Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - The Corn Maze or The Say Yes Club

Episode Date: October 16, 2023

Our story tonight is called The Corn Maze, or The Say Yes Club and it’s a story about a trip out into the country as the leaves fall. It’s also about the smell of dried corn stalks, kettle corn, and wood chips and finding a group of friends to have adventures with. We give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving to Lonely Whale who's work to prevent plastic waste from entering the ocean. https://www.lonelywhale.org If you’re interested in also waking up with me, I have a free ten-minute meditation podcast called First This. They are simple, easy to use, and understand practices to start your day. Ad-free and available on all platforms, just search First This. Learn more at nothingmuchhappens.comPurchase 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 Katherine Nicolai. I read and write all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim. We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to Lonely Whale, who work to prevent plastic waste from entering the ocean. We have a link to them in our show notes. I am so glad you're here, letting me tuck you in at night. And if you're interested in also waking up with me, I have a free 10-minute meditation podcast called First This.

Each one is simple and has easy-to-use and easy-to-understand practices to start your day. They're ad-free and available on all platforms. Just search First This. Now, I have a simple and proven way to help you sleep. The story I have for you sort of rests your mind into a groove, like a needle on a record. The steady sound of my voice on the soft story lulls your thinking mind into a place where sleep happens within moments. If you wake in the night and find your record spinning, please don't hesitate to start the story over again. I'll tell the story twice, going a little slower the second time through. This is a kind of brain training, so be patient if you are new to it.

The conditioning will grow stronger with practice. So, lights out, set down your device, snuggle into your sheets, and feel your whole body relax into the bed. You are exactly where you're supposed to be right now, and nothing more is needed of you tonight. You can let it all go. Really. Let's draw a deep breath in through the nose and out from the mouth. Once more, And exhale. Good. Our story tonight is called The Corn Maze, or The Say Yes Club.

And it's a story about a trip out into the country as the leaves fall. It's also about the smell of dried corn stalks kettle corn and wood chips and finding a group of friends to have adventures with the corn maze or the say yes club we were driving out through the country on our way to the maze

and it was a perfect day for the drive golden afternoon light shining on the changing leaves with clear blue skies and a bit of a nip in the air. The land was rolling here, so different from the flat streets in downtown. And as we rode slowly up a low hill and down the other side, I imagined myself on a very tranquil roller coaster,

whose job was not to thrill, but to delight, to give the passenger time to take in beautiful views, to spot the farmhouses in the distance, to smile at the rafter of turkeys picking their way through a tilled wheat field, and admire the rolled hay bales scattered over the landscape. I watched it all from the back seat as the chatter of my friends melted into soft background noise. I was thinking of a childhood memory.

It was a bit foggy. The details weren't clear, but the emotion around it was. A Halloween hayride with the neighbor kids at the nature center. I remembered the feeling of the straw under my hands as I climbed up to scramble to a seat beside my friends the electric excitement we shared as we were jostled together by the slow takeoff of the tractor. I don't think it had been at all scary, more Halloween-y,

with carved pumpkins along the trail, lights in the trees and owls hooting in the darkness. But to us then, it had been the thrill of the season. We'd gone home with treat bags full of candy and a whole caramel apple. And all these years later, when I thought back on it, I still felt a curl of excitement in my stomach. A smile spread over my face from the fun of that evening. Now, here I was on a grown-up variation of it. Our little car was packed, and we were going to walk the corn maze. Our circle of friends had all met through a sort of unofficial club. We called it the Friendsgiving Club, or sometimes the Say Yes Club. A few years ago, some folks had started a Friendsgiving tradition, a dinner that was open to anyone, and grew bigger and bigger

till it filled the community center downtown each fourth Thursday of November. I'd seen a poster for it at the coffee shop in, I think it was their second year of doing it, and decided to go. The holidays can be a mixed bag. They're not always easy for everyone. And that particular year,

I found myself pretending that they weren't coming. But that gathering had been so lovely, so fun. And I'd met so many new friends. And it added a big piece to my feeling of community. Soon there was a group text of new friends who decided to try new things together. Hence, the Say Yes Club. When there was something someone wanted to try but might feel intimidated to do it on their own, we would say yes.

Some of the things we said yes to were small, simple, dinner at a new restaurant, entering into a putt-putt tournament, music in the park. And some were bigger. The polar plunge off the dock at the inn. The silent disco in the village square. A rather elaborate group cosplay at a con a few cities over.

We'd backed each other up at high school reunions, tried with little success to play pickleball, and gone forest bathing as the spring plants were first emerging. Today, we'd said yes to the corn maze. We'd never been before. It was always one of those things I'd wanted to do, meant to make happen, before the season was over, but had never gotten around to. That was another lovely thing about this group of friends.

We'd created a rhythm for new experiences, and because of that, they just seemed to happen every couple of weeks. That rhythm made it easier to put myself out there and live a little more deliberately. We spotted painted signs at a crossroads, corn maize ahead, and cheered in the car like a bunch of kids. We turned down a long drive, and I could hear the gravel popping under our tires.

I rolled down my window and smiled into the wind. Fresh autumn country air filled my nostrils, and a chill rolled down my spine, making me squirm in my seat. I was excited, just like I had been at that hayride all those years ago. We found a spot for the car and piled out, buttoning up our cardigans and taking bets on which of us would be the first to get lost. It sounded like I was a favorite for that, but in my opinion, the whole point of a maze was to get lost. So yeah, I'd probably be great at it. We followed a trail past the parking lot and came to a little shed with a Dutch door.

A woman sat inside with her elbows on the sill and waved us over. She told us that it wasn't just one big maze, but rather a series of them that got a bit trickier as we moved from one to another. Did we want a map? she asked. I nudged my friend in front and whispered, Say yes. He chuckled and pocketed it. It had a few quick exits marked on it, if we'd decided we'd had enough fun. And there was also a number to call that

would ring right here at the shed. She pointed to a phone beside her, if we needed an assist getting out. The field, full of high stalks, stretched out in front of us, and before we set off, we fortified ourselves from the snack bar, buying bags of fresh kettle corn, cups of cider, and small lady apples that fit into our pockets. Then, into the corn we went, like stepping into a new world where everything smelled pleasantly of drying plants and wood chips, and the only colors were shades of brown and green and the bright

blue of the sky. I thought that the details of today might become foggy with the years, just like that memory of the hayride, but that I wouldn't forget this feeling of being with my friends, having an adventure, and saying yes. The corn maze or the say yes club. We were driving out through the country on our way to the maze. And it was a perfect day for a drive.

Golden afternoon light shining on the changing leaves, with clear blue skies and a bit of a nip in the air. The land was rolling here, so different from the flat streets in downtown, and as we rode slowly up a low hill and down the other side. I imagined myself on a very tranquil roller coaster, whose job was not to thrill, but to delight, to give the passenger time to take in beautiful views, to spot the farmhouses in the distance, to smile at the rafter of turkeys picking their way through a tilled wheat field, and admire the rolled hay bales scattered over the landscape.

I watched it all from the back seat as the chatter of my friends melted into soft background noise. I was thinking of a childhood memory. I was a bit foggy. The details weren't clear, but the emotion around it was. A Halloween hayride with the neighbor kids at the nature center I remembered

the feeling of the straw under my hands as I climbed up to scramble to a seat beside my friends. The electric excitement we shared as we were jost carved pumpkins along the trail, lights in the trees, and owls hooting in the darkness. But, to us then, it had been the thrill of the season. We'd gone home with treat bags full of candy and a whole caramel apple. And all these years later, when I thought back on it, I still felt a curl of excitement in my stomach.

A smile spread over my face from the fun of that evening. Now, here I was on a grown-up variation of it. Our little car was packed and we were going to walk the corn maze. Our circle of friends had all met through a sort of unofficial club. We called it the Friendsgiving Club, or sometimes the Say Yes Club. A few years ago, some folks had started a Friendsgiving tradition, a dinner that was open to anyone and grew bigger and bigger till it filled the community center downtown each fourth Thursday of November. I'd seen a poster for it at the coffee shop in, I think it was their second year of doing it, and decided to go. The holidays can be a mixed bag.

They're not always easy for everyone. And that particular year, I'd found myself pretending they weren't coming. But that gathering had been so lovely so fun and I'd met so many new friends it added a big piece to my feeling of community

soon there was a group text of new friends who decided to try new things together, intimidated to do it on their own, we would say yes. Some of the things we said yes to were small and simple. Dinner at a new restaurant. Entering into a putt-putt tournament. dinner at a new restaurant, entering into a putt-putt tournament, music in the park, and somewhere bigger,

the polar plunge off the dock at the inn, the silent disco in the village square. A rather elaborate group cosplay at a con a few cities over. We'd backed each other up at high school reunions, tried, with little success success to play pickleball, and gone forest bathing as the spring plants were first emerging. Today, we'd said yes to the corn maze. I'd never been before. It was always one of those things I'd wanted to do, meant to make happen before the season was over,

but had never gotten around to. That was another lovely thing about this group of friends. We'd created a rhythm for new experiences, and because of that, they just seemed to happen every couple of weeks that rhythm made it easier to put myself out there and live a little more deliberately we spotted painted signs at a crossroads. Corn maze ahead, and sheared in the car like a bunch of kids.

We turned down a long drive, and I could hear the gravel popping under our tires. I rolled down my window and smiled into the wind. Fresh autumn country air filled my nostrils, and a chill rolled down my spine, making me squirm in my seat. I was excited, just like I had been at the hayride all those years ago. We found a spot for the car and piled out, buttoning up our cardigans and taking bets on which of us would be the first to get lost.

It sounded like I was a favorite for that, but in my opinion, the whole point of a maze was to get lost. So, yes, I'd probably be great at it. We followed a trail past the parking lot and came to a little shed with a Dutch door. A woman sat inside with her elbows on the sill, and waved us over. She told us that it wasn't just one big maze, but rather a series of them, which got a bit trickier as we moved from one to another. Did we want a map? she asked.

I nudged my friend in front and whispered, Say yes. He chuckled and pocketed it. It had a few quick exits marked on it, if we decided we'd had enough fun. And there was also a number to call that would ring right here at the shed. She pointed to a phone beside her.

If we needed an assist getting out. The field, full of high stalks, stretched out in front of us. And before we set off, we fortified ourselves from the snack bar, buying bags of fresh kettle corn, cups of cider, and some small ladies' apples that fit into our pockets. Then into the corn we went,

like stepping into a new world where everything smelled pleasantly of drying plants and wood chips, and the only colors were shades of brown and green and the bright blue of the sky. I thought that the details of today might become foggy with the years, just like that memory of the hayride, but that I wouldn't forget this feeling of being with my friends, having an adventure, and saying yes.

Sweet dreams.