Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Garden Tour, Part 2

Episode Date: August 12, 2024

Our story tonight is called Garden Tour, Part 2, but if you slept through part one, not to worry. Nothing Much Happened in it. This is a story about a day spent in tranquil, verdant spaces. It’s also about a grey cat in a window, iced tea and moonflowers, a view of the whole village from a rooftop, and the contagious calm of the outdoors. We give to a different charity each week, and this week, we are giving to Old Friends Senior Dogs. They provide loving homes, good food, high-quality vet care, compassion, and comfort to senior dogs for the remainder of their lives.  Save over $100 on Kathryn’s hand-selected wind-down favorites with the Nothing Much Happens Wind-Down Box. A collection of products from our amazing partners: Eversio Wellness: Chill Now Vellabox: Lavender Silk Candle Alice Mushrooms: Nightcap NutraChamps: Tart Cherry Gummies A Brighter Year: Mini Coloring Book NuStrips: Sleep Strips Woolzies: Lavender Roll-On. Subscribe for ad-free, bonus, and extra-long episodes now, as well as ad-free and early episodes of Stories from the Village of Nothing Much! Search for the NMH Premium channel on Apple Podcasts or follow the link belownothingmuchhappens.com/premium-subscription  Listen to our new show, Stories from the Village of Nothing Much, on your favoritepodcast app. nothingmuchhappens.com/stories-from-the-village  Join us tomorrow morning for a meditation at nothingmuchhappens.com/first-this Purchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-HappensSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nicolai. I create everything you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to old friends' senior dogs. They work to provide loving homes, good food, high-quality vet care, compassion, and comfort to senior dogs for the remainder of their lives.

Learn more about them in our show notes. Thank you for being here with us tonight there are people all over the world settling in right now taking a few deep breaths and together stepping into the village of nothing much

the world can feel lonely at times, but know that we are sharing this moment, connected in this gentle way. You can learn more about what we do, find our other shows, and subscribe to our bonus episodes and more through the links in our show notes. This sleep technique works by giving your brain a very simple job to do.

Just to listen. Just to follow along with the sound of my voice. It will occupy your attention enough to keep it from wandering, which is what will allow you to drift to sleep. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. This is brain training, and over time, you'll find yourself drifting off faster and staying asleep longer. Our story tonight is called Garden Tour, Part 2. But if you slept through Part 1, not to worry. Nothing much happened in it. This is a story about a day spent in tranquil, verdant spaces. It's also about a gray cat in a window,

iced tea and moonflowers, a view of the whole village from a rooftop, and the contagious calm of the outdoors. Now, lights out. It's time. Slide down into your sheets and get as comfortable as you can maybe you've been waiting for this moment all day

well now it is here let yourself enjoy it soften your jaw Let yourself enjoy it. Soften your jaw. Relax your shoulders. Take a deep breath in. And sigh out. And out. Do one more. Breathe in.

And out. Good. Garden tour. Part two. We were headed to the last stop on our tour. The weather was still brisk and cool. A bit of early fall making the hours wandering through yards and flowerbeds. A treat instead of a slog. All of the stops on the tour

had been within walking distance of each other, and we'd been treated to refreshments more than once along the way by hospitable homeowners. And we'd been treated to refreshments more than once, along the way by hospitable homeowners. We'd started at a little cottage, just a block up from the old school. It had a picket fence, painted a deep forest green that blended in with the plants around it, and a single gate with an iron latch.

It felt like a fairy tale, this little house with an overflowing garden, wild with hollyhocks and foxglove, and pots of lavender and jasmine lining the front steps. We followed a gravel path around to the back of the cottage, and our guide pointed out moonflower and sunflower planted together. it was a garden clearly tended by someone who thought about the ebb and flow of nature's rhythm and it gave me a calm steady feeling just to stand among the flowers and shrubs. I noticed a rose vine growing along the fence and stepped away from the group a bit to follow it through the side yard and close to the house.

The roses were as big around as teacups and a deep, deep red. I stopped to smell one and found they had a true rose scent with a bit of sweet citrus mixed in. As I stood, my hands still cupping the flower, I looked in through the cottage window and spotted a small gray cat with bright yellow eyes watching me from the sill. She seemed to nod at me, like you might when you pass someone on the sidewalk.

And I found myself nodding back. She tilted her head toward the backyard, and when I followed her gaze, saw that the group was on the move. This first tour having obviously concluded. When I looked back at the window, she was gone. And I shook my head, thinking it was a bit early in the day to get into a prolonged conversation with the cat anyway, so hurried to follow the group out through the gate.

The next stop on our tour was a rooftop garden on a building downtown. I'd spied the greenery before from an outdoor table at the cafe. So when I realized where we were headed and that I'd finally be able to see it up close,

I'd been giddy with excitement. The building had an old-fashioned elevator. Our guide told us it was called a birdcage elevator, since, and a cage sealed us in above that. A scissor gate was stretched across the entrance once we were loaded in, and I guessed that this would have had an operator back when it was first built. We made it up to the top safely and when the gate was drawn back

stepped out from under an awning into a little urban oasis. White planters edged the roof, filled with tall grasses and giant elephant ear plants, coleus and cordyline, so different from the wild cottage garden. This was modern and neat, with polished stepping stones over crushed granite. There was a long bench under a Japanese hornbeam, and I sat and closed my eyes and listened. I could hear cars down on the street, but not the sounds of pedestrians. I could hear the wind, the corner of the awning flapping in it, and the sound of the others as the gravel crackled beneath their feet.

I could smell rain, though it wasn't raining, and I wondered if there were rain barrels up here to water the plants and the trees. Slowly I opened my eyes and looked out at the village. I could see as far as the apple orchards in one direction and the inn on the lake in the other. The train was chugging along the tracks that ran behind the cemetery, and the doors were wide open at the library north of the park. What a new perspective I was being given, just sitting here and taking in my little town from up in this garden. took the birdcage back down to the street.

We were served chilled glasses of green tea, sweet and minty, and I felt quite fancy as I dabbed my lips with the proffered napkins. I didn't know that I would ever be back up in this garden to see what it might look like at night or decorated in the winter. But I would keep the idea of it in my head to revisit when I felt the need to step away in busy times and imagine myself in a calm, green space.

We'd made a couple more stops. A Victorian house covered with ivy and clematis. A lot on the edge of downtown, with raised beds full of vegetables and herbs. And finally, the last stop on the tour, we'd arrived at the sunken garden in the park, which was full of sculptures and edged with tall arborvitaes. I'd been here before, more than once, but usually visited at night and came in through a break in the greenery. Now we circled around to the top of some stone steps that led down into the garden,

and I admired the iron railings as I descended. that led down into the garden. And I admired the iron railings as I descended, full of flourishes and curlicues. This garden was a big rectangle with a round fountain in the middle. And in each corner a sculpture a bench a flower bed with something fragrant growing

I stepped away from the others and closer to the fountain the sound of the water cascading I stepped away from the others and closer to the fountain. The sound of the water cascading made me sigh. And I realized that this day of green things and flowers had left me deeply relaxed. The metronome inside me that sometimes ticked too fast had slowed to the pace of my strolling feet as I circled the fountain

and stepped closer to one of the sculptures. It was a bust of a person with long flowing hair. I imagined this person standing at the bow of a ship as the wind carried their hair out behind them. They had a look of freedom on their face, and I felt it spread over my own.

I'd seen so much since setting out this morning. The old school, the gray cat and the foxglove, the view from up on the rooftop, vegetable beds and climbing vines, and this calm-faced sculpture. I thought I might be digesting it all for days. And if I was very lucky, revisiting these places in my dreams. Garden Tour, Part 2 We were headed to the last stop on our tour.

The weather was still brisk and cool. A bit of early fall, making the hours wandering through yards and flower beds a treat rather than a slog. All of the stops on the tour had been within walking distance of each other. And we'd been treated to refreshments more than once along the way by hospitable homeowners. We'd started at a little cottage, just a block up from the old school. It had a picket fence painted a deep forest green that blended in with the plants around it.

I'm a single gate with an overflowing garden, wild with hollyhocks and foxglove and pots of lavender and jasmine lining the front steps. We followed a gravel path around to the back of the cottage, and our guide pointed out moonflower and sunflower planted together. It was a garden clearly tended by someone who thought about the ebb and flow of nature's rhythm. And it gave me a calm, steady feeling,

just to stand among the flowers and the shrubs. I noticed a rose vine growing along the fence and stepped away from the group to follow it through the side yard and close to the house. The roses were as big around as teacups and a deep, deep red. I stopped to smell one,

but found they had a true rose scent with a bit of sweet citrus mixed in. As I stood, my hand still cupping the flower, I looked in through the cottage window and spotted a small gray cat with bright yellow eyes watching me from the sill. She seemed to nod at me, like you might when you pass someone on the sidewalk. And I found myself nodding back. She tilted her head toward the backyard,

and when I followed her gaze, saw that the group was on the move, this first tour having obviously concluded. When I looked back at the window, she was gone. And I shook my head, thinking it was a bit early in the day to have a prolonged conversation with a cat anyway, so hurried to follow the group out through the gate. The next stop on our tour was a rooftop garden on a building downtown. I'd spied the greenery before from an outdoor table at the cafe. so when I realized where we were headed and that I'd finally be able to see it up close

I'd been giddy with excitement the building had an old-fashioned elevator. Our guide told us it was called a birdcage elevator, since, well, that is what it looked like. Wood paneling came up to waist height, and a cage sealed us in above that. A scissor gate was stretched across the entrance once we were loaded in. And I guessed that this would have had an operator when it was first built. We made it up to the top safely,

and when the gate was drawn back, stepped out from under an awning into a little urban oasis. White planters edged the roof, filled with tall grasses and giant elephant ears, coleus and cordyline. So different from the wild cottage garden. This was modern and neat, with polished stepping stones over crushed granite. There was a long bench under a Japanese hornbeam, And I sat and closed my eyes and listened. I could hear cars down on the street,

but not the sound of pedestrians. I could hear the wind, the awning flapping in it, and the sound of the others as the gravel crackled beneath their feet. I could smell rain, though it wasn't raining, and wondered if there were rain barrels up here to water the plants and the trees. Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked out at the lake in the other.

A train was chugging along the tracks that ran behind the cemetery, and the doors were wide open at the library north of the park. What a new perspective I was being given, just sitting here and taking in my little town from up in this garden. Before we took the birdcage back down to the street, we were served glasses of chilled green tea, sweet and minty,

and I felt quite fancy as I dabbed my lips with the proffered napkin. I didn't know that I would ever be back up in this garden to see what it might look like at night or decorated in the winter. But I'd keep the idea of it in my head to revisit when I felt the need to step away in busy times and imagine myself in a calm, green space. We'd made a couple more stops.

A Victorian house covered with ivy and clematis. A lot on the edge of downtown with raised beds full of vegetables and herbs. And finally, the last stop on the tour, we'd arrived at the sunken garden in the park, which was full of sculptures and edged with tall arborvitaes. I'd been here before, more than once,

but usually visited at night and came in through a break in the greenery. Now we circled around to the top of some stone steps that led down into the garden, and I admired the iron railings as I descended, full of flourishes and curlicues. This garden was a big rectangle with a round fountain in the middle, and in each corner, a sculpture, a bench, a flower bed with something fragrant growing. I stepped away from the others and closer to the fountain. The sound of the water cascading made me sigh when I realized that this day of green things

and flowers had left me deeply relaxed. The metronome inside me, that sometimes ticked too fast, had slowed to the pace of my strolling feet. As I circled the fountain and stepped closer to one of the sculptures. It was a bust of a person with long, flowing hair. I imagined this person standing at the bow of a ship as the wind carried their hair out behind them. They had a look of freedom on their face, and I felt it spread over my own. I'd seen so much since setting out this morning. The old school,

the gray cat and the fox glove, the view from up on the rooftop, vegetable beds and climbing vines, and this calm faced sculpture. I thought I might be digesting it all for days and that if I was very lucky, I'd be revisiting these places in my dreams. Sweet dreams.