Autumn at the Inn, Part 2
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01:40That's code nothing much at naturesunshine.com.Welcome to Bedtime 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 hearand nothing much happens.Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim.
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03:02And it's just 10 cents a day.You get loads of bonus episodesand our whole seven and a half year catalog of episodesad-free.Click subscribe in Spotify or Appleor go to Nothing Much Happens.com.if you are new here welcome let me say a tiny bit about how this works listening to our soft simple storieswill engage your brain just enough to keep it from wandering the story sort of tucks your mind in
03:45and after a few minutes sleep will comeMost listeners report best results after a month of regular use.The more you listen, the better the brain response will be.I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through.Our story tonight is called Autumn at the Inn, Part 2.And it's the second in this series, though you don't need to go back and listen to part one.If, I don't know, you might have slept through it, nothing much happened in it.This is a story about a train ride through changing fields, an old station wagon packed full of pies, a sketch of the moon on the pages of.
04:51of a journal, wind and waves, and a week full of adventure ahead.Now, snuggle down into your sheets and get as comfortable as you can.The day is done.It was what it was, and now it is over.I'll be here reading and watching overeven after you've fallen asleepdraw a deep breathin through your nose
05:34and out through the mouthnice one more inhalelet it goGoodAutumnAt the InnPart 2On the journey
06:04I'd filled several pages of my journalI wrote about the landflying past the train windowgreen and yellow fields of sunflowersand rolling farmlandfreshly plowed and dotted with haystacksI wrote about a bevy of deersitting calmly under a weeping willow
06:43as the wind of the passing traintossed drying leaves down on top of them.And I wrote about the ladywho pushed the drinks cartup and down the aisle.Who'd had a story to tellthat nearly every stop we madeDid I know she'd been a pageant winner in her day?
07:19I chuckled as she poured my coffee and said, I didn't, but I'd love to hear about it.It had been long before she'd sold encyclopedias door to door, but after she'd been mayor,of that small town we'd passedas we crossed the trestle bridge over the river.I wondered if she wrote a whole new biographyeach time she boarded and stocked her cart.And if I rode long enough,if I could become her archivist,
08:11tracking all the tales, and noting how they criss-crossed, like the routes of the trains themselves.Sometimes I wrote about myself.Little thoughts that didn't necessarily go anywhere, but felt good to express.Bigger thoughts.that had been waiting for me to have the time to look them in the eye.I had a feeling that was behind the general wanderlustthat had spurred me to book a ticket and a room at the inn.I'd been spinning my wheels and needed away.
09:11to help them grab the earth again and propel me forward.That and desperately craving a fresh apple ciderand a walk in the spicy air under changing leaves on the harvest moon.I'd been sketching that moon onto the pages of my jar.not noticing that the train was slowingwhen my friend at the drinks cartleaned in to tap me on the shoulder.Your stop is next, dear. Don't miss it.
10:00Oh, I'd spluttered, um, thanks.I closed the book,snapping the elastic closure into place.and hurriedly pulled down my suitcase from the luggage rack.I bought myself a new jacket for this trip,with a soft flannel liningand a hood in case it rained.I slid it on and zipped it up type.
10:41By the time, the train chugged to a stop,and the doors hissed open.I was standing ready behind them, ready for my autumn adventure.And I must have overpacked a bit.Too many pumpkin orange sweaters and thick socksbecause I could barely shift my suitcase down the first step.A porter stepped over from the platform,grabbing it down in one hand
11:23and helping me out with the other.Oh, how much it means when someone is kind to you,when someone helps you, when you are traveling,When you are somewhere, you have never been before.He must have read it on my face.Because after he waved off my thanks,he asked if I needed help,if I had a ride waiting for me.
12:02I told him I was headed to the inn.and that they'd said they would send someone to pick me up.Did he know where their shuttle would be parked?He smiled a bit as he nodded and guided me down the platformto point through the open, high-ceiling station, to the street beyond.not really a shuttle.We take turns, whoever is going out that way.And today, I'd say you hit the jackpot.
12:53Look for a station wagon and a lady in an apron.Wouldn't be surprised if she's got a good bit of flower on her.I turned to look in the direction he pointed.Not sure I'd understood, but when I turned back to him, he was already down the platform,lifting another case from the train.Well, it was supposed to be an adventure, wasn't it?On the street, just like he'd said, I found a station wagon, an old one,with those faux wooden panels on the sides
13:42and vinyl bench seats in the front and back.Standing at the open tailgate,shifting cases and crates,was indeed a woman in an apron.She smiled as I came around the car to herand shook my hand.And a friendly and, yes, flowery way.She looked down at my lone suitcase and said,
14:20Oh, good, I can fit that in the backseat.I thought I'd have to stack the pies.And I don't know how much you know about pies.She lifted the lower gate, and it locked into place.but they really shouldn't be stacked.Of course not, I said.It could crush the crust, and that's the best part.You get it, she nodded,
14:55and helped me load my case into the back seat.Once we were buckled in,she started up the old car,and we began to trundle downwhat I guessed was the main streetof this little village.There was an open bakery boxon the seat between us
15:23and she insisted I helped myself to a cookie.I'd been craving oatmeal raisinfor ages, and the box was full of them.But they weren't just plain cookies.They were sandwiched together,around a generous spread of vanilla cream,like a stepped-up versionof the kind I'd eaten from a cellophane package
16:01after school as a kid.They were absolutely delicious.And for a few blocks, I was lost to anything but the flavor and aroma of the treats.The baker asked a few questions.Was it my first time here?How long was I staying?and did I prefer Apple Crisp or Apple Turnovers?I answered in order.
16:42Yes, it was my first time, a week or so,and that I hoped I never had to make such a difficult decision.She pointed out a few places I might want to visit while I was here.Her bakery, of course.A cafe with outdoor tables grouped around standing heatersthat glowed orangey red in the cool air.A stationary shop, if I filled up my journal and needed a new one.I need a new one no matter how many I have.
17:32I told her.There was a bookshopwith a cozy reading nookbuilt right into the front windowand a parkwith a newspaper kiosk at its entrance.The farmer's marketwas bustling with shoppers and stalls
17:57and I could see that they had a whole sectionjust for mums.As we wound our way out of town,I asked her what was taking her to the inn today.She smiled and saidshe was delivering all those pies for the exhibit,and then helping chef with a round of pickled rustlesprouts.Now I was the one with the one with the girls.
18:31questions. Exhibit? Chef? And most importantly, pickles? We turned down the long drive to theinn, just as I was voicing all of these. But rather than answer, she pointed past thebeautiful old home where I would be spending the next week.to the sliver of lake visible through the trees.She began to crank her window down, and I followed suit.Fresh lake air rushed in, and I closed my eyes, letting it wash over me.I could hear wind high in.the trees and waves on the surface of the water.
19:39My shoulders dropped, and my jaw relaxed,though I hadn't even been aware I'd been clenching it.No, I'd never been here before,but somehow it felt familiar.like I was coming home.AutumnAt the InnPart 2
20:13On the journeyI'd filled several pagesof my journalI wrote about the landflying pastthe train window, green and yellow fields of sunflowers, and rolling farmland, freshly plowed,and dotted with haystacks.I wrote about a bevy of deer, sitting calmly underwely, under,
21:01a weeping willow as the wind of the passing train tossed drying leaves down on top of them.I wrote about the lady who pushed the drinks cart up and down the aisle.who'd had a story to tell at nearly every stop we made.Did I know she had been a pageant winner in her day?I chuckled as she poured my coffee and said, I didn't.but I'd love to hear about it.It had been long before she sold encyclopedias door to door.But after she'd been mayor of the small town we'd passed,
22:24as we crossed that trestle bridge over the river.I wondered if she wrote a whole new biographyeach time she boarded and stocked her cart.And if I rode long enough,could I become her archivist,tracking all the tales?and noting how they criss-crossed, like the routes of the trains themselves.Sometimes I wrote about myself, little thoughts, that didn't necessarily go anywhere.
23:24bigger thoughts that had been waiting for meto have the time to look them in the eyeI had a feeling they were behindthe general wanderlustthat had spurred meto book a ticket and a room at the inn.I'd been spinning my wheelsand needed a way
24:08to help them grab the earth againand propel me forward.That and desperately cravinga fresh apple ciderand a walkin the spicy airunder changing leavesand the harvest moon.
24:38I'd been sketching that moononto the pages of my journalnot noticing that the train was slowingwhen my friend at the drinks cartleaned in to tap me on the shoulderyour stop is next deardon't miss itoh oh I'd spluttered
25:14um thanksI closed the booksnapping the elastic closure into place,and hurriedly pulled my suitcase from the luggage rack.I'd bought myself a new jacket just for this trip,with a soft flannel lining and a hoodin case it rained.I slid it on
25:57and zipped it up tight.By the time,the train chugged to a stop,and the doors hissed open.I was standing ready behind them.Ready for my autumn.adventure.I must have over-packed a bit.
26:31Too many pumpkin-orange sweaters and thick socks.Because I could barely shift my suitcase down the first step.A porter stepped over.from the platform, grabbing it down in one hand, and helping me out with the other.Oh, how much it means when someone is kind to you, when someone helps you, when you are traveling,when you are somewhereyou have never been before.He must have read it on my face
27:27because after he waved off my thankshe asked if I needed helpif I had a ridewaiting for me.I told him I was headed to the innand that they'd said they would send someone to pick me up.Did he know where their shuttle would be parked?He smiled a bit as he nodded
28:09and guided me down the platformto pointthrough the open,high-ceilinged station,to the street beyond.Not really a shuttle.We just take turns,whoever is going out that way.
28:39And today, I'd say you hit the jackpot.Look for a station wagon and a lady in an apron.Wouldn't be surprised if she's got a good bit of flower on her.I turned to look in the direction he pointed.Not sure I had understood.But when I turned back to him, he was already down the platform,lifting another case from the train.Well, it was supposed to be an adventure, wasn't it?
29:33On the street, just like he'd said.I'd found a station wagon, an old one with those faux wooden panels on the sides and vinyl bench seats on the front and back.Standing at the open tailgate, shifting cases and crates, was indeed.a woman in an apron.She smiled as I came around the car to herand shook my handin a friendly, a yes, flowery way.She looked down at my lone suitcase
30:34and said,oh good,I can fit that in the back seat.Thought I'd have to stack the pies.And I don't know how much you know about pies.She lifted the lowered gate and it locked into place.But they really shouldn't be stacked.Of course not.
31:09I said, it could crush the crust, and that's the best part.You get it, she nodded, and helped me load my case into the backseat.Once we were buckled in, she started up the old car,and we began to trundle down.what I guessed was the main street of this little village.There was an open bakery box on the seat between us,and she insisted, I help myself, to a cookie.I'd been craving oatmeal rinked,
32:09for ages, and the box was full of them.But they weren't just plain cookies.They were sandwiched togetheraround a generous spread of vanilla cream.Like a stepped-up versionof the kind I'd eaten.from a cellophane packageafter school as a kid
32:46they were absolutelydeliciousand for a few blocksI was lost to anythingbut the flavorand aroma of the treatsThe baker asked a few questions.Was it my first time here?
33:21How long was I staying?And did I prefer Apple Crisp or Apple Turnovers?I answered in order.Yes, it was my first time, a week or so,and that I hoped I never had to make such a difficult decision.She pointed out a few places I might want to visit while I was here.Her bakery, of course.a cafe with outdoor tables grouped around standing heaters
34:12that glowed orangey red in the cool aira stationary shopif I filled up my journal and needed a new oneI need a new one, no matter how many I have, I told her.There was a bookshop with a cozy reading nook built right into the front windowand a park with a newspaper kiosk at its entrance.The farmer's market was bustling with shoppers and stalls.And I could see that they had a whole section just for mums.
35:20As we wound our way out of town,I asked her what was taking her to the end today.She smiled and saidShe was delivering all those pies for the exhibitAnd then helping chefWith a round of pickled Brussels sproutsNow I was the one with the questionsExhibit
35:54ChefAnd most importantWe turned down the long drive to the inn, just as I was voicing all of these.But rather than answer, she pointed past the beautiful old home,where I would be spending the next weekto the sliver of lakevisible through the treesshe began to crank her window down
36:45and I followed suitfresh lake airrushed inwhen I closed my eyesletting it washall over meI could hear windhigh in the trees
37:13and waves on the surfaceof the watermy shouldersdropped, and my jaw relaxed. Though I hadn't even been aware, I'd been clenching it.No, I'd never been here before. But somehow, it all felt familiar.like I was coming home.Sweet dreams.
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