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

Episode Date: October 8, 2026

Originally presented as Season 12, Episode 23 (Oct 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. Subscribe to our Premium channel. The first month is on us. 💙 Join the Village of Nothing Much App!Order Kathryn’s new book On the Street Where You LiveNMH Merch, Autographed Books and More!Listen to our daytime show, Stories from the Village of Nothing MuchSit Meditation with KathrynFollow us on InstagramVisit Nothing Much Happens for more Village fun!Sign up for our Newsletter here to be in the know! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Get more Nothing Much Happens with bonus episodes, extra long stories, and ad-free listening, all while supporting the show you love. Subscribe now. 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 hear on nothing much happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Witterstein. We are bringing you an encore episode tonight, meaning that this story originally aired at some point in the past. It could have been recorded with different equipment in a different location. And since I'm a person and not a computer, I sometimes sound just slightly different,

but the stories are always soothing and family-friendly, and our wishes for you are always deep rest and sweet dreams. 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 of brain training, so be patient if you are new to it. The conditioning will grow stronger with practice. 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 cornstalks, kettle corn and wood chips, and finding a group of friends to have adventures with. Did you know that three out of four U.S. homes

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Take a deep breath in through your nose. Let it out your mouth. Nice. One more. Breathe in. And out. Good. 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'd climbed up to scramble to a seat beside my friends, the electric excitement we shared, as we were jostled together by the slow take-off 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 and 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 Friendsgiven

club, or sometimes the say yes club. A few years ago, some folks had started a friend's giving 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 put-put 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 want to, 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 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 down. 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 move 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'd climbed up to scramble to a seat beside my friends,

the electric excitement we shared as we were jostom. together by the slow take-off 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 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. The 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 Friends Giving Club or sometimes the Say Yes Club. A few years ago, some folks had started a Friends Giving tradition, 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 gouther, 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. 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 and simple.

Dinner at a new restaurant, entering into a put-put 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. 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 kettlecorn, 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. on 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.