Summer Feast (Encore)

all while supporting the show you love, subscribe now.

“To bed time stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens, you feel good, and”

then, you fall asleep, I'm Katherine Nikolai, my right 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, let me say a little about how to use this podcast.”

Your mind needs a place to rest, someplace safe and soothing. The story I'm about to read you is that place, and you rest your mind there just by following along with the sound of my voice, and the simple details of the story. I'll read it twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through.

As your mind settles, and your body relaxes, you will sleep.

This is brain training, and the more you do it, the better it will work. So have some patience if you are new to this. Our story tonight is called Summer Feast, and it's a story about a meal eaten on a blanket, spread over the grass. It's also about shapes, spotted in the clouds, whistle leads, and taking the time to save

her some favorite flavors.

“Have you ever wondered what's actually in your tab water since I'm from Flint, Michigan?”

I absolutely have, because even water that looks perfectly clear can contain contaminants you definitely don't want to be drinking. In fact, three out of four U.S. homes have toxic chemicals in their tap water, and standard picture and refrigerator filters just don't remove most of them, even bottled water can contain microplastics.

That's why I love Aquatru. It's a countertop water purifier that's tested and certified to remove 84 contaminants, including chlorine, lead, forever chemicals, and microplastics. The patented four stage reverse osmosis system goes far beyond ordinary filters and there's no plumbing or installation required.

Aquatru has been featured in Business Insider in popular science and was named best countertop water filter by good housekeeping. Plus, 98% of customers say their drinking water is cleaner, safer, and healthier. Go to Aquatru.com now and get 20% off your purifier using promo code nothing much. What you even comes with a 30-day best tasting water guarantee that's acu-u-a-t-r-u.com,

promo code n-o-t-h-i-n-g-m-u-c-h. Now, it's time to turn off the light and put away anything you've been looking at. Slide your body down into your sheets and get as comfortable as you can. Take a deep breath in through your nose, let it out your mouth, nice, one more, breathe in, out good, summer feast.

I'd found the basket at a yard sale.

I'd found a row of houses with tables set up in their driveways, and blankets laid over

“their front lawns, all covered with formerly precious objects that were now ready for a new home.”

I'd strolled through the offerings, and found a few things I'd be happy to carry away with me. There were some funny clip-on earrings in the shape of sunflowers, but hadn't likely been worn since the '70s.

A few spine novels with dusty book jackets that seemed perfect for afternoon reading

on the porch, and a lovely wicker basket with sturdy handles, lined with a red checked

“cloth that looked like it could hold a hearty lunch to be eaten on a sunny summer day.”

When I'd gotten it home and given it a thorough cleaning, I'd been eager to use it. When I'd gotten it home and given it a thorough cleaning, I'd been so eager to use it, and I'd kept it out on my kitchen table for a week or so, waiting for a warm, bright day to fill it with sandwiches, and cookies, and crisp autumn apples.

But instead, winter had come early, and as the first snow of the season was falling outside,

I'd regretfully stashed the basket in a cupboard, to wait for next year's sunny days.

“Now, we were in the sweetest, warmest days of summer, and the basket was once again out”

on my table. This wicker flaps tipped open and ready to be filled. The excitement of a meal with friends in a shady green spot, and my somewhat out of control vegetable garden meant that I had a lot to fill it with. I'd made a crunchy cucumber salad, with tart vinegar, and feathery fronds of dill, that had

spent the morning marinating in the fridge. When I'd eaten the last pickled beet from the jar the night before, rather than pouring the liquid out, I'd dropped some thinly sliced onions in, and sealed it back up. Today, I'd drained them out, and found they were sweet, and tangy, and a beautiful pink. That made the cucumber salad feel ready for a party.

Along with the cucumbers, the garden had given me a glut of green tomatoes. I kept them into thick slices, and sautéed them with shallots, and thyme, and balsamic vinegar, until they were syrupy, and caramelized. Then I'd laid them into my tart pan, on top of a homemade crust that was a bit lumpy, and lopsided, which I'd decided to call rustic.

I'd folded the edges of the dough over the filling a bit, and baked it all off. When it was cool, I'd cut the tart into wedges, and wrapped them in wax paper, and into the basket they gone. I took things off on my fingers, salad, tart, plate, napkins, and forks. Looking around the kitchen, I remembered the sweet cherries I'd rinsed in a colander and

the sink, and found a bowl to seal them in, and just managed to fit them into the basket.

to watch the fireworks from on the 4th of July, and fit it over the wicker top, pulling the

handles up and around.

“Soon, I was out the door, with my son hat on my head, and the basket heavy in my hands.”

Luckily, I didn't have far to go. Up one block, and around a corner, there was a tiny neighborhood park. Just a stretch of green grass, with a gravel path curving through it, and a few benches.

One more couple of old friends, chatting as they waited for me, with their own contributions

to the feast on their laps. We laid out the blanket at the edge of the park, where there was a bit of shade under a

“catelpetry, and pinned the corners down with what we'd brought.”

I unpacked the basket, and laid out the dish of cucumber salad, the bowl of sweet cherries, and the wrapped pieces of green tomato tart.

My friends applauded the menu, and filled their plates.

To go with our lunch, one friend brought a chilled thermos of homemade lemonade, a sheet sweetened with lavender syrup, she unpacked glasses, and poured some for each of us. The other friend had a tin of homemade cookies, and he popped off the top to show us. They looked crispy, and delicious, with crisscross hatch marks on top, made with a tines of a fork.

We handed round napkins and forks, and leisurely ate, sometimes leaning back on our hands, and stretching our legs out of the cover of the shade to let them warm in the sun. The tart crust had stayed crisp, and the tomatoes were rich and tender. The cucumber salad had been tasty when I tried a fork full this morning, but now that it had spent a few more hours with its flavors blending and marinating.

It was really delicious, and we went back for more, until the bowl was empty. The cherries were sweet and juicy. I dropped the pits into the grass, wondering if I might come back in 20 years to find a tree grown up in our favorite spot. We took a break from eating for a bit, and laid down on the blanket, with our heads together,

and our eyes turned up to the sky. It was bright blue, a kind of blue, that when you

“stop, to really look at it, is honestly astonishing.”

Have you had those moments? When you take a closer look at something you see every day, and feel just plain knocked out by it. A few clouds were moving very slowly across the sky, and we pointed out shapes to one another as we had when we were children.

I saw horse and mid-galip, and as I watched, it's no stretched out in front of it, and its flanks lifted and shifted until it had become a dragon with wings open, and a glacially

I turned my head, and saw among the grass and the seed pods that had dropped from the tree

“beside our blanket, where the wide leaves of whistleweed.”

I plucked a piece, and lined it up so that the strip of green was stretched in a straight line between my thumbs. I pressed my lips to the spot, and blue, and found I could still make the loud honking

call I'd learn to in summer camp.

My friends laughed at the sound, and we all realized why our camp counselors had begged us to quit all those years ago.

“The tin of cookies was passed around, and we ate them, still lying on our backs, watching”

the clouds moving across the sky.

My mother used to say, "When we sat down to a table for dinner, we don't eat, we

don't eat. It was a reminder to take time to save our meals instead of gulping them down, and rushing on to the next thing." It was probably also meant to insert a little civility into our family dinners, to teach manners, and a bit of propriety.

“I like thinking that in the end, good manners are really just about showing regard for the”

people around you, and that it can be done while you're lying in the grass with cookie crumbs in your hair. I curled onto my side, and tucked my arm under my head. The warm air on my full belly, were making me drowsy. I listened while my friends talked about this, that, and let my eyes close, knowing that they were watching over, and that we had no place to be.

I'd found the basket at a yard sale. I'd been out for a walk in my neighborhood the autumn before, and as I turned a corner, found a row of houses, with tables set up in their driveway, and blankets, laid out over their front lawns, all covered with formally precious objects. That we're now ready for a new home. I'd strawled through the offerings, and found a few things I'd been happy to carry away

with me. There were some funny clip-on earrings in the shape of sunflowers, but hadn't likely been worn since the '70s. A few spine novels, with dusty book jackets, that seemed perfect for afternoon reading on the porch, and a lovely wicker basket, a sturdy handles, lined with a red-checked cloth. That looked like it could hold, a hearty lunch, to be eaten on a sunny summer day. When I've gotten it home, and given it a thorough cleaning, I'd

been so eager to use it. And I'd kept it out on my kitchen table for a week or so, waiting

But instead, winter had come early, and, as the first snow of the season was falling

“outside, I'd regretfully stashed the basket in a cupboard, to wait for next year's sunny”

days. Now, we were in the sweetest, warmest days of summer, and the basket was once again out on my table. It's wicker flaps, tipped open, and ready to be filled.

The excitement of a meal with friends in a shady green spot, and my somewhat out of control

vegetable garden, meant that I had a lot to fill it with. I'd made a crunchy cucumber salad,

“with tart vinegar, and feathery fronds of dill, that had spent the morning marinating in”

the fridge. When I'd eaten the last pickled beet from the jar the night before, rather

than pouring the liquid out, I'd dropped some thinly sliced onions in, and sealed it back up.

Today, I'd drained them out, and found they were sweet, and tangy, and a beautiful pink, that made the cucumber salad feel ready for a party. Along with the cucumbers, the garden

“had given me a glut of green tomatoes. I cut them into thick slices, and sauteed them”

with shallots, and thyme, and balsamic vinegar until they were syrupy, and caramelized. Then I'd laid them into my tart pan, on top of a homemade crust that was a bit lumpy, and lopsided, which I'd decided I would call rustic. I'd folded the edges of the dill over the filling a bit, and baked it off. When it was cool, I cut the tart into wedges, and wrapped them in wax paper, and into the basket they'd gone. My tics things off on my fingers.

Salad, tart, plates, napkins and forks. Looking around the kitchen, I remembered the sweet cherries I'd rinsed in a collander in the sink, and found a bowl to seal them in, and just managed to fit it into the basket. I pulled a blanket down from the hall closet, the one I took to outdoor concerts, and to watch the fireworks from on the 4th of July, and sit it over the wicker top, pulling the handles up and around. Soon, I was out the door, with

my sun hat on my head, and the basket heavy in my hands. Luckily, I didn't have far to go. Up one block, and around a corner. There was a tiny neighborhood park, just a stretch of green grass, with a gravel path curving through it, and a few benches. On one, we're a couple

their laps. We laid out the blanket at the edge of the park, where there was a bit of shade

“under a catelpatry, and pinned the corners down with what we'd brought. I unpacked the basket,”

and laid out the dish of cucumber salad, the bowl of sweet cherries, and the wrapped pieces of green tomato tart. My friends applauded the menu, then filled their plates.

To go with our lunch, one friend brought a chilled thermos of homemade lemonade, that she'd

sweetened with lavender syrup. She unpacked glasses, and poured some for each of us.

“The other friend had a tin of homemade cookies, and he popped the top off to show us”

they looked crispy and delicious. It's Chris Cross Hatchmarks on top, made with the times of

a fork. We handed round napkins, the forks, and leisurely ate. Sometimes leaning back on our hands,

and stretching our legs out of the cover of the shade, to let them warm in the sun. The tart crust had stayed crisp, and the tomatoes were rich and tender. The cucumber salad had been tasty when I'd tried a fork full this morning. But now that it had spent a few more hours with its flavors blending and marinating, it was really delicious. I'm going back for more until the bowl was empty.

The cherries were sweet and juicy, and I dropped the pits into the grass. Wondering, if I might come back in 20 years, to find a tree, grown up in our favorite spot. We took a break from eating for a bit, and laid down on the blanket, with our heads together, and our eyes turned up to the sky. It was bright blue, a kind of blue that

“when you stop to really look at it is honestly astonishing. Have you had those moments?”

When you take a closer look at something you see every day and feel, just plain knocked out by it. A few clouds were moving very slowly across the sky, and we pointed out shapes to one another as we had when we were children. I saw a horse in mid-galip and as I watched, it's nose stretched out in front of it, and its flanks lifted and shifted. Until it had become a dragon, with wings open in a glacially slow flap.

I turned my head and saw among the grass and the seed pods that had dropped from the tree beside our blanket, the wide leaves of whistleweed. I plucked a piece and lined it up so the strip of green was stretched in a straight line between my thumbs. I pressed my lips to the spot and blue,

My friends laughed at the sound and we all realized why our camp counselors had begged us to quit

all those years ago.

“The tin of cookies was passed around, and we ate them, still lying on our backs,”

watching the clouds moving across the sky.

My mother used to say, "When we sat down to the table for dinner, we don't eat. We died."

“It was a reminder to take time to save our meals instead of gulping them down and rushing on to”

the next thing. It was also probably meant to insert a little civility into our family dinners

to teach manners and a bit of propriety. I liked thinking that, in the end, good manners are

“really just about showing regard for the people around you, and that it can be done while you're lying”

in the grass with cookie crumbs in your hair. I curled onto my side and tucked my arm under my head. The warm air and my full belly were making me drowsy. I listened while my friends talked about this and that and let my eyes close, knowing they were watching over and that we had no place to be. Sweet dreams.