Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - New Friends at Weathervane Farm

Episode Date: April 8, 2024

Our story tonight is called New Friends at Weathervane Farm, and it’s a story about a busy Spring morning at the sanctuary. It’s also about branches full of singing birds, fresh straw, and rubber boots, new babies born in the stalls of the barn and helping each other out along the way. We give to a different charity each week, and this week, we are giving to Agia Marina Donkey Rescue. There, no donkey will ever be turned away; each will be cared for and loved for the remainder of its life. 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 NMH Premium channel on Apple Podcasts, or follow the link below https://www.nothingmuchhappens.com/premium-subscription. Listen to our new show, Stories from the Village of Nothing Much, on your favorite podcast app.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 read and write all the stories you hear, and nothing much happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to Aya Marina Donkey Rescue. Where no donkey will ever be turned away, each will be cared for and loved for the remainder of their lives. Learn more about them in our show notes. So often I hear from listeners who fall asleep within moments of starting an episode.

Sometimes they wish they could actually hear the story. Well, those are some well-trained brains, and I'm really glad that you're getting the sleep you need. But I want to let you know that Bob and I made a show just for this, for daytime listening. It's called Stories from the Village of Nothing Much, and I think of it as easy listening, but for fiction. Listen while you're on your commute, out for a walk, when you need to be centered and calm and surrounded by the ordinary magic

that is commonplace in our village. It's free, it doesn't put you to sleep, and you can find it anywhere you listen just search stories from the village of nothing much on your podcast app learn more and subscribe to our premium channels through the links in our show notes now I have a story to tell you. It is a soft place to settle your mind, and just by listening to it, it will build a reliable response in your system for sleep. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake again in the night, turn it back on, and you'll drop right back off, usually within seconds. And if you're new to this, know that this training will improve with use.

So be patient and give it time to work. Our story tonight is called New Friends at Weathervane Farm, And it's a story about a busy spring morning at the sanctuary. It's also about branches full of singing birds, fresh straw and rubber boots, new babies born in the stalls of the barn, and helping each other out along the way. Now turn out your light. Slip down into your sheets and get as comfortable as you can.

Let your muscles relax and your whole body drop heavy into the bed. You are about to fall asleep, and you will sleep deeply all night. Draw a breath in through the nose. Soft sigh from your mouth. Again, breathe in. And out. And out. Good. New friends at Weathervane Farm.

We were up early today. Not just because the birds were having an all-comers talent show and sing-off in the branches, though certainly they were, and had been at it since well before the sun rose. no we were up early today because there were a lot of furry and feathered folks to check on our little farm sanctuary had been growing over the last few years. From the first goats and pig who'd come here to relax into their retirement years, to the donkeys, cows, ducks, and geese, among others, who joined us since.

We'd met and fallen in love with a lot of animals, and in the last few days, our family had grown even more. We set out in our barn clothes and rubber boots. I couldn't remember when I'd last worn anything else and tromped across the yard. I slid open the big barn door to a chorus of calls from our residents who were all ready for breakfast and to get out into the sun on this lovely spring day. We usually started with the stalls closest to the door, went in order down one side and back up the other. And our animals certainly knew that. But things had changed a few days before, and we sure heard about it as we went straight back to the farthest pen. We couldn't help it. We had baby goats, twins that had been born early in the morning, three days ago.

They were black, with a few white and brown spots, and we told them apart because one, the little girl, had right on top of her head a white spot that looked like a smudged thumbprint. I liked thinking about her genetic blueprint, coding that special part of her while she waited to be born. we'd had volunteers watching over her mom nearly around the clock in the days before she gave birth. And since they had been the ones to go without sleep, we'd let them name the twins. The little girl was called Geraldine, and her brother Topper. I don't know where those names had come from, but they seemed to fit the kids, and our farm in general. We went with the flow here, rolled with whatever came, like the weather vane did, up on top of the barn. When we peeked huddled with their mom, having breakfast. Their mom was so good and patient with them. I'd been there as they were born, and even in her exhaustion,

she cleaned them and brought them close. They were thriving under her care, and I was already a bit nervous about the trouble these new kids would get into. Goats are just built different. Of all the animals here at Weathervane, the goats were the silliest, the cleverest daredevils. They climbed on anything, jumped off everything, tried to eat whatever fit in their mouths and some things that didn't. They were also so sweet and loving. It's just that that comes after the chaos.

Once we'd checked in with the goats and had filled the troughs with feed, replenished their water, and opened the door that led them out into their yard. We went back to the front of the barn and started our normal morning chores. Geraldine and Topper weren't the only new babies here at the farm, but they were the ones with the potential to cause the most trouble. So they got first look of the day.

In the stall by the front, we opened the door and ushered the ducks and geese out into their yard for breakfast. At the end of the waddling line came a couple tall, fawn, and white runner ducks with a tiny row of ducklings behind them. They were so adorable. I couldn't stand it. I resisted. Their parents were watching closely as each little duck tottered down the ramp at the front of the barn

and into the grass. They'd spend the morning pecking in the yard and then testing out the pond as the ducklets learned to swim. We had several types of ducks here, but, and don't tell anyone this, the runners were my favorite. They stand upright like penguins, and they really do run. A little out straw and bringing in fresh, sweet brushes we'd installed on the fence posts. Yes, and wagged their tails as we brought their breakfast.

That's when the braying from our coffle of donkeys got loud. They'd been patient, waiting their turn for breakfast and playtime. But they'd had enough and were hee-hawing loudly. Even before I rounded the wall that edged their pen, I had a wide smile on my face. Our donkeys Bumblebee and Turnip had their first foal a month before. His name was George, and his soft gray fur reminded me of the ducklings fuzzy down. I went straight into their pen, and they all crowded around me, begging for pets with their long noses.

If the goats were the silliest farm residents, the donkeys were the most affectionate. If we'd let them, they'd sleep in the house with us, curled up, trying to share beds with the dogs. Baby George, still a bit shy, stood back behind Bumblebee, and only after I'd been in with them for a few minutes, slowly trotted forward to have his own head scratched. Out we went into the yard, and George ran into the sun. Since he'd figured out running, he'd been showing it off, speeding up and down the length of the barnyard,

braying and kicking up dirt. His auntie Muriel, a small donkey whose coloring was for some reason called Roan and Broken, meaning brown and white, trotted after him. She tended to babysit George when they were out in the yard together, and I was often helped their friends at times like those. I guessed in a year or so, when George was a little more grown, and when Muriel's sight was a little dimmer, he'd be leading her out to the pasture,

guiding her to the trough and water barrels. I paused with the rake in my hands and stood tall, stretching my spine, looking out at our animal family, the goats jumping on the picnic table, the ducks floating in the pond, Frida and Winnie, George and Aunt Muriel.

We would have a wonderful summer this year. New friends at Weathervane Farm. We were up early this morning, not just because the birds were having an all-comers talent show and sing-off in the branches, though certainly they were, and they'd been at it since well before the sun rose.

No, we were up early today because there were a lot of furried and feathered folks to check on. Our little farm sanctuary had been growing over the last few years. From the first goats and pig who'd come here to relax into their retirement years. To the donkeys, cows, ducks, and geese, among others, who joined us since. We'd met and fallen in love with a lot of animals, and in the last few days, our family had grown even more. We set out in our barn clothes and rubber boots. I couldn't remember when I'd last worn anything else, and tromped across the yard. I slid open the big barn door to a chorus of calls from our residents, who were all ready for breakfast

and to get out into the sun on this lovely spring day. We usually started with the stalls closest to the door, went in order, down one side and back up the other, and our animals certainly knew that. But things had changed a few days before, and we sure heard about it as we went straight back to the farthest pen. We couldn't help it. We had baby goats, twins that had been born early in the morning, three days ago. They were black, with a few white and brown spots. And we told them apart because one, the little girl, had right on top of her head a white spot that looked

like a smudged thumbprint. I liked thinking about her genetic blueprint, coding that special part of her while she waited to be born. We'd had volunteers watching over her mom nearly around the clock in the days before she gave birth. And since they had been the ones to go without sleep, we'd let them name the twins. The little girl was called Geraldine, and her brother, Topper. I don't know where those names had come from, but they seemed to fit the kids and our farm in general.

We went with the flow here, rolled with whatever came, like the weather vane did on top of the barn. When we peeked over the edge of the stall, we found them both huddled with their mom, having breakfast. Their mom was so good and patient with them. I'd been there as they were born, and even in her exhaustion, she cleaned them and brought them close. They were thriving under her care, and I was already a bit nervous about the trouble these new kids would get into.

Goats are just built different. Of all the animals here at Weathervane, the goats were the silliest, the cleverest daredevils. They climbed on anything, jumped off everything tried to eat whatever fit in their mouths and some things that didn't they were all so sweet and loving it's just that that comes after the chaos Once we'd checked in with the goats And had filled troughs with feed Replenished their water And opened the door that led them out into their yard

We went back to the front of the barn and started our normal morning chores. Geraldine and Topper weren't the only new babies here at the farm, but they were the ones with the potential to cause the most trouble. So they got first look of the day. In the stall by the front, we opened the door and ushered the ducks and geese out to their yard for breakfast. At the end of the waddling line came a couple tall, fawn-and-white runner ducks

with a tiny row of ducklings behind them. They were so adorable, I couldn't stand it. I wanted to scoop them up and bring their downy little bodies close to my face. I resisted. Their parents were watching closely as each little duck tottered down the ramp at the front of the barn and into the grass. They'd spend the morning pecking in the yard and then testing out the pond as the ducklets learned to swim. We had several different types of ducks here, but, and don't tell anyone this, the runners were my favorite. They stand upright like penguins, and they really do run, a little clumsily, but still, they are speedy. We kept making our way through the barn, feeding, watering, cleaning raking out straw and bringing in fresh

sweet-smelling bales to replace it. Our cows Winnie the Moo and his mom whom we called Frida went out to have a good scratch on the brushes we'd installed on the fence posts. The pigs were happy to see us and wagged their tails as we brought their breakfast. That's when the brain from our little coffle of donkeys got loud.

They had been patient, waiting their turn for breakfast and playtime, but they'd had enough and were hee-hawing loudly. Even before I rounded the wall that edged their pen, I had a wide smile on my face. Our donkeys, Bumblebee and Turnip, had had their first foal a month before. His name was George, and his soft gray fur reminded me of the ducklings fuzzy down.

I went straight into their pen, and they all crowded around me, begging for pets on their long noses. If the goats were the silliest farm residents, the donkeys were the most affectionate. If we let them, they'd sleep in the house with us, curled up, trying to share beds with the dogs. Baby George, still a bit shy, stood back behind Bumblebee, and only after I'd been in with them for a few minutes, slowly trotted forward to have his own head scratched.

Out we went into the yard. George ran out into the sun. Since he'd figured out running, he'd been showing it off, speeding up and down the length of the barnyard, braying and kicking up dirt. His auntie Muriel, a small donkey, whose coloring was for some reason called roan and broken, meaning brown and white, trotted after him. She tended to babysit George when they were out in the yard together,

and I was glad for that. Muriel's eyesight was not very good, and donkeys often help their friends at times like those. I guessed in a year or so, when George was a little more grown up, and when Muriel's sight was a little dimmer, he'd be leading her out to the pasture, guiding her to the trough and water barrels. I paused with the rake in my hands and looking out at our animal family. The goats chomping on the picnic table. The ducks floating in the pond.

Frida and Winnie. George and Aunt Muriel. We would have a busy, wonderful summer this year. Sweet dreams.