Guided Sleep Meditation & Sleep Hypnosis from Sleep Cove - Fall and Thanksgiving Folktales (Cozy Bedtime Stories)

Episode Date: November 27, 2024

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Back by popular demand, the Sleep Cove Premium Sale has started. For the next two months, you can get Sleep Cove Premium for free. That's right, completely free. There you'll get access to all my exclusive episodes, as well as every episode, add free. You'll also have access to my own. other podcasts and their exclusive and ad-free content too. Sleepcove can't carry on without your support. So if you want to become a VIP member and get access to our premium feed,

please go to sleepcove.com slash support. That's sleepcove.com slash support. If you can't support the show right now, please subscribe with a bell to get alerts on all new free content thank you have you ever gazed in wonder at the great pyramid have you marvelled at the golden face of Tudankhamun

or admired the delicate features of Queen Nefertiti if you have you'll probably like the History of Egypt podcast every week we explore tales of this ancient culture The history of Egypt is available wherever you get your podcasting fix. Come, let me introduce you to the world of ancient Egypt. And welcome to Sleep Cove, the place for a great night's sleep, with me, Christopher Fitten. I hope you're having a great week. And if you celebrate it, getting into the preparations for Thanksgiving,

you'll hear tales of children's good deeds at a magical bakery and people being helped who are in need as well as a tale of a thoughtful boy and his quest for a nice Thanksgiving dinner that reminded me of the story a Christmas carol I have some more cozy autumn content coming this week with an exclusive episode called the Autumn Cozy Coffee Shop for my premium subscribers. In this episode, you'll explore the town of Sleathe and you'll take a trip to Emma's coffee shop.

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a turkey for the stuffing. It always made Ben feel solemn to watch the river in a storm. Today, it was grey and rough and noisy and the few boats which went down towards

Lake Huron pitched about so their deck slanted first one way then another and their sides were coated with ice. What days today? He asked at last,

turning from the stormy river to glance about their warm, comfortable little room. Wednesday, Benny, answered the small old woman who crouched over the stove. Then tomorrow will be Thanksgiving Day and the Rosses

are going to be having a turkey said Ben, excitingly. What are we going to have, Grandma, Mrs. Moxon, looked over her glasses at her grandson's small, thin figure, in its patched and faded clothes, and at his bright, eager face, Sonny dear, what do you think Grandma has for Thanksgiving? She asked gently,

The expectant look faded from Ben's face, and he winked hard to keep the tears from running over. He did not need to be told how bear of dainties their cupboard was, for everything there had brought with his own hands. Bacon and smoked fish, enough for all winter was stalled away. flower, potatoes and a few other vegetables were there. Tell me about a real Thanksgiving dinner. The small boy begged, after the first disappointment, had been bravely put away. Mrs. Moxon took off her spectacles and leaned back cautiously in her broken rocket chair. I remember one Thanksgiving.

when your pa was alive. We had a dinner fit for a king. There was a ten-pound turkey with bread stuffing. I put the sage and onions into the stuffing with my own hands. We could have some stuffing, interrupted Ben eagerly. So we could, Sonny, so we could. It takes you to. to think of things.

And Mrs. Moxon affectionately patted the little brown hand on her knee. It never would come to me that we might have turkey stuffing even if we didn't have any turkey with delight at his praise.

And was there anything else beside the turkey and the stuffing, Grandma and yes child? There were were turnips and mashed potatoes and mince pies. And your pa got two pounds of grapes. The grapes was expensive at that time of year.

Yes, nobody could ask for a better dinner than that was. We could have just one like it. All but the turkey and the mince pies and the grapes, said Ben, hopefully. So he can, and will too child, answered the old woman. Trust you for making the best of things, and the two smiled at each other happily. Next morning, Ben watched his grandmother add an egg, some sage and a chopped onion to a bowl full of dry bread. pull boiling water over it and put the mixture into the oven

your father said I made the best turkey stuffing he ever ate she said with satisfaction we'll see how it comes out Benny I can hardly wait till dinner time Ben said with an excited skip I believe I'll go down to the beach and pick up driftwood for a while.

You call me when things are most cooked, Grandma, the storm of the day, before had left many a bit of bored or end of a log on the beach. That would just be the thing for Mrs. Mokson's stove. Ben works so hard that he did not notice a big barn, that was coming slowly down the river, towing two other boats behind it, until he heard a voice ask, Hello, kid,

what makes you work so hard on Thanksgiving Day? Then he straightened up to see the boat's captain, standing near its pilot house, and shouting for a great trumpet. I'm waiting for dinner to cook, Ben answered in his piping voice. Can't hear you, roared to the captain. Run home and get your horn and talk to me up the little hill to Mrs. Ross's

and borrowed her trumpet or megaphone. One's voice sounds louder when these are used at every house on the shores of the St. Mary's. Boats and those on the land often want to say, How do you do to each other? It was all Ben could do to hold the great tin trumpet on straight, for it was nearly as long as he was. I'm waiting for dinner to cook,

the boy shouted again, and this time the captain heard him. Going to have turkey, I suppose, the captain asked. No, but we're going to have turkey stuffing, answered men with pride. Turkey stuffing, but no turkey. If that isn't the best I've ever heard, the captain had dropped his trumpet and doubled up with sudden laughter. Ben didn't...

What else are you going to have? He called when he repeated the joke about him. Mint's pie, without any mince meat? No, sir, was shrill but clear. My father had mince pie, for Thanksgiving dinner once though. Did? Did he? The captain dropped his trumpet again. That boy's all right, he.

he said to the first mate he's too plucky to be laughed at I'm going to send some turkey for her stuffing Morgan tell the cook to get ready half a turkey and mince pie and say

Morgan have him send up one of those small baskets of grapes or tie them to a piece of plank then they'll float a sure all right, tell the cook to hurry, or we'll be too far downstream for the boy to get the things. Then he raised his trumpet again. Say, kid, can you row that boat that's tied to your dog? Yes, sir. Well, you hurry out into the river, and I'll put off afloat with some things for your

Thanksgiving dinner. You're going to have some turkey for that stuffing. You may be sure Ben lost no time in pushing the rowboat off into the stream where the end of a plank and its delicious load was soon bobbing up and down on the water. How did he smack his lips? when he lifted them into the boat how pleased he was for Grandma first the stuffing and then the turkey my ain't I lucky

he did not know that the captain had said he was plucky and that look is very apt to follow pluck Thanksgiving have you cut the wheat in the blowing fields the barley, the oats and the rye, the golden corn and the perny rice

for the winter's days are nigh from shore to shore and the grain is safe on the threshing floor. Have you gathered the berries from the vine and the fruit from the orchard trees the dew and the scent from the roses and time?

The peach and the plum and the apple are arse, and the honeycomb from the scented flowers of the snowy cotton field and the gift of the sugar cane, the savory herb and the nourishing root, there has nothing been given in vain. We have gathered the harvest from shore to shore, and the measure is full, and lift up the head with the size, and lift her the hand with a gift to the ancient giver of all. The spirit in gratitude left for the joy and the promise of spring, for the hay and the clover sweet, the barley the rye and the oats, the rice and the corn and the wheat,

the cotton and sugar and fruit, the flowers and the fine honeycoats, the country so fair and so free, the blessings and glory of home. Little Baker Man, all the children were glad when the little baker came to town and hung the sign above his little brown shop,

Thanksgiving loaves to sell. Each child ran to tell the news to another child until soon the streets echoed with the sound of many running feet and the clear November air was full of the sound of happy laughter as a crowd of little children thronged as near as they dared to the little baker's shop while the boulders crept so close that they could feel the heat from the big brick oven

and see the gleaming rose of baker's pans. That little baker never said a word. He washed his hands at the windmill water spout and dried them, waving them in the crisp air. Then he had folded a long spotless table and setting it up before his shop door, he began to mould the loaves. Wandering children grew nearer and nearer to watch him.

Healded big long loaves, filled with currants, square loaves with queer markings on them, fat loaves and fat loaves in shapes such as the children had never seen before. He moulded, he sang a soft tune. to these words By my noves of brown and white moulded for the child's delight Who forgets and others need Eats are thankful

But the children who breaks his bread With another Love has fed The children begin to whisper to each other I shall buy That very biggest loaf said the biggest boy. Mother lets me buy what I wish.

I shall eat as alone, which is fair if I pay for it. So the tiniest little girl, that would be greedy. You could never eat so big a loaf alone. If I pay for it, it is mine, said the biggest boy boastfully, need not share

what is his own and love. thus he wishes, said the tiniest little girl, but she said it more softly this time, and she drew away from the biggest boy and looked at him with eyes that had grown big and round. I have a penny, she said to the little lame boy, and you and I can have one of those wee loaves together. They have currents in them. So we shall not mind if the loaf is small. No indeed, said the little lame boy whose face had grown wistful when the biggest boy had talked to the great loaf. No indeed, but you shall take the bigger piece. Then the little baker man raked out the bright coals

from the great oven into an iron basket and he put in the loaves every one are the children crowded closer with eager faces when the last loaf was in he shut the oven door with their clang so loud and merry

that the children broke into a shout of laughter. Then the queer little baker man came and stood in his tent door, and he was smiling, and he sang again, a merry little tune to these words. Heaven floor, my loaves will bake, as oft before, when you may play where shines the sun, until each loaf is brown and around the children, laughing and looking at the door of the shop where the queer little baker stood, the raked out coals bursting at tives, cast long red lights against the brown wall, and as they ran, they sang together the queer little baker's merry song.

Clang Clang Biven Flore. The nose will bake. as oft before laid at hide-and-sea, among the sheaves of unguarded corn, and some ran gleefully through the heaped-up leaves of russet and gold for joy to hear them rustling. But some eager returned home for pennies to buy a loaf when the queer dizzle-baker should call. The loaves are ready, white and brown, forever little child in town. Come by, Thanksgiving loaves and eat can make them sweet. Soon the air was filled with the sound of the swift running feet. As the children flew like a cloud of leaves, blown by the wind in answer to the queer little baker's call.

up they pause, laughing and whispering, as the little baker laid out the loaves on the spotless table. This is mine, said the biggest boy, and laying down a silver coin, he snatched the great loaf and ran away to break it by himself, he made impatient boy crying, give me my loaf, this is mine, and give it to me at once. Do you not see my coin as silver? Do not keep me waiting. That little baker never said a word.

He did not smile, he did not frown, he did not hurry. He gave the impatient boy his loaf and watched him, as he too hurried away to eat his loaf alone. Then came other. crowning, pushing their money, the strongest and rudest, gaining first place, and snatching they ran off to eat without a word of things, while some very little children looked on wistfully, not able even to gain a place. This time, the queer little baker kept steadily on lay ever.

the beautiful loaves on the spotless table. A gentle lad came when the crowd grew less and giving all the pennies he had, he bought loaves for the little ones, so that by and by no one was without a loaf, tiniest little girl, went away, hand in hand,

with the little lame boy, to share his wee loaf, smallest loaves, found it larger than it has seemed at first. But now the biggest boy was beginning to frown. This loaf is sour, he said angrily. But it is not your own life, said the maker. And did who not choose it yourself and choose it to eat alone? Do not complain of the loaf, since it is your choosing those who have snatched the loaves

and gratefully, and hurried away without waiting for a word of thanks, came back. We came for good bread, they cried. But those loaves are sodden and heavy, seen the lad there with all those children. His bread is night. give us too like bread and sweet. But the baker smiled a strange smile. You've chosen haste, he said. As those chose, with no thought in sharing,

I cannot change your nose. I cannot choose for you. Had you my ye forgotten that mine are thanksgiving those, I shall come again, then who combined more wisely. These children went away thoughtfully, but the very little children and the gentle lad sat eating their bread with joyous laughter

and each tiny life was broken into many pieces as they shared with each other was fine as cake and sweet as honey. Queer little baker brought cold water and was out the fire. He folded his spotless table and took down the boards of his little brown shop. He packed all into his wagon and drove away, singing a quaint tune. Soft winds rustled the corn and swept the bows together with a musical chuckling leaves were piled thickest,

making a little mound sat the tiniest little girl. Through sun and shower the pumpkin grew when the days were long and the skies were blue and it felt quite vain when its giant sighs was that it carried away the prize. At the county fair when the people came and it wore a ticket and bore a name for the Bonkin's pride. Her boy and his mother took it away.

It was pared, sliced and pounded and stewed and the way it was treated was hard and rude. It was sprinkled with sugar and seasoned with spice. The boy and his mother pronounced it nice It was served in a paste It was baked and browned pantry shelf was found And on Thursday John Mary and Mabel We'll see it on auntie's laden table

For the pumpkin grew Neath the summer sky Just a turn at Thanksgiving into pie or the Thanksgiving Day gift. Once upon a time, a poor old beggar woman stood shivering by the side of a road which led to a prosperous village. She hopes some traveller would be touched by her misery and would give her a few pennies with which to buy food and fuel.

It had been snowing since early morning. and a sharp east wind made the evening air bitterly cold at the sound of approaching footsteps the old woman's face brightened with expectancy for the next moment

her eager expression changed a disappointment for the traveller passed without giving her anything he said to himself this is a bitter cold night to be begging on the roadside it is indeed

I am truly sorry for her deserts footsteps became fainter the beggar woman whispered I must not give up the next traveller will help me in a little while she heard the sounds of wheels it happened to be the carriage of the mare

he was on his way to a thanksgiving banquet. When his excellency saw the miserable old woman, he ordered the carriage to stop. He lowered the window and took a piece of money from his pocket, hurried to the window as fast as she could. Before she reached it, however, the man noticed that he had taken a gold piece

instead of a silver one out of his pocket. And he said, I've made a mistake. He intended to exchange the gold one of less value. But he caught his sleeve on the window fastening and dropped the gold piece in the snow had come up to the carriage window and he noticed that she was blind. I've dropped the money my good woman,

he said, but it lies near you in the snow. No doubt, you'll find it. Thank you, sir, thank you, said the beggar, kneeling down to search for the coin, rolled to the mare to the banquet. It was foolish to give her gold, he thought, but I am a rich man, and I seldom make such a mistake that night after the banquet. When the mayor sat down. down before a blazing fire in his comfortable chair. The picture of the beggar woman kneeling in the snow and fumbling around for the gold piece came before his eyes. I hope she'll make good use of my generous gift, he mused. It was entirely too much to give, but no doubt I shall be rewarded for my charity. The first traveller

hurried on his way until he came to the village in, where a great wood fire rackled merrily in the cheery dining room. He took off his warm coat and sat down to wait for dinner to be served, but he could not forget the picture of the old beggar woman standing on the snowy roadside. Suddenly he rose, put on his coat and said to the host, prepared dinner for two, I shall be back shortly, he hastened back to the place where he had seen the poor old woman,

who were still on her knees, in the snow searching for the mare's gold piece. My good woman, what are you looking for? he asked. A piece of money, sir, The gentleman who gave it to me dropped it in the snow. Do not search any longer, said the traveller, but come with me to the village in. You may warm yourself before the great fire,

and we shall have a good dinner. You shall be my thanksgiving guest. He helped her to her feet, and then, for the first time he saw that she was blind. carefully he took her arm and led her along the road to the inn. Sit here and warm yourself, he said, placing her gently in a comfortable chair. In a few moments he led her to the table and gave her a good dinner. Thanksgiving day, an angel took up her pen and strove her.

out all the count of the gold piece from the book where the mayor recorded his good deeds. Another angel wrote in the traveller's book, Of the good deeds the traveller did for the old beggar woman at the Thanksgiving dinner, at the village inn. A Thanksgiving poem. There are things I prize and hold of dearest worth. Light of the sapphire skies, peace of the silent hills, shelter of forests, comfort of the grass, music of birds, murmur of little reels, shadow of clouds that swiftly pass, and of the showers,

the smell of flowers, and of the good brown earth, and best of all, friendship in mirth. So let me keep these treasures of the humble heart in true possession.