rounded up the goats. As soon as I stepped into their pasture, they both turned toward me, and started a slow stroll in my direction, for earscratches and pats.
No matter how many times I stopped to give some love to our animals, I was always happy
to give some more when they were happy to have it. If you have never sat in a field, in the shade of a tall tree, with a cow beside you, they're head resting in your lap, as you lay a hand on their neck. You can't know how absolutely soul-healing it is. You slow way down.
You remember that just being in the world, watching the tree branches move in the wind,
Is a reason to be alive.
You remember that your own nature is what you see in growing blades of grass, and shifting
“clouds, evolving, becoming not possible to be wrong in the way that it has approached.”
And when you finally get back on your feet, you feel recalibrated, the gears in your mind
and heart running smoothly again. It was tempting to sit down with the cows now, but I had a feeling that, if I did, I wouldn't get any other chores done today. So I gave them a few pets and friendly words and headed down the gravel drive to the mailbox.
The goats watched me go and bleeding in a way that clearly communicated, "Mom, come back.
“I'm just getting the mail," I said, shaking my head, in the way of all parents, who've”
ever gotten out of the shower to find notes shoved under the locked bathroom door. The driveway cut through a shady blade, and as I passed through it, I enjoyed the cooler air, and noticed how differently it smelled here.
In the bright, sunny fields it smelled, well, like sunshine, like how your sheets smell after
they dry on the line, or your skin smells, after driving with the windows down through the country.
“In the shade I could smell a deep green scent, damp moss and chlorophyll, and the stony shores”
of the creek. I walked slowly in the shade, seeing that the flag was down on our old mailbox, a sign that the outgoing letters had, indeed, been picked up, and maybe something new left in their place. It was a clever mailbox, instead of just opening from the front flap, causing me to step into
the road to get our mail. It opened from the back as well, so I could stay safely in our yard, though, out here in the country, if we saw a single vehicle every 10 minutes, it felt like heavy traffic. I tugged on the latch, and the flap creaked open. Inside I spied a few larger envelopes, bills I assumed, and a folded collection of flyers
and circulars, and tucked in the middle of all of it, as if it were being protected from the dust of the road, a pretty cream envelope, square, and small, with our address written by hand in pretty script. I slid it out, leaving the rest of the mail in the box, and opened it up on the spot. A smile spread over my face, as I read the details.
Yes, we would save the date. Yes, we could attend. I forgot to even close the back flap of the mail box, as I turned and tricked up the drive toward
The farmhouse.
Suddenly energized by the idea of the celebration to come in September.
“I didn't even notice the wind picking up as I went.”
The weather vain on top of the barn, starting to spin, as the gusts caught it. The animals must have noticed, though. I saw the ducks coming back from the pond early.
The barn cats who never liked to get caught in the rain were standing just inside the barn
door, waiting for everyone to roll in before stormed in. I took everyone in snog as bugs in just a second, but first, I climbed the farmhouse steps, and swung the screen door open.
“I took the invitation straight through to the kitchen, and cleared a space on the fridge door”
for it.
I scanned the door until I found the heart-shaped magnet, dependent in place, and stood
back to smile at it one more time. The dogs gathered around my ankles, looking from me to the fridge, probably hoping I'd open it and drop something tasty on the floor. Instead, I dug around in their cookie jar on the counter, tossing the meat on, and telling them the news.
“I turned on my heel to rush back out to the yard.”
The sky was getting dark, and an afternoon rainstorm was on its way.
As I heard at the animals into their stalls, topping up water bowls and food troughs, I wondered what we could gift the happy couple. Maybe we could invite them for an afternoon nap with the cows in the field. If I were them, I'd register for it. Special delivery, at Weather Vain Farm.
Nothing much happens on the farm, that the animals don't tell us about. Our old rooster crows not only as the sun rises, but also every time we start the track to up. The donkey's prey when their feed runs out. The pigs grunt happily when they spot the ducks coming back to the barn from the pond.
Their cows let out slow, ringing moves, whenever the male truck trundles up to the box. So when I heard them loing, while I was spreading straw in the barn, I leaned my rake against the door frame, and braced my hands against my lower back for a good stretch. Time for a break, I thought. This summer had been a hot one, and with a lot to do to take care of our rescue animals,
we made sure to stop frequently for cold drinks, and just to enjoy our work. So we didn't overheat or burn out. I took my water bottle from the high shelf, where the barn cats like to sleep on the afternoons, and took a long drink, I'd filled it with ice and slices of ginger, and a few
Mint leaves, and it was refreshing in the dusty heat of the barn.
I heard the cows again, and headed out to them in the field.
“We only had the two, a mama, that we had rescued the autumn before, not knowing that she”
was pregnant, and her calf, who was now, was stopped to count on my fingers, almost ten months old. He had pretty golden fur, which was how he'd gotten the name Winnie the Moon. So we usually just called him win, unless he was naughty, knocking over his kitty
“pool, or nosing the gait latch until he managed to pop it open and let the goats out.”
Then we called him Winnie Fred Theodore Moosef, who didn't stop him, but it made us chuckle as we refilled the pool, rounded up the goats. As soon as I stepped into their pasture, they both turned toward me, and started a slow stroll in my direction, for ear scratches and pats. No matter how many times a day I stopped, to give our animals some love, I was
always happy to give some more, and they were happy to have it.
If you have never sat in a field, in the shade of a tall tree, with a cow beside you, their head resting in your lap, as you lay a hand on their neck, you can't know how absolutely
“soul healing it is. You slow way down. You remember that just being in the world, watching”
the tree branches, move in the wind, is a reason to be alive. You remember that your own nature is what you see in the growing blades of grass and shifting clouds of all being
becoming not possible to be wrong in the way that it is approached. And when you finally get
back on your feet, you feel recalibrated. The gears in your mind and heart, running smoothly again. It was tempting to sit down with the cows now, but I had a feeling that if I did, I wouldn't get any other chores done today. So I gave them a few pats, friendly words, and had it down the gravel drive to the mailbox. The goats watched me go and bleated in a way that clearly communicated. "Mom, come back. I'm just getting the mail," I said, shaking my head, in the way of all
parents who've ever gotten out of the shower to find notes shoved under the locked bathroom door.
The driveway cut through a shady blade, and as I passed through it, I enjoyed...
and noticed how differently it smelled here. In the bright sunny fields it smelled,
“"Well, like sunshine, like how your sheets smell after they dry on the line,”
or your skin smells after driving with the windows down through the country." In the shade I could smell a deep green scent, damp moss, and chlorophyll, and the stony shores of the creek.
I walked slowly in the shade, seeing that the flag was down on our old mailbox,
a sign that the outgoing letters had indeed been picked up,
“and maybe something new was left in their place.”
It was a clever mailbox, instead of just opening from the front flap, causing me to step into the road to get my mail. It opened from the back as well. So I could stay safely in our yard, though out here in the country. If we saw a single vehicle every 10 minutes, it felt like heavy traffic.
“I tugged on the latch, and the flap creaked open.”
Inside, I spied a few larger envelopes, bills I assumed, and a folded collection of flyers and circulars. Tucked in the middle of all of it, as if it was being protected from the dust of the road, was a pretty cream envelope, square, and small, with our address written by hand, and pretty script. I slid it out, leaving the rest of the mail in the box, and opened it on the spot. A smile spread over my face as I read the details.
Yes, we would save the date. Yes, we could attend. I forgot to even close the back flap of the mailbox. As I turned and tricked up the drive toward the farmhouse, suddenly energized by the idea of the celebration to come in September. I didn't even notice the wind picking up, as I went. The weather vain on top of the barn, starting to spin, as the gusts caught it.
The animals must have noticed, though.
I saw the ducks coming back from the pond early. The barn cats who never liked to get caught in the rain,
or standing just inside the barn door, waiting for everyone to roll in before stormed it.
I took everyone in as snug as bugs in just a second.
and swung the screen door open. I took the invitation straight through to the kitchen,
“and cleared a space on the fridge door for it. I scanned the door until I found a heart-shaped”
magnet to pin it in place, and stood back to smile at it one more time.
The dogs gathered around my ankles, looking from me to the fridge,
“probably hoping I'd open it, and dropped something tasty on the floor.”
Instead, I dug around in their cookie jar on the counter,
tossing them each one, and telling them the news.
“I turned on my heel to rush back out into the yard.”
The sky was getting dark, and an afternoon rainstorm was on its way. As I heard the animals into their stalls, topping up water bowls and food troughs, I wondered what we could gift the happy couple. Maybe we could invite them for an afternoon nap with the cows in the field. If I were them, I'd register for it, sweet dreams,
